They hear its faint sound - Ayman Al-Atoum

The valley was wrapped around with withered trees, yet they remained green throughout their lifetime that exceeded hundreds of years… I stood before an ancient Zilab tree, and I addressed all the departed in it, from my grandfather to my grandmother, to my aunt, to our neighbor’s donkey, to my friend’s dog, to our neighbor’s cat, to my brother’s parrot: This ancient tree has witnessed you all. You have departed, and she remains… You drank from the water of death, and she continues to be watered from the water of life… You withered, and she remained lush… You stopped giving at the limit of rest, and she kept giving as if she draws her existence from the river itself… You sprouted from your roots and fell on your foreheads into the pits of earth, and she kept digging her roots into the soil and her branches’ heads into the vast space… You are perishing, and she is still enduring… And I, too, will depart, and she will witness my departure as well, so do not go far, for my time to stay is short, but my time of loneliness is very long… And at every bend in these paths, the tree extends a branch to whisper in my ear: This is life… This is life…!! When you extend my body in the grave, pause a little before you heap earth on it, read a final verse over it to soothe its last heartbeat, for its heart carried only love, and it was only filled with love, and it complained and was annoyed not. It remained content until it rested in contentment; then point to my lying body and say: This is life… This is life…!! The Arab Institute for Studies