Barely past my prime I stand upon
this cruel land of dust and bricks, all alone.
My leaves already have started to curl
with whispers of yellow, hardly audible,
spreading from their edges towards my veins
but the thought of death gives me no pain.
For years I have seen how the city grows,
while my kind was hunted down for human cause,
so inhumanly. I have witnessed too
how open spaces shrunk to quench their greed.
The humans have spared me, I don’t know why,
letting me to live and burn from inside
with a fatal thirst from my roots to buds,
the monsoon last year was too dry and harsh.
Each year now is drier than the last, although
when I was born, I remember the wind
was temperate, neither hot nor too cold,
here, in my childhood and adolescence,
the rain fell in plentiful abundance.
Through human greed the place has now become
an ocean, dead and vast, of barren sand,
what was once a firm stretch of fertile land.
Still amid the receding snow lines around the world
feeling sad for the death of a single tree would seem too rude.