Imagine a big old oak tree spreading its branches where the road bends.
Post holocaust,unknown German village.
It is standing there for years and years now.
Witnessed the joy, conviviality of the villagers,
witnessed deaths,audacious Nazis and sorrows.
The old woody tree survived the events brought to it by time.
Long cold harsh winter,low water.
Blissful rain.
It was there for the farmers providing a rejuvenating shade.
It was there for shy lovers.
It was there when the farmers became soldiers
and farmlands were ruined by the British incendiaries.
Helpless,harmless tree was engulfed in flames and no one was there for him.
Why would some one be there for a tree when human lives were in real jeopardy.
But somehow it is still standing.
Lost its graceful green leaves.
Lost the bird nests.
Left with numerous irrecoverable scars.
He is left with pain and desolation.
The village is now annihilated.Hardly a sign of life.
This is a victory for the other side of this war-game.
Flying fortresses did not take much time to obliterate such a small target.
The new science is perplexing,isn't it?
The farmers are gone,lovers separated.
The Third Reich have fallen from its grace.
Mr.Woodstock,a septuagenarian still lives in hope
and tries to be happy for the days left.
Loves to walk, play with his dog,still have swift legs and is neatly dressed.
Mrs.Woodstock,she died.
And the younger ones never felt the urge to look back.
His life still moves on languidly.
And he recollects even though there's nothing much left.
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