Burnt bark innocence.
Burnt bark innocence.
By Maryam Hedayat
Under the scorn of the sun above
A willow sparks a blaze,
The heat screams to plunder, consuming what it takes.
Yet if you keep an ear to the ground you can hear,
Coddled and caught between its stems
A Child hidden beneath its bark
A hark dwindled in the wind.
Its roots carry down shards of umber,
Red and crimson
To the soles of his feet, they prick and upholster,
He tears swell whilst he smoulders.
The willow weeps clouds of ash,
Into the hands of those who walk by.
Their palms scorch like the child trapped in the tree.
Yet they excuse his pain,
They tell themselves
“He hasn’t earned his keep”.
