There is a lone tree,
half its roots coming out of the loose soil in the promontory...
Well it seems to be a powerful one,
a girth as wide and majestic, as would proclaim a kingly feel...
The tree, it is visible,
very close, but a little ahead,
a little beyond the reach,
slowly ebbing away...
The whole dusk, in which it is visible,
a pale shadow, of past and present,
and a pale hue of future...
Smoke rises, it has been doing so,
ever since those very many quakes shook the little place...
The silent stream of water,
now a swamp, then a river,
silent, ghastly silence...
Something terrible has happened,
because though overtly strong and imposing,
it seems there is an overwhelming sea of deathly presence,
a foreboding phenomenon surrounding the tree...
Smoke is not rising,
but it floats sideways...
it doesn't seem to be from a fire,
as fire is life,
and life is an absentee...
I move closer, to get a better look...
The fog, the blanket token of death,
the smoke, rising here and there,
and carried into the east,
where still, lies darkness pervading the whole expanse...
The little stream slithers across the ground,
water is flowing, ever so slowly,
as though it is still,
and the only crests are my canoe's doing...
Down the upstream course, I travel,
to look at this tree, from which it looks as though
smoke flows into the east...
Now I am near,
and see that veiled monstrous stream,
it ever so gradually pulls down the once mighty roots,
the arteries of the dying tree...
Fog has cleared,
as I have neared the tree,
and what I see is withering leaves,
in the Crimson horizon,
flowing away silently to their fall,
floating away with the Eastern breeze,
and all the majesty seems lost,
rocked by the recent quakes...
All that remains is a dying tree,
with roots in mire,
and leaves taking the darkness' call,
and a sole living witness,
watching the tree take slowly,
the impending fall...
© Karthik Adithya Singaraju