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The Fig Tree

Look outside the obscured window,
there is a fig tree.
There is no roundness,
no fruit in it.
The wind scrapes,
and the leaves shed.

Winter comes.

The surroundings is so silent,
the air seemed frozen.
there is no moon,
congealed to the stillness of glass,
spreading over the vicinity.

The sky seems saturated,
turning to grey gradually,
here and there.
Snow begins to fall,
a flurry of falling flakes.
The fig tree is softened with a think vestment of snow,
it is pale white,
seemingly waiting for someone,
a mirthless wait.

(25th of August,2004)
Trino Chan
Sunday, December 4, 2011
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