To the Tree

 This tree, you — 
 how are you faring?
 Is your heart heavy today,
 like mine?
 May I sit beside you? Share a few words? In this quiet hour?
 Listen, when sorrow comes
 do you weep like me?
 When night falls, do you soak your pillow in secret tears?
 Tell me truly,
 do you ever silently...
 love? Call out to love? Burn alone in desire's heat?
 What grief makes tears fall from your eyes whenever they will?
 Don't misunderstand, I'm not saying pain alone
 has conquered love!
 A thousand colors, a thousand ways of sorrow exist,
 some sorrows dwell in sorrow, some sorrows hide sorrow—
 everyone knows, I know too.
  
 Tell me truly,
 does your heart, when it wishes,
 spin like mine?
 Touch the sky in one leap? Grasp the blue in your palm?
 Cross the ocean in a single dive?
 Thinking of these things at dusk, does your heart weep?
 Will you go to that ocean?
 I'll take you on my shoulders,
 we'll lose ourselves in distant hills, far away...come, let's go!
  
 Listen, tree, when many thoughts gather in your mind
 do you want to call someone, sit them close, tell them everything?
 Your words are so hard! Who understands?
 Or do you stay silent like the mute?
 Your father lived his whole life playing mute quite well!
 The power of silence — no one understood.
 Are many words hidden in your mind like your father's?
 Will you tell me those words when you have time?
 How do you stand
 in tapas?
 Years turn to years, do you still measure space with tiny hands?
  
 Around you, memories threaded,
 you keep them bound within your mind,
 the same scene in different forms,
 you store each day in silent knowing...like saints do.
 Does joy smile in your heart?
 Do you weep in sorrow like everyone?
 When sulking, do you puff your cheeks?
 In great anger, do you ever tear your roots?
 We all cut you, tear you,
 as we please for various tasks,
 our life adorns your body—
 does this fierce color of cruelty anger you?
  
 If you could walk wonderfully,
 reasoning through everything,
 would you flee this earth?
 The thought comes — the Creator bound you all with wisdom,
 chained you tight with mighty force.
 Good thing too — you stayed bound, remained beside us as friends.
 Some day, if I spend
 the whole day by your side,
 laughing, standing still like you,
 quietly, how would that be?
 People would say, Look there, see the madman!
 Let them! Who understands why the kite of longing flies?
  
 Standing all day long,
 do your feet grow tired?
 Do you wish to sit a while, lie down and rest—
 stretch out, let weariness
 fade away?
 One thing — what do you do when night comes?
 When night descends like this, do you fall asleep just so?
 Or do you stay awake like me?
 Do you guard the night, holding back the day?
 Do you lift your head to see the moon?
 Do you listen to silent wind's stories, chasing sleep away?
 Or in your branches where
 birds make their homes—
 do you eavesdrop on love?
 When birds love well, what do they say?
 When winter leans into your body,
 leaves fall like tears from fountain-eyes,
 do you weep in terrible pain?
 When monsoon rains raise their song in endless streams
 at your feet, how does it feel?
 When sunlight flares up, Uncle Sun's temper blazes,
 do you burn terribly?
  
 Trees, you are so good,
 giving so much freely, forgetting self-interest,
 no one kept count, what a shame.
 We live by your mercy,
 sleep in death in your shade,
 weave you into heroic bodies,
 weave you into life's tenderness.
 May people become like trees—
 with this prayer, I come today.