Near the withered tree, where I got down to pee..

He stands on the roadside.
He stands there all day looking at people heading to Infocity.
He keeps looking at students driving to CEB,
shouting and singing on the way,
and those who get down from their bikes to pee.

But no one looks at him,
he is unnoticed, by the citizens,
and immigrants of the place.
Was he always a withered tree, or was he someday a colorful one, which people wished to throw a look, and lovers looked at his flowers with a hope to get some for their girlfreinds?

To citizens, he's just a non-living object, that lies on the roadside. Most of 'em never found out, that he's is actually rooted to the soil, rooted to the history of this place, since the long years when we weren't here.

Yes, he's non-living, 'cause he's not a Homo Sapien. He's literally a 'it', not a 'he'. I realized this as soon as I found that I started the post with a 'he' and ended up with 'it's and later corrected them.

Today, lets forget its a 'it'. Lets make it a 'he', just for an hour and let's hear the story, it has to tell.. Let me pen down its biography for you to ponder, we're not alone, let alone realize we're selfish.

He started off some 20 years back; just when we popped out at some hospital, he opened his eyes beside his mother. We learned to walk, run, talk and scream. We started moving around. He got rooted to the soil.
His mother grew older besides him. He was happy within the dense forest, and he being a small kid was loved by all. Every morning sun-rays came in through the leaves of his mother and caressed his small twigs.

A narrow bent road through it, most part of it shady. Villagers went by, rested in the shade. Some played cards and fled home before dusk, letting him, his mom and neighbors rest in place, with animals of the wild among them to take sleep.

One day, engineers arrived, and surveyed the area. He never figured out, his happy days were going to end. He would never know, trees around the city were cut down to make space for new human beings that were born and migrated into the city. The next day, men started axing his mother who was quite old now. He could do nothing but just watch her fall down, when those government officials killed her. He couldn't cry, 'cause he hasn't got eyes. His neighbors were slaughtered and their bodies taken away to build stuff.

He got depressed, not able to withstand the massacre of his friends.

In a few days, his tears dried up.

In another few days, he got used to 'losing his friends'.
He got used to not crying while watching his other friend die.

He was lucky. He was rooted at a place where the government hadn't planned to place tar and gravel.
He wasn't going to be killed, at least for quite many days.

Those villagers didn't come, no more playing cards. He missed it.
He was pissed off with the noise that automobiles made, that traveled everyday. Smoke filled the place, and he figured out, he cant breathe.

Life had become hard. He struggled to see his people die. He struggled to live his early life, the routine one.
And now he struggled for fresh air.

Days went by. More misery came. Humans have a quote. "Time heals all pain". But alas, that never worked for him.

He figured out, there was something wrong with the environment. And that, the climate wasn't good to him as well. He grew older, lost leaves.

Now, all of his neighbors are no more. Killed and deported. He still stands alone. He's not strong. He's not afraid. He's not lucky anymore. But he doesn't care, that he's the next one to be felled. Because he is rooted to the space meant for a highway, not for his village.What's life, if you were all alone and lost all your folks? Would you even care to live?

May be, in a couple of months he won't stand there anymore. And a 18-wheeler truck be parked over the place, while its roots lay underneath rotting, and preserving the pain of his lifetime...

Where are we heading to?