In Tree's Chatter

The summer flower has run to seed 
Leaves fall like confetti in autumn 

Ceremonial in procession 

They blanket the grounds, that lay covered 

Long gone the winds, that blew breeze  

That made tree branches dance and 

Sing with joy in summer  

Cherished trees have lost their boldness 

Naked they walk in winter, in harmattan 

Like a Buddhist test of faith, on courage 

The circles of time they hold within 

Tells stories, guaranteed of battles fought   

With Seasons of  time voyage past 

She rather the pain of endeavor

Than pity of sorrow, nausea  

So she bleeds silently within  

Spring will affirm, what believers hold 

If trees make it, that far in seasons 

Watch, like magic the shooting stars of new  

With shots of green leaves and branches bold  

If we make it that far, on the green belt movement 
Before the chainsaw man appears with glum


If we make it that far to spring
The summer flower has run to seed 
A reincarnation is awaited in spring  




In memory of Wangari Maathai

Image by Global Crop Diversity Trust via Flickr

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Wangari-Maathai/106096576088935?ref=ts

Suu Kyi's Burma

Shackles, I have fought, many a time 
The belly of the beast, draped in uniform, Well ironed, many a time I have fought 


They seek and demand 
To be called by honour 
Yes your honour


'Salute and respect, the badge I wear' 
Yes your number, your gun, your threat 
Sorry your honour, your Junta


So your honour ; Junta
Why am I to sit, in house arrest 
Like a caged bird, arm's length 


While the peaceful monk
Do protest, in defiant 
Yes your honour, your general, your Junta


When you swore to protect the people of Burma oh Burma 
Who's badges you wear, for your honour 
Junta numbers lined in queues of generals 


Sorry your honour,
To have ever questioned 
Your integrity, Junta to salute 


Another one, on vote counts
I guess now, close to unchained shackles 
I can step foot out, among my people 


To serve my people, the Mother land
With your permission of-course, Junta
With your eagle eyes, paranoia a' weary ears


With your permission, your honour, of course
To fight against your oppression
Yes your honour, with your permission 


If only to say 
Yes your honour, to Junta 
But how could I, yes your honour, Junta


I  will I promise say words, 
Which may end me, locked up in birds cage 
For that is the price of freedom

While my people protest on Tuesdays 
If this is our destiny to protest 
Gladly we shall 


No your Junta, your honour 
The cage can't hold my wings
I am Suu Kyi, of Burma