‘If trees could speak what would they say? '
I wonder when I look at their crowns...
They'd probably roam about green May
or winter's frost - life's ups and downs...
I lay my palm on their strong trunks
and trace their bark with finger tips.
Their silent words fill my lungs;
I freeze in terror, I seal my lips...
They speak of waves that cut through skin,
devour life, consuming its heart...
They speak of slaves who've lost their dream,
giving their best, working so hard...
Perhaps I am just one of them
you call so loud ‘just a joke'.
I simply offer my broken pen
that sounds like the last screams of a black hawk...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem