Illustration: Liselle Powder
Wind blows her hair wild like confetti. She flies.
She is on a mission to be in a parade.
The sunrays laminate her skin as it glistens.
Her strides like gazelles on the run for greener pastures.
Her frame like fast forward longing to
leave the past behind, hoping for a brighter future.
Her hands wide open as if a cry of jubilation
to be free from her world.
Her hair is her beauty as she launches,
with great pace for deliverance.
But then, it was just a dream
of being a woman running free.
She’s just a tree, “oh poor me,” she cries.
As the breeze tosses her to and fro,
she has nowhere to go.
“If only,” she says, “at least I tried.
My wish of being human is gone,”
her leaves drooped in pain as she sighs.
