She stares with invisible eyes
carrying centuries of tales about mankind.
Her branches of 50 fingertips,
sweep the ground before they break.
The wind blows at her leaves
ushering them to the north
where the sun only comes out
a quarter of a day.
Back in the old days,
man carry plumped mammals on his back
and lay it gently before the tree
pleading for rain
to come upon his land
Time goes by,
the ground turns quiet and lonely
without a drop of soul
bringing gifts and praises
like the ones before them.
New men walk in
with metals in their hand,
their heavy booted shoes
ravish the ground as predators.
the tree weeps and floods the ground
carrying a message to the wind.
Her leaves turn to yellow
before they wither and float like feathers.
her invisible eyes retreat
and hide inside the trunk.
Fresh souls in old bodies
come to cajole the tree back to live
but she stays dormant in her might.
As they are sitting in silence,
the wind blows a pile of dead leaves
hiding the words carved on the ground,
"Seek for me where the ground is sacred
and untarnished by greed and desolation.
When the next moon is ripe, I will be reborn."