Ode to a Tree
If I were to be a child of nature, I'd choose to be a tree.
A flower dies an ugly death: it turns brown, then wrinkles up until there's no more smooth space left on its once silky body. In life it's fragile; it's spine, malleable; its voice, weak. Its kind of beauty is frail and passing, eventually reduced to a byte of memory in our heads after the grace wilts away with the beauty.
A tree, on the other hand, speaks of a wisdom man can never achieve by himself. Trees have heard sacred whispers floating in the wind and secrets sung by nightingales. They have stood proud for centuries, and in their silence, have cultivated the wisdom of the ages. Their wrinkled bark is in no way unsightly for it speaks of a resilient and steadfast rule in the kingdom of flora and fauna.
If I were a tree, I can give shade and shelter, ingest man's carbon dioxide, and provide him with twin molecules of oxygen necessary for his respiration. I can prevent raging waters and loose earth from ruining man's life and livelihood. I can spread my branches toward the sky and let the leaves, in their rustling, tell the secrets of nature for the benefit of those who seek answers to life's mysteries. I can bear witness to a love some would carve on my bark. I won't complain of sappiness for I, myself, am sappy. After all, it's in my genes. (Forgive my feeble attempt at humor; I see it's something trees aren't born with.) I can bear the brunt of a frustrated individual; I can take more punches than man could ever throw. I can be a shield against the temperamental wind. I can be a shoulder to lean on; I can carry that weight. I can absorb man's tears and even shed some of my own in resonance with his grief. I can be anything you want. I'll be everything you want.
I wish to have the enlightened soul of a Druid. Or the omniscience of a Wood Nymph. Or the obdurate arms of Treebeard's kin.
I wish I could be a tree.
A flower dies an ugly death: it turns brown, then wrinkles up until there's no more smooth space left on its once silky body. In life it's fragile; it's spine, malleable; its voice, weak. Its kind of beauty is frail and passing, eventually reduced to a byte of memory in our heads after the grace wilts away with the beauty.
A tree, on the other hand, speaks of a wisdom man can never achieve by himself. Trees have heard sacred whispers floating in the wind and secrets sung by nightingales. They have stood proud for centuries, and in their silence, have cultivated the wisdom of the ages. Their wrinkled bark is in no way unsightly for it speaks of a resilient and steadfast rule in the kingdom of flora and fauna.
If I were a tree, I can give shade and shelter, ingest man's carbon dioxide, and provide him with twin molecules of oxygen necessary for his respiration. I can prevent raging waters and loose earth from ruining man's life and livelihood. I can spread my branches toward the sky and let the leaves, in their rustling, tell the secrets of nature for the benefit of those who seek answers to life's mysteries. I can bear witness to a love some would carve on my bark. I won't complain of sappiness for I, myself, am sappy. After all, it's in my genes. (Forgive my feeble attempt at humor; I see it's something trees aren't born with.) I can bear the brunt of a frustrated individual; I can take more punches than man could ever throw. I can be a shield against the temperamental wind. I can be a shoulder to lean on; I can carry that weight. I can absorb man's tears and even shed some of my own in resonance with his grief. I can be anything you want. I'll be everything you want.
I wish to have the enlightened soul of a Druid. Or the omniscience of a Wood Nymph. Or the obdurate arms of Treebeard's kin.
I wish I could be a tree.
posted by haiku @ 6:48 PM
6 Comments:
Read mo yung book ni Shel Silverstein "The Giving Tree." I think you'd like it :) It's a children's book. Available siya sa Power Books
Read mo yung book ni Shel Silverstein "The Giving Tree." I think you'd like it :) It's a children's book. Available siya sa Power Books
I've read that book in grade school yata? :) It's a very nice story.
ODE TO THE OCEAN
If I were a child of nature, I would be the ocean simply because it could be massive and powerful and on the other hand, it could also be calm and pleasant.
Like the ocean, I would like to constitute the principal part of the entire hydrosphere.
Is the ocean even a child of nature? I think it's more like the father.
Did you know the sound and movement of ocean waves may be called poetry in motion? It may be a tool or a lesson to teach a form of Japanese poetry. Poeple could actually listen to the ocean to inspire them in writing their own haiku.
OK. This comment only shows that I have nothing else to do here at work other than blog surfing. lol
i love this post, haiks. another winner!
drenixx-- I love the ocean, too! Still, I'd rather be a tree. Oceans choke people. I've never heard of a tree that strangled a person. Kidding aside, the sound of the ocean can surely conjure up anyone's muse. :)
joon-- Hah! Speak for yourself, you mutant, you... ;D
Mike-- Thanks. I was staring out the window, for some reason mesmerized by our neighbor's Sampaloc tree when the words came. Maybe the Sampaloc tree was channeling through me. ;)
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