The silence had to guard
the secret of branches,
the gardens and other meeting places,
The whispers, the smirks, the wings, the wet mud and the muddy fingers.

One day in the springs
a day of loneliness overcame
the silence,
Where people enjoyed picnics,
Silence remained like a solitary
house.

It was a small sapling once,
in love with the breeze,
And it's morning kiss,
under the shade of an oak it grew well, 
invisible hands nurtured color and perfume to it,
it was happy, it was pure.

That day in that spring
an insight
penetrated the spirit,
the silence seemed prisoned,
Words stopped to drop,
The tears throbbed the heart,
a hidden voice of agony united,
In that one day, the day in springs.

I approached it,
Sat by it,
Felt a ghost in it,
Separated by thoughts
we sat in unison,
somehow I knew,
In the season of wine it
accidentally tasted vinegar.

Deep in thought it finally 
Looked up,
I smiled, I smiled as if
to a dark cloud or green silk,
It's today was made up of past,
The stink of past had stirred up
It's self-consciousness and hence
it felt lonely,
Lost amongst the bees that
buzzed  around it.