None knows my past, except me.
Two centuries old are my veins -
I've seen turmoils, tempest 'n' pains.
I'm witness to revolts, guiltless moan -
Death whispered to people all alone.
I've seen innocents taken to jail -
Fearful nights shuddered in their wail.
Bullet riddled men looking up at sky,
their last dying breath was at nigh.
It pained me that they took that road -
Freedom, pride to be taken by goad.
How could I just lie and be still?
Anger rose from my trunks - I feel.
Know this - I did not silently stay -
Boughs shook in protest as they went away.
I couldn't bear the centuries of wrong -
My boughs like wildfire spread out long.
The black people, the whites' lies blew -
Spread thru' country as time slowly flew.
The fake lions who preyed upon deer,
two centuries after left away in fear.
I'm old - a new tree from every bough -
Days of the past are still alive in me now.
Prasenjit©2022
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