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.