I want to ask
Every old oak
I pass along the road
To tell me the stories
About those who sheltered in their shade
Were they crying in pain
Laughing in high spirits
Lost along the way
Filled with unexpressed shame
Never will I get answers
The tree can only tell its tales
When the roots are separated from the main
I want to whisper
To every passing wave
Sweeping the sandy beaches in every tide
To tell me the stories
About who played in its surf
What organism claimed its bottom as its
turf
Soaking up the summer heat
Skipping out a winter beat
Every drop salty sweet
Hiding life in unusual ways
Never will I get answers
The ocean can only have a voice
When I am ready to step beyond the dry ways
By Simone Beatrice Naik Noemdoe, 2013-01-27
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