The old tree and the murky sky
Looked at me and asked the question
Who are you?
Not the name. Everyone knows the name.
Who are you underneath.
Do you know? They asked.
What makes you think I am answerable to you?
What gives you power over me?
The tree. You are old and weak.
You have no time left here.
The sky. It’s approaching twilight.
You will soon disappear into darkness.
Why should I listen to you?
I might be gone, but my seeds will remain.
I will leave behind more than I ever had in this life form, the tree said.
I looked at the sky. The emotionless canvas stretching towards infinity.
The darkness might consume me but I will still fight.
And rise from within it, like a phoenix, the sky chuckled at my contempt.
It was approaching twilight.
The tree already looked dead. The sky sad.
I was angry. My thoughts were not clear.
I could not stand it any more. I reached for the blinds.
One last glimpse out of the window before I shut the view.
There was a lot of movement outside.
Birds were making their way home.
No one would surely want you as their home, I laughed at the tree.
The tree did not respond. It was dead by now.
The only thing I could hear was incessant squawking.
A pandemonium of parrots rushed by, interrupting my moment of victory.
I looked on as they made their way into the holes in that tree.
The tree, which I thought was dead, looked at me and smiled.
Who are you, it asked one last time before falling into darkness.
Do you like when it sparkles, asked the sky.
I looked at the stars as they shone in my eyes.
The sky was looking spectacular.
Darkness did not consume it. Neither did it try to fight darkness.
It accepted the night the way it is and turned it into something beautiful.
My ego could not stand it any longer. I finally pulled the blinds.
The tree was not dead. The sky was not sad.
They were in a state of calm.
A state of calm I always strive to achieve.
Why do they talk to me?
How are they so composed while I am so angry?
What gives them the power to make good of such adversities?
The answers would come, I thought.
But only if I know the right questions to ask.
I could see it now. The reason for my anger. The cause behind my discontent.
It was not the sky. It was not the tree.
It was me asking that question to myself.
Who are you?