POETRY

Song of Praise

A poem for earth about grief, pain, violence, beauty and commitment

Sonja Cillié
Fourth Wave

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Collage by Sonja Cillié, Photos from Canva

I want to praise you,
yet,
first
I want to sit with you
And weep.

I see your open wounded crust
turning into dust
your plundered lands
the dry lifelines
your broken skin

I taste the poisons in your waters

I hear your shallow breath
the endless mechanical noises
droning on and on and on

I smell the rancor odour

I feel the harsh heat,
the lament in the blazes.

When did it start?
the raping, the plundering,
your crust being ripped wide open,
constructing shafts and tunnels to get in and out
plunging into deep dark places,
excavating YOUR precious stones,
YOUR precious metals,
whatever they deem to be of value
again and again.

Without a grain of respect.
Without the concept of mutual consent.
Not a millisecond of consideration.
With no limit to their entitlement.
Ownership.
Power over.
The hungry beast, that never satiates
Violating you.
Using you.
Hurting you again and again.
And when your tunnels run dry,
profit margins dropping too low,
discarding you
moving on
A swarm of industrial locusts stripping you bare
without noticing your tears
as if you are not a living, breathing, feeling, BE-ing.

I wonder . . .
have they ever heard the rumbling before a storm?
have they ever heard raindrops dancing across your back?
have they heard the sweet song of a running brook?
Have they heard the roar of a waterfall,
felt the thrill of the air vibrating
before seeing the cascading drop?
Have they heard the call of an eagle or the chirp of a sparrow
or the murmuration of a thousand starlings
or the metallic trill of a humming bird’s wings?

Have they floated on their backs in your salty waters,
have they felt your turquoise water caressing their skin?
Have they seen a lightning storm
a grassland, a rocky mountain, a forest, a beach,
a desert, an ocean, fresh snow or the new day’s first ray of sun?
Have they noticed dew on the grass, a butterfly darting,
the fullness of a hydrangea in bloom
shades of orange in a marigold
the simple perfection of a daisy
or an arum’s lily elegant gown?
Mist on a lake
a flaming sun set
a full moon
the milky way?
A frog, a ladybird, a gecko, a deer and a bear?
The colour palette of a forest,
one hundred different kinds of green
or perhaps
water lilies smiling at the sun?

Have they ever taken in the vastness of your blue-blue sky?

living
breathing
moving
singing
growing
nesting
nourishing
protecting
harbouring
birthing
providing
giving. giving. giving. giving.

You deserve much much more
to be treasured,
honoured,
celebrated.
to have a voice.
to have a choice.
to be sovereign.

Forgive them.
Forgive us.
They
and we were unconscious;
intellectualization
suppression
projection
rationalizing
displacement
repression
regression
profiteering
racketeering
DENIAL
Uncivil Outdated Survival Strategies

We Commit. We will persevere.
We are evolving.
When we know better
We do better.

Appreciate, celebrate, cherish and protect.
That is our pledge, yesterday, today and every moment hereafter.

For more stories and poems about Mother Earth, follow Fourth Wave. Have you got a story or poem that focuses on women or other disempowered groups? Submit to the Wave!

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Sonja Cillié
Fourth Wave

Human. Woman. Mother. Dreamer. Feeler. Creative-being. Builder of bridges accross generations and cultures. South-African expatriate. sonjacillie.weebly.com