THE DRIED-UP TREE

a poem by P.K.N. Panicker, India

I watch the tree
withered and forlorn
all branches dried up
by the street corner.

No bird will anymore
nest on its branches;
no passer-by
thank for its shade.

Forlorn and forsaken
no one will ever think
of its past;
no one seek to know
of the noble thoughts
it nurtured;
of the noble deeds
it shared;
nor will any pause
to remember or appreciate
the beautiful flowers
it once showcased
on its tallest branches,
nor any remember
the fruits harvested.

And no one will
ever care to know
whether the tree has a soul
or of the surge
of emotions and feelings,
if it has any -
who cares?

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