Sunday Poem By Emmanuel Mettles

My Tree, Unkilled!

I had a tree,
Green green and yellowish yellow!
Its trunk was tender and tan.
It was ditta bark.
Leaves were as dark as dark as dark!
He waved his hands at the sky,
And scribbled poems in the wind.
In Winter he smelled like amber.
And I went jealous!
A thousand bees danced around,
No birds, I smiled!
But sat under his paradise shade!
Nodded to his alluring scent.
Dears, I was happy, he can’t bear edible fruits!
No pillars can be made of his boughs!
Waited for the Summer and Fall.
Wished to see his bare branches in Autumn winds!
And withered twigs under Summer Sun!
Yet I always smiled at him,
Patted his brownish bark!
Winter, Spring and Summer came,
He stood tall and strong.
He was greenish green,
New born buds were yellowish yellow!
So during an Autmn eve, I slowly picked my axe,
As sharp as sharp as my tongue!
Jabbed, chopped and minced and sold!!
And laughed in triumph!
Fell into slumber peacefully,
forgetting the pieces of his branches bleeding white !
And I kept sleeping for long long days.
……
But, at this dawn, when I Iooked at him from the minaret of my greed,
He stood greenish green,
Yellowish yellow, tender and tan!!
UNKILLED!!