The Statue of Loss




There it dwells still and wry, On top of the hillside, alone and leafless I wonder often if it was once alive? In snowy winter, it ignores the breath of air A brave heart defying death without any fear. Quiet as a seer who has turned pale Whose wisdom speaks, through stories and tales Rests quietly in solitude, Oh! the mass of wood That once touched the sky, as high as it could. Birds came and dwelt, their progeny learnt to fly, All branches shook and danced To the rhythm of birdies’ merry cry. The grandeur of stump speaks of days When it once was green Offered fruits to many, its branches wrapped in leaves Had a majestic canopy, that shone bright at night How splendid was its bloom, in days full of light. Oh! that marvel on the cliff is lost like a dream, Beauty meant to be rejoiced Is exploited for human greed. Now a sad lonely stub, a statue of loss, Rests in peace on the barren hill top Whenever at leisure I go to the hill side, It recites to me how proudly it stood When once it was alive.