The tree is sister to the tree, or its good neighbour. The big one is kind to the little one, giving it the shade it needs. The tall one is kind to the short one, sending it a bird to keep it company at night. No tree attacks the fruit of another tree, and if one tree is barren the other does not make fun of it. A tree does not attack another tree and does not imitate a woodcutter.

When a tree becomes a boat it learns to swim. When it becomes a door it continues to keep secrets. When it becomes a chair it does not forget the sky that was once above it. When it becomes a table it teaches the poet not to be a woodcutter.

The tree is forgiveness and vigilance. It neither sleeps nor dreams, but is entrusted with the secrets of the dreamers, standing guard night and day, showing respect to passers-by and to the heavens.”-

– Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008),
A River Dies of Thirst (Diaries), 2009,

Partial translation that has done the rounds without any attribution or acknowledgement about the translator:

“कोई भी दरख़्त किसी दूसरे दरख़्त से फल नहीं चुराता और अगर किसी दरख़्त को फल न लगें तो दूसरे दरख़्त उसका मज़ाक़ नहीं उड़ाते, एक दरख़्त दूसरे दरख़्त पर हमला नहीं करता और न ही किसी लकड़हारे का मुक़ाबला करते हैं।

जब वो दरख़्त कश्ती बन जाते हैं तो तैरना सीख लेते हैं, जब वो दरवाज़ा बन जाते हैं तो राज़ों को छिपाने वाले बन जाते हैं, जब वो कुर्सी बन जाते हैं तो उस आसमान को कभी नहीं भूलते जो कभी उनके ऊपर तना हुआ था।

जब वो मेज़ बन जाते हैं तो शायर को सिखाते हैं कि कभी लकड़हारा न बनो।”