Some trees look like sons to me.
Some like mothers.
Some are daughters, brides,
A few like brothers.
Some are like my grandfather,
Sparsely leafed.
Some like my grandmother
Who threw choori to the crows.
Some trees are like the friends
I used to kiss and embrace.
One is my beloved
Sweet. Painful.
There are trees I would like
To throw on my shoulder playfully,
There are trees I would like
To kiss and then die.
The trees sway together
When strong winds blow.
I wish I could render
Their verdant, leafy language.
I wish that I could
Return as a tree
And if you wanted to listen to my song
I would sing it in the trees.
The trees are like my mother,
May their shade live forever.