I am becoming a Tree
My arms extended in calling
I branch out in verses
they are shiny fruits hanging
high and low in perspectives
alternating light and dark
I am becoming a Tree
My trunk plants its roots in a garden
I witness moss growing on my feet
they disappear softly within green
circles of brown dissolve within its sheen
Totem of tomorrow’s world sprouts
I am becoming a Tree
Wide branches from keen twigs
absorb the sunshine in waves
they cast no shadows on the seekers
gathering around my rivulets
My waters are shared with all
I am becoming a Tree
I am sunshine and rain
I gather feathers and fluff
as the nightbirds hold in me home
Sizzling thoughts in me roam
I bear the smooth and the rough
I am becoming a Tree
I climb giddily towards the skies
Though my roots coil me to the ground
in sweet harmonious belonging
my leaves rustle in the clouds
I am bustling prayers and shrouds
Reading of the poem:
Stormy times
The lightning runs free
breaks the tree
slow exchange
From wilderness will to change
rainbows cover me
I give light
A token of peace
within me
reaches out
A stirring fills me throughout
budding gift to flout
Eyelids stir
remembrance of days
when we were
twined relays
My feathers offer solace
I dwell within grace
Reading of the poem:
The rhythm is that of the wind against the fallen leaves like a banshee wailing. Her mind syntonises with it finally as she picks up pieces of the shattered glass in front of her. There is no saying how much time the wind will continue to blow relentless. Her mind blows with the wind, flying high in the sky gathering momentum. At the same time her body continues to mechanically operate on its own. She carefully stacks the pieces of shattered glass in front of her and starts her daily work of repairing the window pane again.
She must have repaired it a hundred times yet every sunrise, the storm strikes at the same place again with the tree breaking through the window instantly killing her husband yet another time. Every day she wakes up again with the agony of knowing that she will again witness the scene of her husband’s death. The torture of knowing that initially numbed by the pain of his horrific death all she will be able to do is pick up the pieces of the shattered glass and start repairing the window as if to negate that it happened at all pursues her daily. She lives dreading the moment of initial sunshine which once made both her husband and her so happy.
She realises that she will never be able to grieve the loss of her husband as by the time she has finished repairing the window it is night time again and she falls asleep, exhausted. The first days that it happens, she does not remember exactly what has occurred but is only left with a sense of foreboding. Upon waking up that sense of foreboding slowly grows throughout the first week although it remains quite hazy. As time goes by , however, memories of the day before play back with excruciating precision.
She usually wakes up already knowing what will happen and totally helpless as she watches the events unfold. All she can do is repair the window in a wild and desperate hope that the next time, maybe at least once, it will not give way as the tree comes crashing through. Some days she would work her fingers sore until the nails almost peel and her fingers bleed and yet the next morning she would wake up to perfectly manicured fingers, her stomach tense with the knowledge of the oncoming onslaught.
Her mind soars higher as her fingers work swiftly repairing the window pane. She feels the moment when the night descends softly around her body that falls back on the bed. She watches as she lies almost lifeless her breath ragged as she struggles to overcome the sleepiness. Yet the slumber slowly overcomes her and her breath becomes more peaceful. It is the darkest point of the night now. Soon the killer dawn will strike again. She watches the body of her husband turn around and embrace her body.
Something inside her chest expands and she feels it stirring her body as she looks onward. The sun is about to rise and the winds are still howling. Her mind continues its wild jig with the winds. She knows that as the sun rises the storm will pick up strength and the tree will fall over breaking through the window pane. Her mind stills itself as the winds continue howling. The first rays of the sun pierce the horizon.
She opens wide her mouth and as it slowly rises she finally swallows the sun and the storm slowly loses its strength. Darkness falls all around as heat scorches her mind. She can feel the light exploding throughout her skull. She clenches her jaws as her mind maintains its stranglehold on the sun. The tree never moves again. She rolls her tongue softly over the blisters on her tongue. In the darkness beside her she can hear the soft breath of her husband. She utters a soft sigh and turns toward him holding him tight.
I am back to my initial challenge of 10 aquarelles and have taken as subject a cherry blossom branch given the recent synchronicity on cherry trees. This time I combined alla prima type of painting with wet on dry painting.
It occurred to me that just looking at pink made me cheerful. Perhaps that is where the French saying « voir le monde avec des lunettes roses » (meaning looking at the world with rose-coloured glasses) comes from 🙂
I hope you will enjoy the painting and the typical song I thought would accompany it well.
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Geetha Balvannanathan's Blog - Isis Tratum 
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