The air is heavy with the sweet, musky smell of disturbed earth and
Broken trees, broken graves, laid bare by a great yellow monster; that
does the work of itís masters.
A giant snake line of destruction weaves its way through the sacred
valley; a monument to manís 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 Taraís 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