a poem by Remigius de Souza

In sublime silence
a sapling sustains
on the breasts of earth
and also helps others.

A leaf fallen in the soil
goes beyond being garbage.
A seed fallen in the soil
resurrects is not a monument.

The tree, in the concrete
jungle that perpetuates
in itself on the streets,
has but no posterity.

How do I, in this urban jungle,
even as an intelligent being,
come to terms in any way
with my life – as an I – being-
that is not mine any way?