Some Little Thoughts
by Raymonde Sacklyn
Man Must Die
Like flowers, blooming in the spring,
Then, summer’s full luscious blossoms,
Attracting life
To carry seeds,
Far and away;
The cycle repeating,
Earth’s clock that never needs rewinding.
But man, over centuries,
No sooner flourishes, then,
He shall die:
Sigh not, it is
By his own hand!
Filled with the heat,
The fire,
The sun’s strength,
Blind to beauty, all around,
He sees naught, but
He, proudly, proclaims:
‘I am Master of the world!’
The ant, looks on and ponders:
‘What is this life-form?
Born of nothing, knowing nothing,
Never learning. Only burning and burning!
And he wants to rule?’
Man feeds on earth’s gifts
Devouring and destroying,
He slaughters goodness,
Kindness never awakens,
Mercy is non-existent,
Flora and fauna suffer;
Slowly, comes putrefaction
Man’s legacy, the gods will say,
In eons, yet to come,
Looking down on desolation,
Was the fruit of puerility.
Earth was wasted: Man tasted his own death.
He had to die: Sigh not.
Earth’s moral indignation
Caused by man, solely,
He could not be saved …
From himself.
