Poetry
Beloved Oak — You Stand Steady in the Storms of Life
Ode to an oak tree
Oak tree of my childhood While I shed tears You shed your leaves The seasons turned Life’s endless cycle
Tiny feet scrunched Autumn Hands Picked acorns Unaware of Nature’s nurture
Your bare winter limbs Waved at me through Frosted window panes
I knew your leaves Would grow again Not knowing then I would grow too
You sheltered me Shade of leaves Now green Your solid trunk My anchor in a world Devoid of comfort
Life moved on and I was gone To another country Beyond the pain Safe and loved again
But you never left me Nor I you Lingered in my dreams My heart No distance Could keep us apart
Decades on I saw you Smaller now through Older eyes Battle-scarred Yet wiser
I’d weathered storms Here I stood Before you Bowed — not broken Greeted you One last time
I held your trunk Heard you whisper “You have grown”
We bade farewell And I returned to Africa
Five decades on Once more an oak A distant cousin Welcomed me when I lost hope Waved to me Through the window Of new pain
Beloved oak You remind me Spinning through seasons Spring will come again And bring rebirth
“An oak tree is an oak tree. That is all it has to do. If an oak tree is less than an oak tree, then we are all in trouble.” — Thich Nhat Hanh
When sorting through images on my laptop, I discovered photo’s I’d taken five years ago of an oak tree which stood solid and timeless on the far side of the spruit (small river). Being on fenced municipal property next to the apartment complex where I lived, I could only reach it through a camera lens.
Life was tough. I’d lost my job (against my will), having reached the official retirement age of 65. Finding alternative employment was impossible — though I tried.
Money was tight. Anxiety prowled on the edges of my mind, ready to pounce.
That oak tree kept me grounded as I watched her changing through the seasons. Much as her cousin in England had comforted me in my early childhood.
She reminded me I can change too; encouraged me not to falter.
That’s how I became a writer.
And why I wrote this poem.
Thank you for being here.
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