Nameless And Nameless Trees Poem by Adeosun Olamide

At night, you look back at the day,
And ask your forms in the walls,
As though they replied the previous,
What you have made with it.
You ask your forms in the walls,
For there are no golden clocks there,
Nor the fields you once here imagined,
Just walls, like pages filled with empty lines
Or even at their ebbs, blank pages,
Blank, as the earth we are here, buried.

It is true; you question the decisions you have
And the ones you didn't,
You contemplate those unlike you,
Those with such golden clocks,
How they have done different,
Theirs are your desires sometimes,
Those, they haven't planted a seed,
And yet have several golden clocks,
Golden clocks they have no need for,
And they don't, having all theirs, days, sunshine,
Sunshine all through, not nights,
Not walls you have, you stare at.

You search for the way out,
You search for some lights,
And see some in the distance,
Some that displaces us,
But you return,
For we are meaningful to you,
Meaningful than golden clocks,
Meaningful than sunshine,
And though we roll in the earth,
Struggling to sprout, not for you, not to be your shade,
To shelter, but to shelter another from a storm,
To bring some fruits and roses to an unknown,
And though we do, knowing you have given us all,
Knowing we are your offspring's,
It doesn't thrust us and you know.

What have become of you, now that we sprout?
For though the traveller we have sheltered,
From the sun and the wind, from hunger,
And the girl, we have saved, holding there,
The pieces of this floret,
They do, knowing not your name, their hosts,
And what have become of you, now that we sprout?
A poet says, you are alive in us,
And will be for the thousand of years we may live,
But to live in us, what is that?
Perhaps they do, hearing here your heartbeat,
Perhaps they do, feeling your warmth as we had,
They ask, where are those with the golden clocks?
Or where are there golden clocks?
It rusts and we do not rust, they say,
They are away, rusted, away from sunshine,
And you, you do not? We have asked,
They say you live in the breeze,
In sunshine, in the nameless trees,
And to live is ever to be useful than to be known.