The rising sun-
and it must set
and scours the
dark to where it rises;
it has its
ordained course to run,
and that it does
with no surprises.
The winds will
blow and sometimes roar
southwards,
northwards, coursing free,
for this the
cycle of all life
and who will
call it mystery?
The streams will
meet the snaking paths
of rivers racing
to the sea,
a commingling of
green and blue,
waves and
ripples ever free.
This the cycle
of all life,
and this the way
‘twill always be.
And we, the
dwellers of the land
think we own
eternity!
Do we pause to
think our
ancestors
breathed upon this terrain?
So will we be
just forgotten
by our own
coming generations.
This Earth, this
Gala, will remain
while we will
shout over lost terrain-
conflict,
hatred, wars to fight,
exulting as the
cities die.
Do we think of
the cruel past?
The fall of
empires, no lesson learn,
slaughtering our
kind, we live
triumphant as
the tropics burn.
And others will
replace the dead
while souls
forgotten anguished moan.
A life in cycles
will go on,
the starving
children, widows groan.
And what has been
this history?
A tone of human
misery?
What’s done will
once again be done,
life’s cycle! not
some sorcery!
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