Thy stood an old tree. Wise as the owl who lived in it.

Older than the oldest on street, there

was an old banyan tree. The tree respected for its peace and green, narrated in the bed time
stories. The kids ought to fear the mighty tree where nation embraced the pride within. The
old nasty tree once believed there was none other to compete when he saw the garden next
street with dazzling sunflowers and orchid of spring. Astonished, as he stood he looked and
looked and looked. Wondering if he was as pretty as these. As the wind blew and they danced
merely, the banyan tree got worried indeed. As kids and wanderers would stop, appreciate
their beauty and screen. The tree worried it is exactly what he miss. The shadow that the herd
seeks, the swing from branches within was not merely enough for the king as he wanted to be
the king with queen.
Dismay as he lay, branches begin to whither. For he realised that he was long in the game to
only dream of the colours. But there came a mighty storm, powerful as it can be. None of thy
rose or tulip could face the destiny. None of the herd, people, friends stood to glance at those
gardens, rather they clung to the branches of the banyan tree protected themselves and the
tree. What he thought was what he need turned out to be an obsolesce in his deed.
He learnt he has a stronger root and tip of the iceberg is a gimmick proof. What he has within
needs no proof. He learnt from his jealousy that caution is a must, while the world is filled
with offers, all need not to be won. With a wide smile he pranced along, waving his branches
left to right, hugging the people back pretty tight. He accepted he needs not to be the glitter to
be the gold and yet all that glitters is not really the gold.