Earth is the mother of all things. Without it nothing can exist. Human, animals big or small, pretty or nuisance, even the insects, plants, all kinds from trees to flowers and weeds, they can't be without the earth. I wrote "THE EARTH" on 6-13-95, a long time ago; but still feels like a new poem to me.
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"Crisp cold disdains the power of land;
Ferocious earth, an unscathed seed, and a sun- burned hand.
Inherent reminiscence arrives as a guest.
Earth bows, then turn to rest.
Fruit flourishes out of a bloom.
Magnitude appears at the time of the gloom.
Up there, in horizon, day and night collide.
Down here, on earth, the incident echoes like a tide.
Far, very far, sky and earth connect.
The magnificent colors have no defect.
Azure is blue, orange is red.
In the quarrel of sun and moon, no one had bled.
A single, delicate bloom of a fruit tree,
Graces the governing dusk like poetry.
Any breather brings joy and sorrow.
Tangible entity praises tomorrow.
All breathers see the joy and the hurt;
When their times comes, they go to the bosom of earth.
Tragedy is not the beginning, but the end.
Dire sound of awareness kills the trend.
When disappointment is at the rise,
The GOOD EARTH takes us all by surprise!"
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