The tree

The towering tree was sick
It’s branches brittle and leaves turned yellow
It’s spirit like a trembling wick
It’s roots so weak in the soil turned shallow.

The gnawing termites kept on and on
The dark thick trunk was a gaping hollow
The grass around and the homing birds
Sat with drooping heads and mood so mellow

Half asleep and half awake
The tree swayed laboriously and so slow
The sap still seeped through memories
In the hushed hours of twilight glow.

 

Hush!

In absolute silence,

The wind recites poetry

In hushed whispers

The leaves applaud

In a slow gait

The branches sway

Composing music

On their own accord.

In demure grace

The grasses bend

To sing to the earth

It’s favourite song

The frilly lace

Of the river lends

A  spriteliness

As it flows along

In wild abandon

The setting sun

Fills the skies

With crimson paint

Across the fields

The homing birds

Become specks

Far and faint.

Hush,listen to

The nightingale

Forlorn , it sings

Of parting and pain

Feathers crumpled

And its head bent

It‘s teardrops mingle

With the rain

 

P.S: The first two lines of this poem was “lifted” from the Facebook status update of a friend:-)