The Trees Are Buddhas Poem by zinia ...

The trees are Buddhas.
They stand rapt in intense
meditations together and make forests.
When the melancholic winds break against their feet
they preach peace. They shed their memories
like autumnal leaves.

Born on the moist earth
the trees bloom fragrant flowers
like love. Greener leaves sprout like sutras in Spring

to whisper truths.

The seasons dance their melodies on boughs
adorn them with new leaves, new fruits
then strip them away.
The trees then live the furrowed barks
and yellowed leaves. Ripe seedy fruits fall on the earth
each seed is wooed to grow a tree. Spring arrives to fulfill them.
The trees grow old secretly after every Spring
they draw coded rings deep inside their trunks
and wither away. Preachers of deep silence they live

the rhythm of the cosmos.

We die many times in our lifetime like the trees
are renewed with every Spring that comes our way
and after a season of fruits and flowers' burden
carrying our own floral memories
we die.

Gust rolls the fallen leaves
across forest floors. Bamboo flutes
make sombre music.
The tall green trees silently embrace the seasons.

We all are undeciphered rings in the end.