Premlal kushwaha

TREE (tina morries) [[

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They did not tell us, what it would be like, without trees.

Nobody imagined, that the whispering of leave, would grow silent, or the vibrant jade of spring, pale to grey death.

And now we pile, rubbish on rubbish in the dusty landscape, struggling to creat , a tree.

But though the shape is right,, and the nailed branches, lean upon the wind , and colour to the twigs.

We wait in vain, for the slow unfurling of loving, can stir our weave tree , to singing.