Walking adrift by a silent street,
crushing roadside leaves, that came
Thought how different we are from trees
they all silent, but we have that flame
Just that very moment, I crossed a graveyard
seemed like its silence, was screaming to be heard
I stopped and went inside, on the way I saw
an old grave, a verdant tree and a singing cuckoo bird
That stone on that grave, unsoiled by the wind
I went near to read the stone
“Mary 1917- 1955” etched on the top
and indeed the majestic tree where the sun shone
That tree was huge, giving shade to Mary
as if Jesus, to his resting mother
He shakes himself, to fly away the birds
so that she sleeps, and no one to bother
Unseen, unnatural was that love I saw
the loyalty of a son, for his mother below
One on which he grew so tall
who nurtured him, from a seed so small
Next day, I went past that yard
Thought to see again, what love really is
Went inside, but now was numbed
The officials cut that tree or killed it, last night
The one, succumbed to the killers
Mary is alone now, almost like me
I thought “How different I am from her?”
Stoic, we both were, but I moved
I knew, I was dead already…
