Prayer for Mother Earth

Poetry by | August 5, 2007

We foolish mortals, not knowing when the rain is coming nor the comet; theorizing in our ignorance, at last we begin to behold our very home crumbling in smoke and poison air. Our own destructiveness is hypnotizing in its intensity; this is madness.

The groans of earth can be heard by your saints; while the poets are appalled, feeling in their bones the future not so future debacle, yet their warnings remain unheeded, the public go their merry way, ignorant that the end of their world was long ago prophesied.

Your majesty divine creator; No one can measure your understanding of us foolish mortals. Nothing is hidden from thee, and most surely thou art aware of those small places of the planet where the integrity of your creation is respected and preserved. And as for the rest of us, it is cosmic destruction. The overripe fruit awaits the moment to drop in the furnace.

I do not presume to know where are your human saints that obey your laws and respect your eco-balance, but my prayer is for them, that thou would protect these few, that they would be strong enough to continue as they are so that there would still be a remnant of beautiful earth where birds sing, where grasses wave, where the leaves of the trees would clap their hands, as your word goes forth and returns, O god of mystery, O consuming Fire!

The Chair

Poetry by | August 5, 2007

You stole it!
You made me sit!
Bit by bit…
Now I’m in a fit!

I missed my education
In a learning institution
Where’s my retribution?
You have all the solutions.

Empty words
I shouldn’t have heard.
I wish I were a bird
Is that something you earned?

It’s eating me, this life
I never did improve my sight
I want to fight
But you withheld my flight.

Oh, I’m in no treat.
I’m nothing but beat,
What’s there to eat?

An instant microwaved seat.

Dance of Life

Poetry by | August 5, 2007

It is funny how leaves dance on their branches.
They spin
With a magnificent finale of letting go
Gracefully playing with the wind.

People dance too.
They hold on
To their dreams, loves, ideologies
As they move on the dance floor.

My dance is limited to swaying and spinning.
My leading man-
My dance partner
Myself too
Still groping for steps.
Sometimes I lose the beat
Go whirling with no direction.

Today my feet are tired.
My toes are beginning to hate me.
My fingers are crying.
I have been dancing wildly.

I feel myself rebelling.

I trip.

I watch the dancing others…

On my shoulder,
I feel a tap.
I see a hand.

I take it.