I am the Earth

I don’t remember my birth,

nobody knows,

nobody was.

I came to life from nothing,

just a little dust

that fled and lost.

I turn and turn

around myself,

around the sun.

I’m part of the galaxy:

in a hurry voyaging,

in nowhere arriving.

I’m a balloon full of life.

I breathe from the trees,

from grass and flowers.

But something is changing.

They cover my bronchus with cement,

they fill my entrails with poison.

I cannot die and my body,

mishmash of good and worst,

shall give birth to different life,

shall never turn to be the same.

I am ill, very ill.

I cough and cough,

vomit lava and blood.

That force that created me

shakes me, inundates me,

blows hurricanes and typhoons

in a desperate intent to heal my body.

Man, my new born, my child,

is playing with my genes.

He’s so young, he doesn’t know

that he’s playing him to die.

I am the Earth, I am his mother;

I try to impeach his play to reach.

But the wound is too deep,

the illness too important,

and my powers are flying away.

I am the Earth, I am your mother.

Don’t you see I love you so?

Give me back the trees, the grass and the flowers.

Let me breathe again,

and you will see how fertile is my breast;

and you will see how I shall nurse you

until the end of the times.

May the 9th , 1999