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Once green leaves unfold
touched by light inevitable,
and the tumult of bulletins of war
is quenched by the streams
of food and fluids that trees use
to establish a firm dictate of spring,
then those with arms and bullets
are dislodged into an obscure abyss of
irrelevance and oblivion, from
which escape can only occur by
pushing by press agencies.
Other forces are minute and unheard
yet unstoppable, such as time
and the sequence of seasons,
the need felt by birds to sing
in spring.
And here and now
I must give way, since no words
can catch this inner drive to
flourish and to follow the laws
of nature.
The path we might follow
runs back in time, where the past
has taken firm position, in anger
fuelled by neglect and
by being overlooked.
Photos and text by Drager Meurtant, April 2024