Glens and Forests
He had walked them all, endless
forests and narrow ravines
the open glens and little brush-woods
old Stefan had known them all
by their first names, tree trunks he
had spoken to, the bark of ageless
spruces he had scarred, numerous
times he strode over ravines and
deep crevasses and over rocks and
steep hills and boulders he rumbled
old Stefan knew the forests well
these trees which had felt the sharp
axe since the primordial years
when the first man decided to build
his abode, back then when profit
wasn’t anywhere to be earned
when the ugliness of money wasn’t
anywhere to be amassed when he
the tree feller didn’t have to do this
to earn a living but only to dig a canoe
out of it and not before he would
hug the trunk of that gigantic tree and
beg its forgiveness, yes there was once
an innocent world that transformed
itself after the tall ships arrived in these
lands and the people who carry with
them the holy book and their greed
created the trade of a tree feller who
after many years of cutting the life
of a living organism still stands in awe
each time he gazes at the proud height
of trees with their centuries-old wisdom
like that first day when a youth he looked
in awe at the skyward direction
of the trees, he was meant to fell
since this was inscribed on his tablet
a tree feller to become a not consenting
insignificant killer among all others
old Stefan now recalls he too lived
among the alive, he too felt the choking
agony of the ageless spruce when it fell
one day he too will be forgotten, like
his trees that became planks for some
to step on yes one day, he will be one
with the grass to be stepped on
by the soles of future tree fellers and
hopefully, they might once listen to his
endless cries or as it’s meant to be:
perhaps never.
Hellenic Canadian Literature 