“through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us. . ."

Friday, May 1, 2009

Song of the Tree

You who stand beneath me,

Look up at me for a while -

While you smell, breath in deep

The fragrance of my little flowers.

Did it hurt when the flower fell

On your head, my humble gift,

Here, I bend a branch of mine,

Hold, pluck the succulent fruit

For your child, a present from me.

Lean on to me, though my skin is rough,

But feel my heart that throbs for you

My veins full of the blood of love.

Here, I fan you with my leaves,

Lest you feel tired in the heat.

Did it hurt when you cut

Chopped off the branches

And sawed off the trunk

Did it pain when in vain

Pulling at my roots with so much strain?

I miss them, Sir,

The birds who nested in my hole,

The songs they sang for my soul.

The squirrels who ran, tickling my heart

Your child who played beneath my shade.

Forgive me Sir, I am just a tree

Fated to die, faithful to men.

When in the night, freezing cold,

As to embers my body burns,

They glow in love, for you alone

And your child, warm, asleep -

Think of me – lest your heart turn to stone.

********* Balachandran V, Trivandrum, 01.05.2009


  1. Balan, your words forever leave me filled with wanderings. I find places within your inner thoughts that I have never found before. You weave magic in the purest form.. Sandy

  2. speechless !
    definitely one of the best of ur writings.
    hats off B


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