Beechwood... Poem by Aleksandra Szymanska

I skip under the dark red tree, wondering how long I've done it for,
how many skipping ropes I've used, what's been lost and what's been torn…
I skip every condescending look, lies spilled all over me, every sneer;
I skip my angry thoughts and sadness; I skip cold envy, creeping fear…

I breathe the purple air of the tree, I let it shower me with its tears,
I have forgotten how to cry; I've learned no pain I'll ever feel…
Perhaps I'm numb, or maybe strong, as hard as the tree's thick, old bark.
I haven't forgotten where I belong, I run with horses in the dark…

I skip and spell in my mind the name of the old, dark green-purple tree…
In my language its name sounds like God's name - the magnificent, violet beech…
Is violet the colour of something unknown, a secret I've chased since I was young?
I skip and listen to whispering leaves, my arms become branches of my lungs…