I cant leave that barren earth that I have watered with my blood.
I cant stay and build a roof on it as the crust is unyielding and dry,
Soaking in every bit of nourishment but yielding nothing but cracks
And dust while refuting any approach by scorching my feet. I chanced
Upon this land when it had gaping holes and caverns that needed
Filling up. I felt I could give it vital growth again and replenish every
Gaping fissure it had. After a decade of debts to myself while I tried
Watering, ploughing and harvesting I realized it does not want any of
That. All it wants is infinite life blood that will seep through its cracks
And lose their way into her dark and pitless chasm. The barren earth
Just wants one drop after another without any awakening, yielding or being
True to the purpose of supporting life and living through a symbiotic
Growth. Instead, the crust transformed into a haven of weed now that
The blood flows without her having to worry about that. Earlier I ran around
Her stretch trying to water every feature, mound,crack and roads but now
That I am too spent to move I have impailed myself on a yard of wood
At the centre of her and slashed every last vein and artery so that the
Blood flows in abundance. I have assumed this last role of a scarecrow
At the center of my land thinking maybe, just maybe this time that pitless
Crucible will fill up to the brim, overflow and rise through the cracks
Till the barren earth is inundated giving it the purest color of all- red. No,
No, no! This cant be. The newly born weed is growing into a barbed forest
Of frivolities on her drinking the blood that trickles from my veins. While the
Irony is the earth is now the cradle of these carefully nurturing each root
Of every weed. There was a time when I sat through congregations of
People who would pelt tears of pain for their lands were barren and won't
Surrender the freedom of being all absorbing and seldom yielding but only
To weed and ferns and barbed thickets. I scoffed and scorned at them saying,
"My land just needs care and the understanding that nature expects. I know
I have all of these. It will be the land of utmost abundance full of vegetation, rivers,
Flowers and fruits. It will be a smiling face of symbiosis." Now, I am here on an
Equatorial morning with the burning sun on my carcass drying up every drop
Of red water and burning every bit of skin as they stubbornly stick to my bones
Unwilling to leave but unable to stay. The earth? It still is thirsty and wants more-
More!!! A scenery of an earth with an ever empty cradle at the center of itself and
Nursing its once protective shell of freedom that does not have anyone in it while
The frivolous weed grows and turns the crimson earth into a grim, lightless forest
Of moans and shrieks. Aah! So it is red at last. At least my pale eyes can see it or
Maybe imagine it while my torso lies impailed on the plank, sticky and dried and red
While my inclined head watches the thorny bushes take over that earth of possible hope
And liberation. The vultures are finally happy as my eyes, mouth, limbs and guts are
Now food! At least someone won't be hungry anymore and thank this 'selfish' crucifiction.
My purpose is served...
I cant stay and build a roof on it as the crust is unyielding and dry,
Soaking in every bit of nourishment but yielding nothing but cracks
And dust while refuting any approach by scorching my feet. I chanced
Upon this land when it had gaping holes and caverns that needed
Filling up. I felt I could give it vital growth again and replenish every
Gaping fissure it had. After a decade of debts to myself while I tried
Watering, ploughing and harvesting I realized it does not want any of
That. All it wants is infinite life blood that will seep through its cracks
And lose their way into her dark and pitless chasm. The barren earth
Just wants one drop after another without any awakening, yielding or being
True to the purpose of supporting life and living through a symbiotic
Growth. Instead, the crust transformed into a haven of weed now that
The blood flows without her having to worry about that. Earlier I ran around
Her stretch trying to water every feature, mound,crack and roads but now
That I am too spent to move I have impailed myself on a yard of wood
At the centre of her and slashed every last vein and artery so that the
Blood flows in abundance. I have assumed this last role of a scarecrow
At the center of my land thinking maybe, just maybe this time that pitless
Crucible will fill up to the brim, overflow and rise through the cracks
Till the barren earth is inundated giving it the purest color of all- red. No,
No, no! This cant be. The newly born weed is growing into a barbed forest
Of frivolities on her drinking the blood that trickles from my veins. While the
Irony is the earth is now the cradle of these carefully nurturing each root
Of every weed. There was a time when I sat through congregations of
People who would pelt tears of pain for their lands were barren and won't
Surrender the freedom of being all absorbing and seldom yielding but only
To weed and ferns and barbed thickets. I scoffed and scorned at them saying,
"My land just needs care and the understanding that nature expects. I know
I have all of these. It will be the land of utmost abundance full of vegetation, rivers,
Flowers and fruits. It will be a smiling face of symbiosis." Now, I am here on an
Equatorial morning with the burning sun on my carcass drying up every drop
Of red water and burning every bit of skin as they stubbornly stick to my bones
Unwilling to leave but unable to stay. The earth? It still is thirsty and wants more-
More!!! A scenery of an earth with an ever empty cradle at the center of itself and
Nursing its once protective shell of freedom that does not have anyone in it while
The frivolous weed grows and turns the crimson earth into a grim, lightless forest
Of moans and shrieks. Aah! So it is red at last. At least my pale eyes can see it or
Maybe imagine it while my torso lies impailed on the plank, sticky and dried and red
While my inclined head watches the thorny bushes take over that earth of possible hope
And liberation. The vultures are finally happy as my eyes, mouth, limbs and guts are
Now food! At least someone won't be hungry anymore and thank this 'selfish' crucifiction.
My purpose is served...
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