By Babita Sharma
The tree I was born from dropped me when I was raw and green,
The tree that was supposed to nourish me
Released me into a cold, black sea.
The tree that provided shade for others
Forgot me — as if I had never been there.
The tree that was meant to be my mother
Sacrificed her life for someone else’s care.
I condemned her for so long,
But as the dong chimes,
I realize the sublime has another lifeline —
The sun that shines.
But then I realize,
The sun fades into a dark abyss,
And the tree follows her love into the fire.
When my father died,
My mother chose to leave as well,
Like a tree succumbing to the flames,
Her spirit lost in a silent, eternal hell.
Now, I am alone,
A seed in the storm,
Wondering if I’ll ever grow
In a world so broken, so worn.