Why You Can’t Give Up When the Roots Are Still Alive

A Poem 8/8/2026

Donia

2 min read

·

Aug 8, 2026

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It’s hard not to imagine
that death begins
where the eye can see

In the empty branches,
the leaves gone brittle,
the silence
where the wind
has nothing left to hold.

But death is quieter than that.

It begins
when the roots
stop drinking.

When the earth
has nothing left
to offer.

I know.

There were mornings
I mistook stillness
for an ending.

I thought because
nothing beautiful
had happened in weeks,
the seasons
had chosen someone else.

But underneath,

something stubborn
kept reaching.

You see,
roots do not bloom.

They do not ask
to be admired.