Born Barefoot in a land of hot sand
You Stand tall
As a rain of fire pelts you from above.
It scorches
It burns
Your brown skin unmoving,
Unhurt by the pain of the fall
You grow
Feet weathered
Not callous
But,
Understanding.
A lone oak in a jungle of moss and vine,
You divine
Extended your limbs.
The tree blooms flowers
As the wilting moss plants
A kinder harvest.
Seeds soon bloom into beautiful forests
Bathed in cool air
And sweet spring rain.
Condenser of fire
You
Now Stand tall
As the monsoon
Washes the dirt
Away.
I look on
Far from your jungle of moss and vine
Amazed
As it blooms
Amazed
As you transform it
Into a field richer than my own
You divine
Shine.
In my heart
In my eyes
In my mind,
Always.
…
Born Barefoot in a land of hot sand
You used to Stand tall
As the rain of fire pelted you from above.
Now,
As cool October steps aside
For cold November,
You sit down
And shed your leaves
As the parasitic moss and vine regenerate.
Nature laughs her cold wind
In revenge
At you, who killed the ugly moss
You who cleaned her filthy soil.
You,
Who interfered with her downward spiral of destruction
While I
From my vibrant field
Am torn by termites
Feeding on my heart,
As I watch you,
Most venerated oak.
Why is the brightest star a supernova?
Why do the clearest waves crash on a polluted beach?
Why must the strongest oak make wood for selfish lumberjack?
Ajja,
I will be your seed and shadow
Of the future.
Spreading all the love
You gave
To me.
For this very love
Should be the nectar
Of our existence
And if Nature should laugh at us,
Let her laugh.
For we will laugh right back.
