Poem: Earth 2.

I entitled this poem Earth 2 as a reference to a poem I wrote when I was 10 called Earth. I like to believe that this poem is a mature, sadder sequel to what I wrote before. Now more than ever, our planet, our very existence, is threatened by our inaction. At the time of publishing, the Amazon Rainforest is currently burning, there is micro-plastic in the water that we drink and the planet is getting warmer and warmer. I like to believe that it is my own little way of saving the planet, hoping that this will inspire you to take action too.

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 “I can’t believe it.”
 Said ten year old me, 
 When she first fully realized 
 That our planet was dying. 
  
 I got to writing
 A short poem in the kids’ section
 I hoped it was enough to change a mind. 
 It wasn’t. 
  
 “I can’t believe it,”
 I said seven years later,
 When I realised that nothing has changed
 Since then. 
  
 Because people still say,
 “It doesn’t exist,
 That thing called global warming,
 Our earth is still thriving.
 Our mother is still breathing.”
  
 No. 
  
 “But the river flows,”
 Hah. 
 It’s a black viscous moving. 
 With a pull that shouldn’t just be made of water 
 The strong stench of trash sunken below
 Seeps in through the car engine
 It’s enough to choke. 
  
 “Still, The wind blows,”
 Fragrant with traces of nitrous oxides
 A cloud of haze emerges, cold,
 Bitter with the bite of heat and humidity
 Someone faints. 
  
 “Yet, the trees stand tall,”
 But they are balding
 Their leaves wither to a sickly gray
 Their trunks too thin, too few to test the flood
 People drown. 
  
 Bigots. 
 Stupid. 
 Wrong.
  
 With every throw-away of a plastic bottle,
 We pierce a dagger through our mother’s heart,
 The core of her water-blood. 
  
 With every start of a gas-powered engine,
 Her throat closes in,
 No air to reach her lungs. 
  
 With every collapse of a mighty tree,
 We slice through her tubes
 Meant to give us life in the womb. 
  
 We don’t have another. 
 No other mother, no other planet,
 No other place to call
 Earth 2. 
  
 I hate that I still have to
 Write something like this
 So that my 10-year-old
 Won’t ask
 Won’t feel the same pang of pain 
 Won’t need to say,
 “I can’t believe it,”
 In the same way that I did.