The Stone That Cried Itself a Tree

In barren lands there lay a stone
Scorched by Sun, it sang alone
Like waves from a broken sitar
It hurt the wind to hide a scar

Beneath the shade of the Toona Tree
I smiled, I lived, I felt so free
But distant hands stole my wood
Left me bare, no shelter stood

We hear your cry, stone of old
Your pain, your song, your tale untold
Roots will rise, and branches weave
For those who grieve, for those who leave

Night arose, it whispered a prayer
Not to live, but to cease to care
It spoke words that cracked its core
Splitting wide, no soul could ignore

At dawn, a cloud found grace
Tears fell slow in soft embrace
They rang like notes from a santoor
No sorrow stayed, nor could endure

We heard your cry, fierce and clear
Your pain will shine, your voice will steer
Roots will rise, and branches weave
For those who grieve, for those who leave

In a crack, they made their home
Watered a seed, rewrote the tome
A tree was born, consuming stone
Forgotten grief, no longer alone

We heard your cry, fierce and clear
Your pain will shine, your voice will steer
Hands will come, may lead astray
But fear it not, we're born to play

In the santoor, in the sitar
They sing their notes through who we are
In the shehnai, in the guitar
They pour their hearts to heal our scars