The Apple Tree
Most of the times, I think for free
with no pencil. Gain and loss steam up
as, with severed arms, I harvest
the ripened fruit.
How can you tell the gender of a tree?
I remember a lazy apple tree
which imagined apples in its armpits
yet it resisted the spring flowers.
Brainless apple tree: its rustle but
sobs and hiccups
of the root pus. An internal sob
for all who reach their purpose
and are happy with the dowry.
If I now mention that apple tree
is because such imagination
of fruit was considered
an insult to nature like heresy
to the dogma of creation.
Desolate tree, unproductive.
They cut it down,
burned it
and its flames lick my last branches
as long as I’m talking to you.
Manolis Aligizakis 