Nature is a love,
Vulnerable yet true,
Delicate like rose petals,
Rare like the sighting of a bat at daytime,
Or the night jar at at day break.
Nature is the brilliance of sunrise,
The magnificence of sunset,
It’s the gentle breeze on a hot summer,
And tender grass under a toddler’s tiny feet.
It’s the lover’s love –
One he sought for years,
Till one day it showed up,
Much like an eclipse –
It was there, it was true,
It was beautiful then did fade.
Nature is the angry tide,
That broke the sandy castle,
Ran down with wicked waves,
It’s the fault line lakes which broke banks,
Submerged the villagers’ villages,
Took their territories.
It’s a dreadful tsunami,
Which packs up homes, lives, cities,
Leaving an indelible mark,
As that of a wildfire,
Though it brought up good shoots,
For the gazelles to graze,
Still killed the slow serpents,
And beasts that couldn’t escape.
So nature is a love,
That burned, drowned,
Yet also warmed, and gave life,
And it will kill you,
If it so pleases.
No one would have known, That eventually they would strike, Their plan was underway, Ready to be unveiled. You could tell they were angry, It’s something they anticipated, Something they had to do.
Forget the Mafia, they were disguised Unlike our armies, they didn’t need armour They needed not a commander, The anger each one had, Was enough to rile them up, Fire them throughout, As long as the war would last.
Right before they attacked, The clouds were sagging low, Hanging out here an there, Spread out everywhere, The weathermen predicted a storm. It’s when our kind ran outside, To get this and that, Food, milk, candles, and pills, Before they’d lock themselves up, In their cosy wooden structures, And wait for the storm to pass.
Just then, when Anna was heading back, When Marcus was cycling home, Just before the woman sold her last onions, And the milkman packed his milk tanks, Right when Justin alighted the bus, Then, our kind was scattered around, Rushing to get home. That’s when it all began.
First there were shadows, long dark shadows The kind you see in a rainforest, When strolling in the evening light. There was one, two, three, four, more and more, Suddenly, they came out of the shadows, Where they had been hiding, And began to strike.
The mighty Trunks, You could tell they were but stumps, Saturated with water and dirt, Rising up to the height of the clouds, Old stumps in agony, Over days lost to humans, Over happiness snatched away, And the beauty of sunshine, Oh how the had adored sun! If only our kind knew it, They probably wouldn’t… But they had and it was too late, Man had taken the lives of The Trees, Slaughtered them one by one, Massacred them heartlessly, And watched them cry to death, Till they had no more sap left, They left their homes abandoned. Leaving them with but one choice- To take revenge.
The weatherman was right about the storm, Though it’s not rain that fell that day, It was The Tree Trunks. They fell among the crowds, Across the roads and stopped the cars, They stroke apartments which crumbled down, People died, some were maimed, Homes were broken into, Everything turned upside down, The earth had come to a stop, For a moment there, The Trees rejoiced, Our kind mourned, A transaction of pain.
Those little clouds went out, Those little clouds went out last night, Those naughty clouds made fools, Those naughty clouds made fools of selves,
When you and I rose, When you and I from bed rose, The grassy lawns and soils were wet, The grassy lawns and soils were soiled and wet,
And when to bed they went, And when to bed they went to sleep, They went, They went to sleep. Those naughty clouds couldn’t sleep, Those naughty clouds couldn’t sleep at all, Couldn’t sleep, Couldn’t sleep at all.
Their bladders full they had to,
Their bladders full they had to go,
They had to,
They had to go.
They wet themselves,
They wet themselves and soiled they clothes,
Wet themselves and soiled their clothes.
When you and I rose,
When you and I from bed rose,
We from bed rose,
The grassy lawns and soils were wet,
The grassy lawns and soils were soiled and wet,
They were wet,
They were soiled and wet.
Once I had a little bird,
A lovely beautiful bird,
That sang me such lovely song,
So sweet it healed my wounded heart,
With time my ears would tire,
Of music from my parrot,
So I sent her away, “off you go!”
“Away with you, Chicoreco!”,
But every time she’d come back,
To sing me all over again,
For this was all she could do for me,
One cold Saturday evening,
I sent her away again,
My ears had had enough,
And She, a timid thing, obliged,
She left but never came back,
Everyday I leave my window open,
Hoping that she’ll come home,
My heart longs to be healed,
Deep within I crave for her song.
Walking down the buffalo’s trail
I see tracks, and scats, and prints
But I just can’t see the buffalo
Where could he be?
What if he comes charging angrily
Because I’m in his territory
There’s no telling what he’ll do to me
Perhaps I’m dead meat!
A voice: hurry on chap you better hurry up
Hold your breath lest he feels your fear
Don’t let your fright limit your survival
You can make it out in one piece.
She’s not all up and running,
She’s not out and about,
She’s sitting at the moment,
With her lips pressed together.
She writhes with pain,
Not just from conceiving
But also from deception,
Accompanied by rejection,
And what feels like hatred.
Too bad she can’t escape,
Or lock herself in a room,
If only that’d be possible…
She might somewhat recover,
And ease her desire of revenge.
Mother earth is tormented,
Cumbered with pain and anguish,
She hides her face from the light of day,
Her eyes are red from weeping.
A mother ought to love at all times,
Though her son be a thief-
A sore wound to society,
Or even a reckless drunkard,
Who takes a wee in public,
And does a Moonie before an audience,
Earth keeps weeping
She weeps because of tunnels,
Sewage tunnels that once had water,
Broken trees that covered her nakedness,
Smog and smoke which hurt her eye,
Her tears keep rolling down,
Filling oceans and seas,
Though her son sees them,
He looks away in ignorance,
While tides hit the walls of his chamber,
With time he might be swept off,
But she’s still pressing her lips together
Enduring the prevailing pain.
“Cover my nakedness with a robe,
Dry my tears, wipe my face.
Bring me a nice meal,
My hand I’ll stretch to bless you”,
Says mother earth in anguish.
But nobody listens,
Her son is out playing a flute,
So loud that he can’t hear,
Though he’s got all the notes wrong.
He rides on an unknown tone
Thinking that he might famous be.
His music notes spell pain and strife,
A note of ‘nuclear power’,
Another of ‘aerosol sprays’,
With intervals of ‘exotic species’
She’s in a hospital bed,
Writhing in pain in anguish,
Her deep cuts dripping with blood,
You may not cure her if you tried,
At least lick her wounds