If trees could speak,
I bet you a pink two thousand rupees that
They would always be singing.
Why waste precious photosynthesised energy in trying to pronounce human dialects
When they could be drumming with their branches and jingling their leaves
All the while humming some heavenly melody?
But whether the songs they would be singing, will be of joy or of sorrow, that's hard to say.
Will the joy of being alive radiate through their songs transforming this concrete cold city into a concert, joyous and lively?
Or will the pain of losing their fellow trees lead them down the steps of unending sorrow
Every song; a kiss of despair?
It's hard to say
Or is it?
-