By Dr. Mamta Mishra
The old Jamun tree has witnessed manifold colors of life,
Right thoughts, right action, evaporate like foam.
Fruits of the tree wither away,
The tiny squirrel hides herself from the owner’s dog.
Once a calf entered into the compound —
The fat, ferocious dog snapped the calf.
The wail of the calf still reverberates through the wall;
The old Jamun tree quietly listens to the mother and her calf’s wail.
The owner went away with his dog.
The tree, the squirrel, the dove, and the little robin
Seek refuge underneath the bower of Buddha’s ideology.
But very soon the new owner shall come,
With his ferociously-bred dog, potted plants, and artefacts.
Alas! The Jamun tree will again witness
The true colors of the modern age.
Nonetheless, Mother Nature — a mute and ever-omniscient witness to such violence — keeps a record.
And in the ensuing days, exacts the revenge of the calf
From the owner.