The Sigh of A Tree

The Sigh of a Tree



A woman’s sorrow. There are many references to her sorrow.
She reminds me of a long worn tree stripped to only bare naked branches
She bares no fruits yet she longs for the blossom, the fruits
Her heart aches at the sight of kids clinging to the branches of those other trees.
For those trees have branches filled with fruits and flowers of every kind
She lowers down her branches in vain hope that some child would be tempted to ride upon
her shoulders but all she manages to get is those nasty kids who rip her of her
branches for furnace for the festival of Holy


No bird sit on her branch, Young couples have no sight for her. After all she
has nothing to offer to anybody except her love.
The Clouds do not stop by her its not their fault
They have been taught to rain only on greener pastures where the soil is in its youth
Sometimes a stray cloud does rain on her but I suspect the raindrops are nothing but tears of sympathy.
She does not need your sympathy O Megha,
All she wants is a drop of LOVE, which will sink beneath the wrinkled land
and reach the roots of her heart.

Her womb yearns to bear a fruit that she can call her own or for a tender flower
All right if they do not happen to be the fruit of youth
She does not care whether the world will laugh at her being a mother
All she cares about it to have a soul-filling moment of being a mother
She’ll give them all the nurturing love with her roots searching for every drop of rain and soil


Does a tree ceases to be a tree just because its not beautiful.
Is beauty nothing but an attractive face or is it the warmth of a loving heart
Is it passion of youth or a compassionate inquiry of heart


We live in the city where everything sells on merit of face
We put a price on everything don’t we?
There is a price for beauty n price for soul
I don’t know how much a loving heart is price though
Is it measured on weight of kilo, or the tears shed by a forlorn heart
I am not acquainted with the market place you see
Cause I am just a wanderer with no copper in my purse
I have but only a heart that weeps for a tree which bares lonely braches.


In the crowded market place of this world everybody has ears to word spoken
by mouth who’d understand the sigh of heart
Who’d listen to silence when nobody listens to even the voices anymore.



DearHearts,

This is a poem about Kujba. An ugly woman. she is not princess beacause princesses are always beautiful...or if they are ugly it is so only because of a curse...makes me wonder how we brainwash and curropt children...to think like adults..to think that beauty in a person is about beauty of a face, mind..

There are products that are sold in millions of dollars to make some plain looking woman to be beauitiful and fair skinned..

What for? what does fair skin and attritrive face or smartness in mind has got to do with who the person really is?

Why this insane chase for perfection? and who would bear to the vanity of a perfect person? Is it not our imperfections that level us bringing equiminity in relationships, love?