Growing along barbed wire,
Her petals
Hold scratches, cuts, and tears.
Still — she continues
To expand
To seed
To live her Truth.
And for that —
She is beautiful.
Growing along barbed wire,
Her petals
Hold scratches, cuts, and tears.
Still — she continues
To expand
To seed
To live her Truth.
And for that —
She is beautiful.
To honor Earth Day, this year I am sharing two poems to show the beautiful and devastating reality of being a human on this planet right now. Both of these poems are remixed excerpts from my book Varanasi Sage.
“She Comes to Me”
I am soft and humble, yet unafraid
To share space with Titans,
Entities Unfathomable,
Spirits born from the depths.
I am a guest in their great hall.
Quietude surrenders me,
Dissolving me into the air,
The empty space.
Here
She comes to me,
The truest part of me, for
I am made of Her living body.
My heart turns over to Hers,
And our sacred Oneness,
Endlessly present in time.
“Where a Temple Once Lived”
Ghosts stand visible with
Charred, barren limbs
Naked arms reach for mercy
Bodies no longer breathing
No longer creating clouds
Nor home for animals and insects
Burned alive
Electrical wires cross the hills
Like music lines forming
Measures of a strange and deadly song
A transmission tower’s guilty buzz
Plays the melody composed by
Corporate greed
Man wasn’t exiled from the Garden
He chose his depraved separation
Life-bearing molecules, thank you, for falling
Each drop: an answered prayer
Animals and plants rejoice with relief
For more days in the company of green hillsides
For more flowers and frogs and bees
May the heavens continue to hear our prayers
And send dark clouds filled with hope
On a boulder, beside the ocean —
an emerging canyon —
beneath a waterfall and crumbling cliff,
I listen.
Faithfully creative, guiding the way,
waves and boulders collide in foamy syncopation,
painting bubble mandalas in the sky.
Give me the faith of seeds in winter
Lend me the strength of the earth’s molten core
Help me to trust that your good rains down
And fills my spirit with a deep reservoir
I’ll follow you
into the forest of mist
Where our imaginations
will inhale low-hanging clouds
And become full
with life-giving dew.