of my leaves
my wrinkled body,
has no shade any longer to offer
to gypsy birds.
still i'm able to offer a seat
to forest wanderers.
in my hollow belly
the panting wind can have a pause,
in my breath
still the rhythms of seasons float,
sometime i'm a motel for the migratory breeze,
home to some forest dwellers.
patiently i hear the lamentation
of my siblings in the amazon rain forest.
spring breeze will caress me,
rain will rinse the dust of forlornness,
the lush green of summer will comfort me
under its wings,
autumn rustling leaves will rest on my broken back,
soon the silver of the winter will
blanket my weary body.
i'm a dead elm
and wisdom i've bequeathed
from millions of past generations
i'll pass down instinctively
to the next.
from a small sprout i'll re-emerge,
my soul will flow
in the veins
of this bruised forest.
above all, sometimes my body quivers
when i hear the noise of
the electric saw and bulldozers in the distance.
i'll wake again when the footprints
of the forest wanderers
and wheel tracks
are washed away
for now let me rest
under the blossoms of night.
3 august 2020
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem