Withered

I used to be dancing at the top,

with the winds that tickle my body,

birds that hum melody,

sun that shows my radiant beauty,

or rain that leaves dewdrops on my skin,

fruits that almost mimic my color

and brightens day by day,

nests that find comfort with my foliage

and branches that seldom dance with me

as I watched how buildings grow

like the pile of garbage across the street,

how vehicles run and blow black smokes,

how people walk hurriedly,

how people stroll,

how they throw an annoying guffaw,

how they can be so silent

and can be so calm

when they sleep beneath my shades

until the wind that used to tickle my body

shook me hardly,

the branches that seldom dance

removed its hold from me,

what they call “gravity”

drove me down

and the soils of the Earth

caught me

and gave

me a place

 to

rest.