THE TEMPLE IN A SEED

I wander in between the clouds.
The path is not clear.
I know I’ve got to follow the sounds
that hide behind the tears.

I mourn because the sunlight
is not bright as it used to be.
I dwell the lack of right
in all the wrong I must see.

So I witness the ruin of white wings.
And I hear the shouts of the wild beings.
Claiming for life below the guns.
Claiming for clean air, water and sun.

I wonder what is different in our times.
From other eras.
I know the destruction can be for good.
No forest remains pure.
They will be vanished in a moor.
All ample oceans are dumped for sure.

I walk through the mist of the lost.
I claim, I scream, I shout the most,
as a wild being.
“My world, my world, my world agonizes”.
The curve of this rose
will be the last.
The perfume of snow
won’t be untouched.
The greenness of meadows
will decay into dust.

The grace in the twirl of a gale,
will turn into the rage of a hurricane.
Again I transit the drought of our human heart
which dries our rivers
and extinguishes our rains.
The tragedy of our acts
will be kept as eternal stains.

So I claim for those
who have neither voice nor choice
but dwell our world the same as us.
The wild, the beasts, the savage, the purest souls.
They need our freedom to turn into wisdom.

They need us to wash our stains of greed.
And learn to treasure the temple in a seed.



Amparo Carranza Vélez.
June 3th, 2008.