Forgotten fruits

Trees are never tired of producing 

uneaten, unmattered fruits 

They keep repeating the same old patterns

without any excuse


I feel safe and secured

when I tread upon those small

smashed fruits under my feet

feeling their scream of silence


With those small unnoticed plants

They become pride of thousands of gardens of old farmers

waiting to be named and described in a poem


Until that time

they will appear again next autumn

smashed and tread upon again

with timeless joy and hope

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