From Botany bay, to
A business called Botanik,
To the Botanical prints
That fall off life size models,
We hear the whispers of
The dryads, those that occupy
Trees, as guardian angels.
We water the roots, and add fertilizer.
We are gardeners of an orchard,
The “shoot and root” beauties
That sequester carbon,
To erase our wasteful footprints.
We cannot see the tip
Of the tallest tree, the redwoods
Nor can we figure out, why
The Baobabs are withering now,
Yet we know why bamboo, forms
A circle, a grove, a thicket.
We are all abreast, like plants
That give a boost to dire hope,
The tap root, that tells us,
We are stuck in one earth,
And a flower on top, that
Reminds us, beauty is not frugal,
Neither is it, in excess. A garden,
Multiplying as blossoms of antheses,
Is where the eye triumphs.
How a bloom has a place
And time, like human blossoms,
That slowly wither, to age,
And then fall off, and the few,
Who die in full bloom, plucked
By God’s hands.
Death, is our way of knowing, that we,
Are all, one day, broken tungsten filaments,
And still, we rise above inertia, inside our auras,
An extravaganza, of breath and beat.
How the show doesn’t stop,
Until the fat lady sings.
Still beneath the cosmetic, is
The heretic, a heart that keeps
On battling a world, that tells us,
We should not care, or give a damn.
Yet, we turn argon, into oxygen.
A temple, where pilgrims arrive,
And pilgrims leave, as acts of kindness.
We tribute our obese hearts, for the
Offerings of human touch. We are only
Catalysts of kindness, not
Just mere proteins, that scaffold,
On marriage beds, but enzymes,
Gifted with the beautiful chemistry,
Of transformation; not just as substrates,
But also, what is held beneath;
A substratum, on top of which,
We build a pantheon. A single clone,
In this cradle of humanity.