The Green Trees

By Shragvi Yadav

Green trees, the free trees, the tall trees,

Brown trunks, old trunks, strong trunks,

So still, so serene and never dead.

Sun pours onto the wooden floors— 

Simple days, the cotton dress, and the white doors,

The drum beats, the strum as she flows,

Flows through the waterless, soaked shores,

I long for the green trees, the free trees, the tall trees,

Light enough for me to know my love for the unborn night.

Rubber mats, warm steps, windows enough to birth a flight,

Words enough to overwrite it all,

Green trees, the free trees, the tall trees,

Brown trunks, old trunks, strong trunks,

So still, so serene and never dead.

So alive. So alive. So alive and barely even dead.

Warm winds, foreign storms, overdid surgeries,

Bare feet, young storms, I have a home in this grief.

Green trees, free trees, tall trees—I long for the green trees.

By Shragvi Yadav