|Oct/Nov 2010 Poetry|
The Nut Tree
The same day when my father was born,
My grandfather planted the nut tree in the garden.
He took a shovel and dug the hole into the lawn.
Then he put the young plant into and covered it.
For a boy, he said, I pray God to be stable and firm
As this nut tree will be.
First thing we did in the war was cutting its branches.
This bony tree was warming us for a long time.
Then Fahro, the carpenter, made a coffin
for my father from its trunk.
The war was over.
In the place where my grandfather planted the nut tree,
The shadow is only what is left.