The earth burns –
We are gutting her roots.
The earth we are destroying-
us – her enemies.

The earth – the one we have
received as a gift – and to no other
leave.

The earth – we must save her –
Hell is down here!

What will become of us after we finish covering in cement every corner of her?
What will happen to the sky after the black cloud of smog prevents us from looking at the stars?
And the moon? What will happen to the moon when our children no longer raise their heads to look at it, making them believe that it does not bring good luck?
And the breath? What will become of our – their – breath, after we have cut the last tree, too?
What will become of the springs, after we have torn every flower and burned every lawn?

People run; stopping to ask questions is frightening.
When asked “WHAT FOOD ARE YOU”,
in the walls of my mind and the spaces of my eyes, I saw all this, and the colours fainted, and my pains occupied me.

We need to tell our children that fruit grows on trees and not in supermarkets. They must learn that they should take care of flowers, and not tear them off to buy them. They and the earth must become friends; within their souls, paradises must grow.

They must taste the flavour of the rain and smell the wind; we must leave them out of glass bells. They must feel the snow that burns their hands and must be capable to recognise the cold of an unmoved sun of those who have no tomorrow.

And run free, from the green peaks – go down into the valley; they must drink the water of pure rivers, sprinkle their hair and their forehead with the dew in the early morning.

And we, those who sit on well-adorned tables, those with coordinated tablecloths, cutlery and thoughts, must remember that:

Of the wine
we need to be
the bunch of grapes…

The hands of the farmer
of the earth
taking care.