We are the Gods who give you life
but we can't take it away
We are the colour that extends to you
in a land so dull and grey.
We are mute and still to you
for from us sounds are never heard
But our leaves rustle in that gentle breeze
sharing the comfort of unspoken words.
We give out the very air you breathe
and take in what you expel
You would have guessed who we are
for that is what the title tells.
We are mute according to you
so definitely aren't here to plead
For We are the source of life
and it is us that You need.
Since reason has failed to work on you
try imagining this scene
Where the World is a barren wasteland
without a hint of green.
It is dying and your machines
help you to linger on for a while
With Earth's resources used up
and land terribly infertile.
Leaving behind an orphaned Earth
you too shall fade away
Losing the Earth to colossal waste
withered and decayed.
The laws are made with none to follow
and dates to conventions set
As the clocks now tick away
with none of the deadlines met.
A dystopian future awaits you
for you do as you please
If you refuse to wake up to listen
to THE CALL OF THE TREES.
She played her flute by the main road
as everyone stood to listen
Swaying like trees to gentle breeze
to this soulful musician.
Her long, slender fingers
ran smoothly on the flute
With the music flowing like magic
as it left everything mute.
She spun tales out of thin air
as her music broke the shackles of misery
Casting a spell on the listeners
with notes bursting to be free.
She appeared out of no where
and came every afternoon
placing her bag of flutes down
and playing a divine tune.
Her music was a prayer to God
a heart felt plea to our souls
It brought heaven to us
and made the incomplete whole.
But once the music stopped
everyone went their way
no one buying a single flute
only to listen to her play.
Still she smiled and continued to play
as her sack of flutes would lie
Her music moving people to tears
and still none would buy.
I stood on the balcony
and listened to her play
Feeling like a patron of arts
I own twenty of her flutes today.
Her 'show' was booked for free
at her coins were tossed
Barely selling flutes
for the flute seller she was.
One day she looked up at me
and gave a bright smile
My heart fluttered and skipped
and stayed thus a while.
The lady had a gift
a gift from our divine maker
Her music was transcendent
but her flutes had no takers.
This went on for months
and then one day she wasn't there
The unnamed flute seller
had vanished into thin air.
Maybe she just gave up
and continued to move on
But the World stood still no more
for her music was gone.
I was afraid to know
of what happened to her
I never tried to look
for the flute seller.
We never exchanged words
for there was nothing to say
I wait to listen
to listen to her play.
