Century Tree

Century Tree

060207

 glenmore bacarro

We have a cactus at our door.

And a man called it a century tree.

"That's not a tree I insist"

But the man grinned and left me.

I wonder why the man smiled and left.

Leaving me puzzled with the tree he named.

He walked just like a bum.

But he talked more like a prophet.

I looked at the tree on its tiny pot.

And wonder how old is it.

I remember then when grandma told me.

"That plant had been there since I was twenty"

Awe lifted me.

How a 60 year old tiny tree? (?)

Survived more years than me?

I wonder with my age of twenty.

Am I to live more than thee?

Century tree who suffered,

life's indifference.

You are contented,

On the tiny world

Where you lay.

Where sun burns you.

And rain denies you.

How in life you survived?

By eating your own flesh?

By drinking your own blood?

Your stings then protect you.

From my sinful hands of dirt.

Now maybe I know.

Why he called you a century tree.

For I may live and leave this world,

Still you sit on your tiny pot.

Living with sorrows and pains,

Witness for hellos and goodbyes.

For as long as the rain won't drown you.

For you water is death.

For as long as the sun won’t hide.

For you shade is drought.

For as long as your ugly mask don't break.

For you glory is to prick.

You will never bleed.