My Banana Tree

my banana tree

stands blithely free

it is ought to be

nothing more

than an ornament for

a green ground of grass

but no one hears

the low whispers

of its wobbling leaves

when the wind grumbles

through each one of them

from east to west

when the hiss rumbles

the big green arms

click their fingers

and clap their hands

telling stories

only I can hear

from the other side

of my half open window

 

My banana tree

mutters to me

a sound that flickers

all the secrets

the sky’s breath puffs

into my bedroom world