The Last Tree

By Kavya Mehta

The scorching sun blazes above,

my once bright green canopy.

I watch the people who once

lay beneath my shade

now stare at me in awe.

Where birds hummed

and laughter once bloomed,

now remains a hollow dusk-

a quiet, melancholy silence.

Not yet a corpse, no,

still I rot,

as I see people drawing

a beaming tree on paper.

The last of green,

the last of me.

My crown hardens

and dries.

I plead to God

for a merciful death,

Than to rise just to rust

In this torturous life.

For even dying,

I breathe for them.

By Kavya Mehta