O’Live Tree

O, beat me more.

Hit me with your sticks;

Step on my leaves

Smother my twigs under your boots

Like how you always do.

The beating I bear;

The humiliation, I do not care

But take me not,

Steal me not.

Even if I burn,

Here I belong

And to them I shall return.


If you hear my talk,

You may feel my pain

But you belong not here:

You do not even know

How to touch me,

How to gently squeeze me,

How to hug me,

How to wipe off the dust,

When I am ripe,

And when I am not,

When I need water,

And when I do not,

And how to pick me

Like how they always do.


Your smell and heavy boots

And the metal on your backs

And your metal bars!

For God’s sakes who on earth olives picks

With metal bars for sticks?


But I ramble again.

Because you won’t understand

And if you understood me,

You would not, in the first place,

Be here.


You come and go.

I see you once or twice a year

With either flames or sticks

And I weep for the rest of the year.

But one day

My twigs shall grow,

The oil shall flow,

My people shall glow,

And you, you will go.