the bare trees
hold forked limbs that
point up to the sky,
as if asking Heaven
why they were created
only to be destroyed.
the neighbours had complained of mosquitoes
being housed in the trees that guarded my window side.
i guess that was the pity of living
in an apartment building.
when i had reached home one afternoon,
i noticed the corridor was awfully bright.
the trees had never looked so sullenly brown,
nor had the nearby building seemed so close.
the other trees had been left with leaves, intact,
but they seemed to huddle away
from the site of destruction;
their emaciated bodies looking on, forlorn.
i came home to find bright green leaves sprouting
on the trees that guarded my window side.
they were being reborn.
their roots began to sink deeper into their
restricted section of soil
and they pressed harder at the chance of new life.
such is the beauty of nature’s persistence, i thought;
for this had not been the first time
that these trees had been bare.
today i stepped on something
that should have been familiar
but was not. i glanced down
and i was on the grave of a tree within my estate.
its trunk was gone, but its roots remained,
and i was horrified;
but i knew it was not dead. it would grow back.
among the concrete
buildings, full of humans, fierce
was mother nature.