Poetry

The Earth Has Spoken

Are we listening?

Can you imagine how massive and majestic the Himalayas were? How they reached their granite arms towards the heavens, trying to embrace the sun, in the days when Shiva and Parvati gazed upon them with wonder and claimed them as their abode —

in those days, I mean, before mankind choked the air with tear-stinging, lung-searing smog and turned the rivers into streams of plastic.

How pure the snow must have looked, like nature’s shawl, draping Earth’s craggy limbs.

The farmer, tilling his fields below, must have felt his heart beat a little quicker when he watched the sun sparkles turn into diamonds on the slopes.

And the woman in the peacock sari, her hair like midnight, oiled and smooth, cascading around her curves, must have wondered at the allure of Mt. Kailash, dressed in unspoiled trees and plunging waterfalls.

Awe at the great Mother’s canvas, and for the artist, herself, must have filled every breath and fueled every heartbeat.

For they knew, the ancients did, about how the trees talk to one another, about how the birds, uninterrupted by car horns and jet planes, weave together an entire orchestra — one note trilling in response, hanging in the air, in answer to another bird’s staccato crescendo, both waiting for yet another’s solo to begin.

And the thing is, now that we’ve glimpsed it with our own eyes, tasted it mingling with our tears, breathed a deeper lungful of air than we might have before, can you imagine going back?

The Earth has spoken.

We didn’t hear her whispers or her anguished pleas.

We ignored her stern warnings.

And now we’ve been shown, in no uncertain terms, what we could have — no, not what we could have — but what the whole buzzing, breathing world could have.

I can imagine it.

Can you?

This poem was inspired by the reports from India about being able to see the Himalayan Mountains from one hundred miles away for the first time in decades. I also have a friend who works at NASA and has seen, first-hand, some of the satellite imagery of the clear skies over parts of the world which have, until a couple of months ago, been decimated by smog. I so fervently hope that we can hold onto some of this new, cleaner, less polluting way of living which we have stumbled into.

Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, neurophilosopher, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies). Erika is also an editor for Dharma Talk.

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Photos and story ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.