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Interview Wth a Dying Tree

Walking on the forest path on a hot summer day,
I find an old oak tree, dry and dilapidated,
with barks peeling off, roots dislodged from soil.
It is waiting for the time to die and fall.
In my twilight hour I could relate to the tree.
So, I ask : would you mind talking with me? 

Tree : Not at all. I’m glad that you stopped by,
for I’m so lonely among the young ones who are
green and climbing high, cares little for me.

Me : it’s a pity, but you’re not the only one forlorn
and isolated among your kin. You must have seen 
much better days in your life time.

Tree :  Yes. As a slender silky sapling I sprouted  
joyfully from my sub-soil habitat slowly,
the beguiling breeze gently embraced me as I
bred boughs that fluttered like verdant wings,
I’m a splendid possession the forest is proud of.

Me : The forest is your abode where you’re happy
to belong, and it must have fostered you well.

Tree : Yes. In the precinct of its pristine expanse 
the forest let the rays from the sunburst sky 
spread charismatic colors on my calm canopy,
brushed the satin leaves with spectral splendor,
suffusing my heart with exuberance of delight
that I still preserve in my fading memory. 

Me : But memory has the unique capacity 
to retain dreams we see in life, some we realize, 
some we don’t. You may remember a dream 
that you desired the most to come true.

Tree : When I was getting old and felt desolate,
my dream was to fly away to a distant land,
but the southern wind told me to grow up high,
and touch the sky instead to be free like bird.

Me : And you did that so very well, standing tall
even now, and can play with the drifting cloud.
Do you regret not being able to fly?

Tree : No, I don’t. My dream wasn’t fulfilled,
but it’s satisfying to see the birds build nests
on my arms. I immensely enjoy the songs they sing.
Moreover, I’m happy I’m still rooted in my land.

Me : You don’t know how long. Like all of us 
someday you have to go uprooted.  

Tree : True, but I’m content, I lived my life long and full.
I know I’m dying, and may fall in the next storm,
but I’m not sad, for a new tree will grow in my place
with full glory, and the tree of life will survive.

analogylifetreeprose poetry

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