In the park , by the bench,
There stands a tree,
Which has seen innumerable seasons pass
and innumerable humans pass,
Seen their laughter and tears dissolve into past.
With ‘its’ fresh new leaves lost to fresh fallen snow
And ‘its’ dead fallen leaves on the ground
Walked upon by dead fallen souls.
Lost ‘its’ fruits to cruel season and hungry mouths.
Stripped away of ‘its’ branches and its pride.
‘It’ stands there now, not noticed by an eye.
In the dew covered grass
‘It’ feels my steps.
In he morning fog
‘It’ hears my cries.
I feel ‘it’ looking down on me
How my loss is more important than ‘its’.
‘It’ suffered everything in silence.