The Separation

And as the tiny stem fell down with a weep, the tree felt its pain.

There it lay by the roots, lifeless struggling in the torments of death and separation,

Trying to submerge into the realities which once gave it birth.

Making it rain as the tree shed tears through the moist dew which sat on the leaves.

Till it saw a thrust of breeze taking it away from him. 

Off they blew...the vulnerable little bodies.

In the anguish of their youth who had danced through the most subtle touches of the same breeze.

Astonished, how a simple transition from green to brown marked the end of all their joys.

Grew the stem apart, from the branch whose strength it had always trusted, which had held it all its life.

And as for the tree, it still had the pretentious look

The muscular branches flaunting fake pride, being adorned of stems all their lives.

Yet deep down, what flows in its veins is a fear.

As it awaits another separation in the hands of the breeze,

Making its pride turn into dust, every time its mother gallops another one of its broken stems, the shreds of its pride.