Before the drought, when I used to sit and look at the view of the vines I believed the power was in the rain. Then, with only a fifth of our water supply, I realised the power is in the seeds That wait for rain and time their bloom, Like the gorgeous poppies and their blood-red petals. Before this, I never imagined what it means to live in a desert; Air-conditioned homes and water from modern-day desalination, Living and breathing and dancing in the luxuries of invention. Before now I hadn’t asked, how vulnerable will humanity get? Unlike poppy seeds our power is auctioned off To keepers who hold the switch in the palm of their hand. We easily forget, we are as much clothed and fed in their smile, As we are naked and desiccated in their fury. And while I am here, Please don’t talk to me again about ‘teams’, As if this week’s curdling bloodbath is sport. I know it was probably a slip of the tongue and you regret it But where you’re standing, you ought to know ‘ bit better than that. This week’s butchery has cut us all to the core. There’s a crater on the hospital floor, Wounds, a death toll that rocks history in its shoes, hostages and blackened wreckage. It’s impossible to keep score. No. Blame games don’t know peace. So no, please don’t do that, You will break our hearts even more.
I couldn’t find any other words than these this week. Sorry if it is too sad. But I know nature and flowers and the walks in the countryside heal us all and clear our heads a little while we are all busy praying for peace however we can.
Going to share some more peaceful thoughts next week. It’s essential. Isn’t it!?
Lots of love,
To your question, Pipp, tt strikes me that it's just as essential to have the courage to feel sad. Thank you.
Always so eloquently put Pipp, you reflect my thoughts and feelings entirely... words, no everything, has felt difficult to correlate this week... sending love and light gorgeous 🕊️