Roots of Memory

By Manjari Singh

I am the Banyan tree, standing tall on the earthen ground,

In a village nearby, where I’m easily found

Embracing the surreal wind, 

I stand as a sentinel of an era profound.

I am the Banyan tree, where devotees pray with folded hands,

In a village, where new saplings rise from the fertile lands.

I have seen many boys turn into grooms, moving to the city 

For it is there, they say, their horizon expands.

I am the Banyan tree, enduring wisdom and shelter

In a village, where I stand in the center,

I have witnessed countless goodbyes 

From the rustle of leaves to a mother’s last lullaby.

I am the Banyan tree, conserving nature's soul

In a village, where silence echoes in a hollow whole

I have no friends to talk around

The older generation that stayed is now home-bound

I am the Banyan tree, who embraced the bird chirps

In a village, where new born babies safely burp

With this age and glory, 

I have become a silent observer of a new story.

I am the Banyan tree, whose aerial roots whisper the truth,

In a village left with almost no youth!

My fellow trees have fallen or been cut down;

My shadow grows thinner in the city’s crown

By Manjari Singh