"If you cut me, do I not bleed?
If you hit me, do I not hurt?"
These words have become the shame of my existence.
I hear a tree falling, the roots are dying.
Aparently, the shameless inhabitants have flown away.
What cause the tree to fall I wonder?
It was not just the thunder but the heavy burden of its branches,
the sharp leaves that cut the tree.
Oh wonderful were the yesteryear under its shade.
Safe, guided, giving, the fruits it beared.
In a brink of an eye, I saw monsters rising from the place where safe haven lay.
A year without fruit, the stuborness of its growth that tore the mighty.
Oh I shall blame the roots that have gone astray,
the branches are dying from your extravance they said.
While we also cry about the cruety of the time,
Lets not forget that the cuts that one closer make are always the deepest.
Oh how bad were these past year, I may never truly know.
A shadow of what was, the last smell of this blossoms.
I see a titan suffocating, the branches on ground, no fruits to bear, no shade to give.
There it shall remain, what was once my home, now a place of shame.
