0800hrs
she mourns the loss of yet another human
08:01
the last of a now-extinct species
dies on her lap
08:02
her body spasms to the rhythm
of the next bomb explosion
(she tries to soothe her burning wounds
with sea water
only to discover it's genetically-modified
piss)
I'm reading this from her journal
Mother Nature's journal
Turning over a page
is like opening a creaking door
Listen:
it's the sound of crushing bones,
gnashing teeth,
angels singing off key.
July 15th, she writes:
My hands are blistered
for I have buried a million children today
I'll probably bury another million tomorrow
and the day after
and the day after that…
I hold up my palms to the West
Let them see my blisters
in all their beauty and repulsiveness
Let them drown in the salty water and pus
that flows
because this painful legacy
these signatures of the dead
will not be etched onto my palms in vain
These stories…
Their stories
will be told.
Sept 10th:
A time will come when the sun will refuse to shine
when even I won't be able to coax the wind to blow
when the trees will decide to lay down with the dead
and the un-born will refuse to be born.
I smell the faint scent of apocalypse
I leave the windows open
even burn some incense
but still
it lingers.
Question:
If the future only obeys its master: the present, then must I kill the master
to protect the slave???
The last entry in her journal reads:
November 8th. 7.35am
Last night, I had a dream...
Father Nature was still alive.
We made love.
© ebele.
{text: /untitled}
- poetry is a woman
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i stepped on ur funk
- you've put on weight
- hip hop
- delicious
- untitled
- one world
- aesthetics
- un-natural blonde