No on can listen those mute sound.
Not weeping but bleeding rubber tree,
At early morning he is waiting for fresh wound.
Farmer is now a tapper as nature can see,
Ready with knife to take latex as his job fee,
From the thick and soft plant’s bark,
From the soft skin of a Deaf dump tree,
Slow wind is moving as balm in nature park,
White blood dripping from the cross mark,
Into the tub of farmer hanging there,
To keep the shining milky moon in dark