Whether in an interval of one’s reticence or an absence of one’s retaliation thereof
Echoing in one’s dystopian paradise
Blue and green where willing one could hear from within: sincere admissions
Urgent grievances that lament forth from her
Henceforth thou: a peony who doth radiate
Under the sun’s colossal beams whose fluorescent spears
Encompass the Earth
As if the tentacles of an utmost compassionate being
Thou are such the very being above-cited whose delightful musk suspends
Mid-air
Emits a halo enclosing thy entity, entirely
Thy fluffy petals
Pigmented hues of pink
Unfurl religiously, like ribbons, from inside thy organs out
Till exhibiting thy bud of nectar
Divine a button sown inside thy belly bursts at thy zealous seams
Thy outskirts of robust life
Ever-giving, thy plush little cushion
On which a bee bumbling by resorts to land her rear upon
Thereby a gregarious impostor-turned-occupant she becomes within thy premises
To relinquish thy bloated breadbasket
Thou offer thy throne as though a pre-planned plight
Thy compassion is that which persists a void in human civilisation
Thy belly is thus rendered public property
A hotspot for the bee
Who ought to hectic away
Slurps from thy holy well
In which thy sauce dwells, of which no human being, who even if perceiving of himself
Sunnier than the sky
Could elsewhere source not
Thy syrup
Regardless, oblivious
Delirious whilst blasting Dean Martin’s That’s Amore (Remastered)
He frolics along, aloud, like a child cheering on the recess bell
And you’ll sing, ‘Vita bella’ (vita bella, vitta bella)
The landlord-turned-artist – lacking only a grenade – hacks at thy crumpet
Ting-a-ling-a-ling… ting-a-ling-a-ling… ting-a-ling-a-ling… that’s amore!
Thus, thrice he proceeds internalising: ‘Treacherous a trespasser!’
A venery: he curses at thy settlement as if a weed
Superfluous a sight in the scenery of his garth therefore
No more the surplus of a blade of grass, thou are, that his mower needs devour
His autocratic motor obliterates thy self-esteem
Such that a leaf from thou
Yellowing
Till yellowed
Yields at his feet
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay… tippy-tippy-tay…
Alas! Egad, thy leaf dishevels in defeat
Surrenders atop the soil soaked in chemicals surrounding thyself
Natheless, thy bush whose branches wherefrom she had cascaded, anticipates more still
Of her atrophy, successively gulps
Through root and trunk
Through limb and knuckle, an expulsion from thy decaying leaf whence Nature
Be it spoilt or not, self-nourishes herself on instinct
Her degradation plagues not anyone
Rather, recast as humus, doth replenish the Earth at once
What even instigates the upheaval
Of the mysterious brain of a mortal being on the contrary that a cloud could therein
Manifest itself
Inside his fervent fanes, flaring with thunder
Craving orison for only prayers could repair the adversity in the wilderness
Voicing verses for Nature versus his chanting
Reverberates upstairs;
In the walnut ward; the walls of flesh
That scaffold humanity’s fogged-up dogma, scarcely contrived of thoughtfully, evidently
A cloud, if birthed by the sky
Must evaporate forsooth, as per the laws of quintessential Life
Yet, if within a ward a cloud is conceived
It seldom does…
Thus is man’s smog of catastrophe
Forfending Nature’s natural course
Could never negotiate with Earth’s ecosystems fruitfully in the prevalence of:
His pride
Wracking his brain, his forecast repudiates compromise
Over time, in its exacerbation
Hereat extinction is, inevitably, nigh
Neither in the Animal Kingdom, nor beyond, never an alternative reality realises itself
The sovereignty of a scapegrace reigns
When flourished unchecked
Leaves the Flora and Fauna aforementioned but scapegoats
Of the monstrosity of man’s ego – man’s upper hand forever too proud to unhand its
Prey; thence They, though so crucial to his survival
Lie at the mercy of his weathered psychology
