Trees

These trees, they live a history of their own.

The decrepit marks on their barks,

Their ever broad canopy 

Their infinite existence.

In a dark forest lane all alone,

Where silence is a foe,

And sound a phantom.

These immortals are your only barren company,

Looks at their barks wit

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h battle scars,

Their haunting branches.

Listen to their silence

Feel their daunting chatter.

Aren't they angels in day?

Isn't their silence a pleasure in light?

It never feels the same in night.

Time has been a witness

Never have they hindered someone in need.

Nor will they be angels when you plead.