A Tree asked me a Question

Contemporary Poetry Anthology by Santosh Kumar Biswa

A Tree asked me a Question

In dejection, across the lonely jungle, As a dark cloud, I roved over to repose In a desultory manner, on a winding course, To find, where my melancholy could be concealed. Over the body, my pelt erected, eyes runoff, And my mind too rampant to abandon, When tout de suite I glanced a crowd Beneath an old tree, of pale Safaris, Dolorous and tearful in the gentle wind As though wanting to convey to me gloominess, Not of mine, but of their own agony. As an escort, I drew nigher to associate, But, the dropping tree above seemed doleful, Who asked me a query, so wakeless That varied my mind with wild mentation.

He averred, "What measure I've, you know not, In solitude I live, few we are, the rest are gone And, mine is to remain forever not yours. You tend to be dire on what can be done, Maybe love or blood you are pensive of, That comes and goes, but which are not mine.

Contemporary Poetry Anthology by Santosh Kumar Biswa

I may flow at any score; the day after or now, And less they are, my generations are gone. In you I find my melancholy, not my blood, Alive you and yours are, look at my kind. I live by you and you by me, you care for us not, Better be sorrowful when we turn few, For your coevals may feel the way I do now." In bliss, the frantic in my pump replaced, To help them well and dance with Safaris For the pain I bear isn't ageless like theirs, So, I released my pain for better hope to get.