I´m real, believe me !
” this is not the real me, but the mask (persona) I´m left with, when they cut me down “
I´m real
believe me
I´m still a tree
I grew up in a forest
among other members of my family
I now live in the city
and work in construction
*
the citizens don´t believe me, strangely enough
and pursuaded me that
this is more real
” Who can just stand there ( in a forest )
grow, blossom and come to fruition
without money ? “
– as they so eloquently led the question
to the inevitable conclusion
*
some even believe
that I come from outer space,
what can I say ?
there´s something in the eye,
a sapwood, to say at least,
if not a whole branch…
and, by the way, it´s the other way around …
trees originate from earth,
and grow up to the sky
– within certain limits
*
I´m still haunted by an inescapable feeling,
that there is something strangely familiar
about these money,
printed on…
paper
do I serve them for the good,
or am I cutting down my own family ?