Humanity’s Self Destruction

My former partner was a Afghan surrealist painter who experienced the war in Afghanistan as a child and young man. I wrote poetry for the paintings as I felt for their meaning. This poem is about self destruction, population growth and violence as the force of war. The painting and this poem speak of the destruction of nature, for always in war nature is destroyed, instead of providing food and abundance the fruits of trees become axes. It is the division of humanity and the self destruction that is the essence. The hope in the poem is that the violence is the dream alas it is dreaming in the forest that is.

Perhaps in this moment we reverse that paradigm and fall asleep in forests that cover the entire planet. Can you imagine that. The closest I came to seeing that was when I flew into Cancun, Mexico. I stared out the window and imagined the planet in its pristine state. A moment of bliss.

So until we understand why we are at war within, and that the war comes from within in terms of realising our negative and aggressive beliefs of others, our persistent belief that violence works or has justification at its root, we remain in a state of self destruction through inner wars that become outer wars. To find peace we can consider experiencing the peace of the forest, making peace with our nature, transforming negativity into positivity and solutions, that will be a place of deep peace. It is the future.

SELF DESTRUCTION

The body of the forest
self regulates,
closing my eyes,
It regenerates
my life.

The dream seems so real,
I awaken in terror,
deep down in the soul,
there’s a syntax error.

The population seems to sway in the breeze,
unable to move they want to leave,
the bricks are cells,
they multiply,
‘self destruction’ the trees decry.

Painful,
sharp,
no right to existence,
steely brute force breaths civil resistance,
heavy marching boots of male division,
transfixed by the beat of tunnel vision.

The soil and dust is distrust,
the fruit of suspicion breeds lust,
an axe to grind,
coffins to line,
natures bounty,
a bleeding chest,
no treasure,
no heart,
to beat the rest.

It’s very cold I think its winter,
the trees no leaves a holocaust,
the flames,
a fire,
so helplessly tossed.
I see axes there is no fruit,
the monkey so frightened,
he forgot the root.

Is right and wrong what you see?
division,
partition,
freedoms blight,
black and white,
fuels the fight,
honour as revenge is not right.

My god,
lying in the forest,
was really the dream.