Friday, 29 April 2016

The stairs to autonomy

To touch a piece of paper with a pen or brush
is to converse with the tree from which it came
Those trees are still alive in the spirit of creation,
they seek your gratitude and take as compensation
your ideas
Then these ideas become their gifts to the world
as spirit trees recount them sagely,
these stories of our species and our mute transgressions
For to think and do is a dubious honour
when all the earth requires is the breath

I love this sun burnt country
Its sun and sweeping plains
Its mountains, rivers and bright blue sky
It keeps me right and sane

The trees can hear me typing
They wonder what this paper is
As I swap paper for computer
they start to wonder how
their purpose became so complex
Now they can live as earth intended;
to breathe

We read the words together
The trees and me are one
In blessing those who dreamed
that change will return longevity
to the trees.



1 comment:

Sharad said...

Beautiful poem, interesting illustration, and what a title! Love the lines 'We read the words together / the trees and me are one...', the bit about the sunburnt country...amazing! Thanks for posting.