The Crowd’s Tree

It is our tree
The peoples’ tree
All planted it
all watered it too.

It was weeded by the birds
And feed by the cloud
It was our tree
Small tree that grew so tall
Tapping heaven with its leaves
Touch hell with its root

When it wearied, to wither
Heaven offered its benevolent dews.

Our tree
It is indeed our tree
Standing in the middle of our fields
We enjoy the lactations of its breast; its fruits.
We enjoy its embrace
Under its shades.

Our tree
You cure us
You harbour us
You honour us
You feed us
And you are our heritage
Shading us from fierce ray
protecting us from venomous droplets

Our tree
At the center of our hearts
Catching by our eyes with your unending beauty
Wars have not uprooted you
Famine has not withered you
Infestations of colonialism and imperialism
Will not defect your glory
We worship you.
The tree of the crowd.