He had inscribed her name on the barks of that tree,
Which has long been felled and a new shrub sits there,
Tell me then, now that her name’s there no more,
Has she been forgotten like the others as well?
When I was young, my father had asked me,
Don’t trees shed their leaves in autumn here,
Just like they shed in their country?
I knew I could tell no lies, and what I should have said,
But do you remember what I told him?
I told him, there are no trees there, father,
Only corpses hanging from the branches of things,
Which once bore leaves, now only bear blood.
Have they been forgotten, every single one of them,
Who made us into what we are today?
I ask you to serenade each and every one of them,
Lest they be forgotten like a stranded island,
Where no one would set foot, but for the likes of us.
But those not human, those like the birds,
Who care not what the island offers,
Impartially they visit, looking for the same things everywhere,
Do you know what we should learn from them?
We should have one goal, only one, towards humanity,
Not towards you, or me, or ourselves as a whole,
But to this world, to this world where we belong.
Let me tell you a story of the forgotten,
Do you remember the people who sailed long ago,
Only to tell us stories of the life this world had to offer?
Do you think they did it for themselves,
Dying in the sun, the storms, the seas and the gales?
I rather think not, but do you remember how they looked,
How they talked and how they craved for their families?
How their wives and children had wailed at their return,
Only to see them not breathing no more.
So let’s promise to ourselves, each one to himself,
And each one to herself, let’s promise to ourselves,
That we’d do something, something greater than the sky.
Or we’d be forgotten like them.