Ginkgo tree, thee have no speech. For this poem
Is silent in peace.
How can you ever talk?
Of the journeys and trails you have walked.
And how much blood in the rain
You have been washed.
Let me speak for what dusted six feet under your feet of soil
I.
I wore diamonds and brought my fine china
For the birth of your baby
On the same day,
Will my son come pack his things and run
To the old ginkgo tree.
One’s life starts and one’s undone.
I’m strong like a tree and I am downed.
With all my fine china and fresh linen.
Where have all the “I”s gone?
To pursue the same desire as I have owned
As bright as those dull silver.
they were put on soil of the dead dragons,
Thinking at the center of universe.
My people have become,
Western champagnes popped out,
their liquids spray with bubbles and cluster around
Lying on the ginkgo ground.
Rain was fire, humans are wooden.
The earth shattered as the sky opened,
but the Ginko tree stands still.
II.
Me and my kin;
Smiling with the sins of grounding
The glorious sparring of flames and dust.
There in the branches, look at the amber whispers;
Smell the cinnamon-kissed pumpkin, taste the smoky bonfire.
Beneath the tapestry of golden scent’s embrace,
We find solace, a sacred space
Memories, like leaves, fall in a dance
so divine.
Beneath our feet,
A melody in every line.
III.
I am not dreaming of this thing,
A blackbird flew to the ginkgo tree,
And another
And another
Another.
Until the ginkgo tree becomes a corpse of burnt branches.
Golden paint covered by the mean black.
Numbers, sequence.
The streams of the flames stopped,
Just to mock the bizarre blackbirds streaming as they scream
Breaking the lavender sky.
Soaking the soil, into the worst foil
The metal penetrate into the carbon and oxygen
Every breath taken is the act of redemption.
The blackbirds twittered and twittered,
Deafened the old ginkgo,
Blinding the fine china,
Anosmiating the kins.
IV.
I am here in time and along the time
Like a melody line
And here lies the end.
Of a thriving death.