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Tara
The air is heavy with the sweet, musky smell of disturbed earth and
grass.
Broken trees, broken graves, laid bare by a great yellow monster; that
does the work of it’s masters.
A giant snake line of destruction weaves its way through the sacred
valley; a monument to man’s sacrilege and greed.
A lament stirs deep in my womb filling me with the cry of the earth and
the tears of my ancestors.
A lament that is carried on a fairy wind, to land on Tara hill.
On Tara’s hill I bow to the earth who holds us all in her embrace,
I bow to the ancestors in whose footsteps we walk,
I bow to the truth that lies deep within every human heart.
I, as a witness, see all this.
Kranti Macken 2008
email - Kranti
Macken
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