Death Foretold

Unwind, to dream,
beneath canopies of willow-trees,
picturing sunflowers smile
at summer skies,
charting sun’s orbit till violet eve.
Vast terrains pretend to slumber,
guarded by languid owl-eyes
stalking slinky felines
and other unseen creatures of night.

I doze under my leafy umbrella
as frogs croak the onset of dawn,
heralding showers reflected by rainbows.
I circumnavigate mountain lakes,
view the source of brooks
meandering through golden prairies.

Dreaming, I recite wondrous poems
dormant in memories of the dead.
Mirages: Gothic cathedrals, the Taj Mahal,
Roman aqueducts arched over Italic olive groves,
Alexandria’s library perished by Poseidon’s will.

Lies and carnage disrupt my trance.
Where has love gone,
where the chubby toes and children’s giggles?
Why does blossom wither by waysides
and toxic waste dull sapphire seas?
Distressed shipwrecked migrants;
refugees seeking a salubrious life,
or just a life...
I conjure up dust-bowls on Austral steppes,
Amazonia gutted by russet roads,
thawing glaciers crashing
down Andean slopes.
Crude realities denied by humankind.

We should offer a toast to Gaia,
her mysteries and riddles,
to the paradox of her existence and ours.
Reality is the destruction we have caused her.
It is mourning a death foretold,
not her death but ours.