The life of trees

So maybe we’re like trees,
after all,
witnessing centuries
wars, famine, madness
the North Wind and the devastating drought
the cosmic stellar freaks
some capricious god’s mindfucks
absorbing the dung of the earth
and radioactive air
drinking the ever fading sunlight
and water from blood-stained rivers
seeing and waiting
giving whatever’s left to come out of us
a crying sapling
a silent sigh
a fragile flower
dead branches to remind us
that we die a thousand times
with every departing leaf
with every bird that never returns
with every short-lived butterfly
dazzling us with unimaginable colours
always falling for their impossible promises
always falling without showing,
not yet,
we die a thousand times
before our greatest fall
the higher up we go
the more spectacular our demise
like the unshakable cedar
defiant, resisting,
standing up
because we cannot do otherwise
because we die a thousand times
before our spectacular fall
before our centuries’ old wisdom
disperses in a million fragments
to be eaten by worms none the wiser
mixing our remains with decomposing corpses
fossilising our love for future archaeologists
and present-day coal factories
on an ever-shrinking planet
we no longer belong to.


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One thought on “The life of trees

  1. Seems like being a tree gives you a kind of poisoned gift through eternity… Eternity to witness this world’s terrible things, one by one, not knowing which one will be the last, and hoping each time that this will be the last. Good thing humans are not eternal.

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