Witness -
The freshness lasts only till spring.
But there is beauty in death and withering.
In how the snow softens the skeletons.
Hiding the decay, under a soft fresh layer of white.
I have, over time, walked under many canopies -
some with strangers, others with friends,
with the one to whom I’ve surrendered my heart,
and others with whom I am bound to by my blood.
Then again often in the company of my own thoughts—Each time a different version—
A different storyteller, a different listener.
You meet them only on these walks!
I used to wonder of the many records
that those tall trees hold,
the numerous historic events,
Exchanges that could leave you stranded,
a witness under them fine layers!
I wonder if as sentient beings
Observing us sapiens affected their sentiment.
If they looked at us in resentment or–
they meagerly comisserated our existence.
A few recorded acts of love and kindness,
Ventures of bravery and stupidity..
but many witnessed cruelty and lack of empathy.
my heart aches to remind you–
not every act of kindness is reciprocated
your company is meagerly another traveller.
Greif is a part of every tale,
inflicted pain is an act of conscious choice.
Anger is consequential, but so is the way.
And you get to decide which one you take.
