Write My Story On The Trees Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Write my story on the trees,
Dig it out from down there,
Where it lies with me in the grave,
Spread the red ochre on the trees,
Power them till they turn red,
And Write on every leaf,
I want to rustle in the wind
My welts like veins on a leaf
Written on all the mountains,
For I no longer live contained,
Plant me on every meadow,
Like grass I want to to sway,
Cast me on the rivers,
My leaves floating on the river,
Going into all corners on the bank,
Like logs that float undirected,
After these stormy floods we saw,
For they cluster on the banks,
Like confused thoughts in a brawl,
That ends these disturbed sad stories.

Knowing the teller of the story,
Is the daily killer of their story,
Wash my tears off me with the floods,
For I died too young to do it myself,
But went and left the very world,
That buries my story down here,
In this silence away from all,
That will tell my story to the wind,
Whey they see storied trees singing,
About what once grew on the branch,
That we call our own piece of earth,
That beat me and left me scarred,
Then left me bleeding on the ground,
Till to death off I went silent,
Only to be revived in the words of the dead.
Who are speaking in the trees.
Make up what went down a story,
That will be told by all daily
For you made my face and head on the crown,
Of the tallest trees and shortest ones,
Which will tell of my muffled cries
With the dignity that nature gives our life,
And leave an unmoving silence to be revived
By the few who write like you.