The Date Palm Tree

You are a new palm leaf
Fresh and green
But I am old
And dates I’ve seen
And branches before me
Cut to the ground.
Generations lost
No longer around
Their memory there
Marked on the tree
Now stubs on the trunk
Of history.
And I see that our stories
Blend into one
With you at your height
And I, almost gone.
The man with the turban
Climbing so fast
He cuts me away
And into the past.