In The Trunk Is The Story Poem by Jayita Bhattacharjee

A melody of ancient oaks,
Though crumbled, it was,
But sang a song that flowed in the breeze.

The savage felling,
A sigh arose from a mighty oak's end.
Oh! How do you honor an oak,
the giver of shade?

With a leap of love, how it shelters
Every pilgrim that sits beneath its shade.
Yet, fallen is the oak with its glory,
As the hungering human fells the oak.
But, in the last breath of life,
the mighty oak streams its melody,
unfelt and unheard by all.

Fierce is the delight of the hearts that hunger,
As the towering oak breaks into pieces,
helpless on the grounds beneath.
The memories it held, of seasons and storms,
Now, sung and re-sung by fallen leaves.

The fierce and fearless oak it seems,
Had fallen in love with the spirit of life.
A beaming smile amid a brutal felling.
To the hand that chops, it gifts its light.

With striking memories ablaze on the leaves.
Upright stood the oak, tall in dignity,
To sing the song of a blessed life.
In my deep, travels its melody,
As autumnal leaves are wrenched
into music.
Plucked is my spirit in the light of life,
As the farewell song streams the last delight.
Deeper and deeper I trudge alone,
Sadness that rested in my eyes,
Now flies as the melancholic sweet.

Sung is its song to the earth around.
Turning my eyes to the tree in the ground,
I hear the language of the leaves
A minaret of strength that once stood tall,
Beautifully towered to reach for the sky.
Every season, and color, it held in the deep.
Fraught was its life with joy and pain,
With knotted memories
Of laughter and agony.

In silent dignity, it stood for ages,
To shelter with shade the wayfarers beneath.
Though deep in pain as humans felled,
Yet the oak covered the wearied souls.
The full-grown tree,
oh, it surrendered to its own grave!

Deep in the forest, away from the clatter,
In silence, I witness its last moments.
An oak so ancient, yet fills my heart,
With music that leaps in the light of its tale.
Sprouting from an acorn,
With its trunk so thick, it reached into deep,
Its boughs mighty, cast huge shades.
In its trunk, it stored its sacred history.

The years of life, opulent and rich,
Now they hold the tale of suffering.
Telling of eternity, it broke free of pain,
As its music flies for time beyond time.
Lit is my soul in the light of its truth.
Deathless its song, in its last breath.
Evergreen its spirit, though felled cruelly,
Embedded in glory on the grounds of eternity.

Deathless are the leaves, even when they fall,
Evergreen are they, though they decay,
In their colors are strung, the timeless melody.
Carved is the oak, on the grounds in eternity.

Living in a body, fallen in the woods,
The oak arose, as deathless in spirit.
Beyond birth and death,
is the ultimate eternal.
With a feral felling, the oak though fell,
But the music remains, streaming in the breeze.