Birth

Deep brown earth, fetid and familiar
where we bonded with the roots
and whispered with the streams
before life moulded us.
before we were strung into souls.

Then we smelt growth, bright green growth
singing toward the sky
each leaf carriedthe pulses of tomorrow.
as they dried away,they became nature's martyrs.

Smiles wilt, when a tree dies.
when its trunks go to sleep.
Lips shake when a man falls still.
We cling to the stems of his soul
when we know we should just blind ourselves with saffron.

Deep brown earth, fetid and familiar
where we bond back with the roots
and whisper into the streams
where we stretch bare and settle back
in between the breathing seeds