Art: ‘When the Trees Spoke’ by Manrique Saravia

MANRIQUE SARAVIA 3rd PLACE HIGH SCHOOL (TIE)

When The Trees Spoke

I stand tall, mighty, and silent.
My roots grip the soil beneath me.
I could not flee.
I could not smile.
I could not speak.
But I could see.
I could hear.
And I could feel.
My leaves rustled with the cheers of fighting voices.
My bark grew stronger as walls and barriers fell.
As seasons change, I don’t just age, I remember and protect.
Just look at my rings, they won’t let you forget.
The past rings I hold still ache from their yells.
The soil beneath me lay flat from their boots.
Heard a girl cry, sobbing into her hands.
She wrote in her diary, fear pressed onto paper,
Hiding behind a bookshelf, afraid to breathe.
My branches watched as her people were fooled by promises,
Not of life, but only of smoke and gas.
Her words remained when her body gave out.
I watched her persevere when the world was at war.
Stronger than any soldier, my rings continue to tell her lore.
I felt the city become an inferno.
I watched people evaporate, turned to vapor.
The roots that hold me together, stained with blood
The blood of a people so innocent and pure.
The explosion had ruined them; there was no doubt.
But they rebuilt, their ashes turned to hope
Hope turned to a new version of themselves.
The blast charred my bark too.
As my scars healed and grew new green,
I spoke to the wind,
Told it to carry the strengthof my leaves,
Because one who rebuilds also believes.
When I gained this ring, I watched horror unfold.
A girl came to me, her head carrying an oppressor’s mark.
A pencil and paper held tightly in her palm.
Her soft whispers descended down my trunk.

Help me.

Help them.

Help us.
Soon enough, her cries raced beyond the horizon,
Finding other girls like her, who only knew silence.
I feared her words would burn.
She watched them read, write, and learn.
I wanted to follow the people who ran.
Following one woman, the plan had begun.
She led them into the night.
Hidden beneath my soil, I heard them,
But they were nowhere in sight.
My roots are becoming their guide.
The woman smiled, her eyes full of tears.
If they did not make it north, I would feel their weight.
Their weight on my branches, entangled in rope.
I wanted to snap and set them free.
I heard their agony, but this wasn’t the end.
Their strengthcarried them to freedom; a freedom that would never bend.
As new rings flourished from within,
The flowers around me cried that day.
The day he spoke over all those people
I too, had a dream like him.
His dream was unifying
To bring all souls together.
Mine was to see it live.
The cloaked men tried to make him a fool,
Tried to erase our dream.
He never gave up, but was forced to leave.
His echoes remained even in still air.
His words brought justice, in times of despair.
The flowers that once cried, now adorn her head.
She became my friend, smiling as she walked past.
But our friendship nearly ended when I saw the crash.
I watched as metal beams became one with her.
My wood would not be enough to wake her.
But, I watched her get up and keep her brush moving.
I watched her bed offer what I could not.
She protected other girls like her.
Painting portraits of them in the sun.
She limped, but never stopped.

I let my leaves bring her shade.
She painted expressions that would never fade.
I have lost track of my rings.
To be the teller of time, and watch people prevail,
Also means being the eyes that remain silent.
The roots that gave us birth,
The leaves that adorn our trunks.
We have watched the clock turn.
I bear the tales of that clock.
You may not hear them,
But if you study my rings and determine my age,
You may feel a need to lift your voice in a rage;
To empower those who can’t speak,
To keep going, although your knees feel weak,
To be like those who refused to obey,
And who let not a thing get in their way.

11th Grade, Ánimo Inglewood
Guiding Teacher: Suraiya Prasla