POEM - Where Seeds Dream Trees

Beneath the soil, where silence sleeps,

Where darkness cradles roots in heaps,

A secret pulses, hushed and deep—

The seed begins its sacred leap.

It dreams not yet of skies or sun,

Nor battles with the storm begun,

But something stirs, a quiet plea:

"One day, I’ll rise, and I will be."

A whisper hums from rain-washed earth,

A tale of sorrow, hope, and birth,

Of all who start so small, unseen,

With visions vast and hearts so keen.

Within the seed, a memory dwells

Of forests tall and chapel bells,

Of children laughing, winds that run—

A heritage not yet begun.

It dreams of roots that dive so wide,

Of branches stretching far with pride,

Of sheltering nests, and leaves that dance

In twilight’s soft, forgiving trance.

It dreams of days in golden blaze,

Of lovers lost in leafy maze,

Of storytellers carved in bark,

Of songs once sung from ancient dark.

But who would know, who walks above,

That something small could dream of love?

Of reaching far from shadowed bed

To wear the sky above its head?

The seed is patient. Time is long.

The soil is dense, the pull is strong.

But in its cell, a sun is stored,

A spark of life the stars adored.

It drinks the dew, absorbs the pain,

It wrestles through the mold and rain.

And when the world seems most unkind,

It clings to light it cannot find.

For not all growth begins with green—

Some rise from places dim, unseen.

And every oak that shapes the breeze

Was once a seed who dared to dream trees.

It does not ask for haste or praise,

It grows in labyrinths and haze.

Each ring inside a whispered vow:

“I dreamed, I grew, and I am now.”

And when it breaks through crust and clay,

To greet the fierce and blinding day,

Its tender leaves, like prayerful hands,

Unfold toward what it understands.

A voice within, both old and young,

That speaks in bark and knots unsung,

That says, “This pain, this reach, this climb—

It all will bloom, in breath and time.”

The wind may bend, the axe may come,

The drought may parch, the birds grow numb,

But still it grows, because it must,

Because the dream outlives the dust.

A child walks past the towering wood,

Not knowing all the trees once stood

As seeds below, in grave-like gloom,

Before they burst to life and bloom.

A teacher, tired, with calloused grace,

A sculptor shaping time and space,

A mother with her sleepless eyes,

A builder reaching toward the skies—

Each one a seed, each soul a flame,

Who dared to hope, despite the same

Cold ground, the doubt, the gnawing fear,

That life would never reappear.

But grow they did, and bloom they must,

With broken hands and sacred trust.

Their roots run deep through time and pain—

They bloom so others dream again.

So if you’re buried, lost, and low,

With nothing left but breath and woe,

Remember seeds, and how they sleep

In silence, where the dark is deep.

For buried things still hold the spark

To one day rise, to leave their mark.

And dreams, though pressed by gravity,

Can birth entire forests free.

So plant your hope, though skies are grey,

Though nights feel longer than the day.

The world begins beneath our feet—

Where broken dreams and soil meet.

And whisper this, when no one sees:

The smallest seeds still dream of trees.

Short Summary:

“Where Seeds Dream Trees” is a reflective and deeply human poem about resilience, hope, and growth. It traces the journey of a seed beneath the soil—a metaphor for people in times of hardship—and its transformation into a tree. Through this natural process, the poem captures the universal human experience of overcoming darkness, embracing pain, and daring to dream of something greater. Each stanza evokes both vulnerability and power, showing how dreams planted in obscurity can one day shape the world. The message is simple yet profound: no matter how buried or broken we feel, we hold within us the potential to rise, to bloom, and to become something beautiful.