Gulmohar

The piercing sun glared back at me as I winced up, looking for answers;

Was the autumn early or was I just getting older?

Pale wrinkly leaves left my embracing branch, leaving me alone

Flowing like tears far away from home.

They crashed on the soil mixed with cigarette butts and plastic wraps;

The sweet release will give them peace, perhaps.

The chopped Gulmohar lay lifeless with sprawling stems and destroyed nests;

I stand here alone with my thoughts in a mess.

I bleakly recall sharp lights, raucous steel and roaring wheels from last night;

Why were they ripping apart our peaceful life?

“Oh little one! You have seen too much.”

The Gulmohar weakly whispered with a painful touch.

“Let my last words come from pocket of the past,

For, who knows how long my old self would last.”

His cracked charred bark gazed up deep into the sun,

For his story had just begun.

Years ago, I used to wake up to the cooing and gossiping canaries;

Who would bring me the unending chatter of all trees.

Mahogany had a polite squirrel lodger; Neem was bitter and rude as ever,

Sal sent regards for spring and Ashoka already had a green sweater!

With the caress of sweet spring, I knew, the murmurs would soon surround me;

As my warm sheet of blooming red flowers ran the gossiping spree.

In the monotone of green, my flaming petals adorned the forest

The tender velvet, feathery touch was everyone’s dearest.

I could go on, little one, but my pleasant narcissism ceased,

The day, the cuckoo told me someone killed the Sal tree!

It was a night crawling steel beast, which menacingly moved,

Roaring, crushing and glinting under the wicked shade of the moon.

You are born in an age where strange footed-beings roam on our land,

With their lingering eyes and littering hands,

Vandalizing our barks and snatching our jewels.

In their negligent reckless actions, our inevitable fate dwells.

In the darkness of last night, took place a bark-chilling event,

As I saw the being walk towards me with undisguised abhorrence.

He showed no mercy, he felt no pain; as I stood rooted taking in the act,

Tied fast under the morbid shadow of the axe.

They won’t come for you, lucky little tree!

For your youth is not what their mutinous intent seeks.

They ruthlessly uproot a hundred homes,

To build endless comfort for their own.

Arh! The sun never seemed so harsh,

How much would I dearly miss the bed of bushes and grass…

I extended my tender branches to give Gulmohar shade,

As the virid life in him began to fade.

The Gulmohar gave in to the soil he was once born in,

I pray he finds serenity in heaven.

The murky wreath of darkness swallowed all my questions,

As I silently stood there surrounded by a thousand coffins.