Sayeed Abubakar (21 September 1972 / Jessore / Bangladesh)
An Isolated Tree
Do you tell me to set my roots into air?
Say, when and where did the procession of trees
raise the slogan of storm and seize the blue of the sky
by its palms, being isolated from soil?
Do you say it living? Say, this continual isolation
of a tree and soil-is it the name of living?
Think of that soil, o Love, on whose breast
there exist no trees, no carpet of herbs, leaves and grass,
where no farmer comes ever taking his plow
to sing the song of crops and no bird comes
to fill the arteries of wind with the song of blood,
where only dust and sand round the year
mourn and scream soundless like a grave-
do you want to be such a soil, such a waste land?
O my Soil,
I will give you forests, a vast world of eternal green
where animals roam, birds crowd and chirp;
I will give you clouds, rains and storms of peace
if you, loving me, devour all my roots.
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