Green Thumb

Every day the skeletons in my backyard sing And every day I water their flowers I take care of them; make bouquets out of them Every night I sang them lullabies To drown out the howling sounds Because the more these flowers bloom The less people are able to tell… It’s an absolute party down there


Click. Snap. Send. Instant posts of the latest trend. Snippets of existence Through a manifest of pixels. We carry in our hands The power to project A vague portrait. We show “Life”.   For creatures who crave purpose, We want a removal from it. Back then, If we truly desire something, We’d have to journey for it. And now, With swipes and clicks, We press to it. It renders efforts Effortless. Connection or Attention?   Growth is always encouraged. But how much is “too much”? Did technology flourish As flowers do? Or is it a blight of weeds Opposing our personal bloom? Have we evolved To consume with our eyes? Do we hunger for nourishment Or thirst for attention? Likes. Comments. Shares. Entertainment or Addiction?   We’ve stepped far in advancement By the tap of a button, We can let the world know What we want to show. But have we ever asked “why”? For yourself or the digital Divine? Who is truly in control? You? Or what you hold? Swipe up. Double tap. Hashtag.

The Green Field

We sit on the edge of nature. My friends and I, on a green pasture. We guard the field since the beginning, Guarding peace and harmony above everything.   You humans used to come and go, As there was no living space before. But once you created one, you remained. And since then, our lives began to change.   When the day ended, the bustle would fade, We’d look up to the sky and watch the sunset. We cherish those moments with you, Just staying quiet and basking in the view.   One day, came a young child with bright, Warm, brown eyes and short height. She was loving, gentle, and careful. Our days with her were always beautiful.   Because of that child, more humans came to us. And we protected them as one would. We made an unspoken promise. Unexplainable For you humans, but––for us––it was simple.   As we grew old, the city became busier, more alive. While others turned away, the girl with brown eyes Continued to stay. We watched her grow Alongside the city you call home.   Suddenly, she was gone and I became older, My skin rougher and my leaves withered. They say wisdom comes with age, but I could not foresee The roaring of the machines that would ravage the field.   I hear my friends scream. I hear the agony of their pleas. I have never witnessed such a slaughter Or felt such pain and such anger.   You pretend you can’t hear. You close your eyes so you can’t see. You leave and wash your bloody hands. Remove the dirt and dusty sands.   Perhaps the skies feel sorry for me. For they cry and wash away their bodies. It makes things easier for you, right? You don’t have to see your own blight.   How many moons has it been? Hard to gauge when all I see Are grey concrete and dull nights, The stars refusing to show their light.   Why should my friends be gone? Why I should remain? Not one Day would go by without me Wondering of what could’ve been.   “It’s a new start,” I always hear. But can you see the consequences of your greed? Your new start meant the death of my friends. Your beginning is––to many––their end! Hope is no longer something I can reach. It’s just nothing but a distant dream. Everyday I live like it’s my last. Always scared of you repeating your past.   A vehicle arrives to the concrete home you built. A husband opens the door to his wife’s seat. He takes her hand and leads her out. She cradles Their newborn. She looks troubled.   Our eyes meet for a second, Before anything happens, The husband calls for her. “It’s a new start,” he murmurs.   Today, I sit here, winter biting my skin, Leaves all dried, weak, and thin. I thought I was alone, but then I see her. I recognise that girl.   The same bright brown eyes, But much taller in height. She looks at me, and Says, “I miss you, old friend.”   Instead of her newborn in her arms, She guards something else from harm. A small sapling, Now sits beside me.   “I’m sorry you’re hurt.”