The Bastion

Written by: Nikola Žilic

There was this old oak tree in the middle of the street,
Pondering mysteries I thought to myself,
Once my landlord said it’s time for money,
I packed my things and left.

I’m not outgoing, I prefer the calmness of solitude,
And even if I feel like chatting I don’t like a multitude,
So I thought to myself, why not face my fears?
Make that old bastion the throne of social cheers.

So in the street, the old oak tree made a friend indeed,
At first the brawl was to howl and I couldn’t sleep.
Months have passed and voices thrill, taken by the wind,
Calm at last in this old tree, my heart I heard it beat.

Sunbathed branches, one good morning, reached to say to me
Marching silence into grounds far beneath their feet 
A many voice, their thoughts and dreams-all are baring seeds
A could and would, a may have been, a golden crown in seat.

And every branch in this grey street a path to victory,
A well of thousand want to be’s and immortality. 
So now I’m part of this old tree damned to know it all,
What they want and I can’t do, to their right I’m sold.

To fight all life with one man’s heart a stupid task I see,
Leaves and branches cover sight with pictures of all space,
Now I’m nothing entwined with pity of what I could have been,
A monument that grows to death pace by pace by pace...