Neem Tree

The charms of life are long gone, I sit in the library and feel dead. The norms of normalcy have disappeared, I feel lost and clueless. I have found myself abandoned before, but this time it's different. So far away, with no eyes to look into for truth, with no face to look at for reassurance, with to one to speak to about pain - I am alone, and that's who I am.

Little Rubina loved the Neem tree in the backyard. She swung from its branches and under its shade she played with her dollhouse. Neither the Afternoon sun nor the cold winds of the evening hurt her, the leaves sang to her and she danced like a top to the tune of the summer breeze. When she grew up some more, she found dreams hanging from its branches. She'd sit for long hours under the aging tree and contemplate her future. One day she fell in love with some rowdy boy in the her street, and together they etched their names on the tree she adored. The Neem din't bleed but she knew it hurt him, she ran her fingers over the etched love story and blew soothingly where the skin of the bark had come off. On another day not long from then, she came home angry and scratched the bloody boy's name off her beloved tree. In both her joy and in her sorrow the Neem had swallowed pain. Little Rubina was little no more, and yet for the Neem she was. When dreams from the branches bore fruit, she packed her bags and sang goodbye. The Neem did not shed a drop of tear. Pain had always been invisible.

And so I sit smiling in confused abandonment, no tree here is good enough for me.