How could an ideal future look like ?Emerging writers dare to break with the present and take us into their eco-literary utopias.
Metamorphosis in Love and Chrysalises
To feel lovable is
to feel Gaia’s warm embrace,
to feel the kiss that she places ever so tenderly
upon your rosy cheek while she caresses your face
and observes the emerald and sapphire hues intertwining in your iris.
Thereafter, she would whisper lovingly into your ear
and tell you about the secrets of the past—
of the Earth she once knew,
of the Earth you are now.
The mellow gust of wind from her whispers and sighs
softly pushes against the delicate wings of a Monarch butterfly,
which flutter and glimmer ever so gently
in the technicolour of the universe.
The butterfly dances gracefully to a melody—a lullaby
sung mellifluously by the oscillating oak and maple trees,
which had long survived destruction that seemed to be beyond repair
until Gaia’s children had finally embraced them ever so kindly.
Drifting swiftly, the lustrous winged creature traverses the skyline
from east of the Rocky Mountains, to west of Mexico City,
where it lays resting on oyamel fir trees,
yearning for Gaia’s sweet hums; the summer zephyr
that would accompany the butterfly to its new home;
in minutes, hours, days, and months to come.
As moonlight pours down the forest and owls awaken,
the Monarch holds its wings together above its back
and dreams of yesterday:
Where its kind was left astray and unloved
with almost no home to fly to and no milkweed leaves to feed on
with most of its children being unable to grow into chrysalises
with all of its siblings threatened by the pesticides in your backyard
(Almost. Almost. Almost.)
“Almost” was enough to awaken you from a deep sleep.
In the cusp of your hands,
you delicately held a Monarch whose wing was impaired
and tried everything you could to comfort it so it would never wane
but “Almost” was not enough to bury the sorrow and pain.
Gaia’s gelid tears flowed freely from the dismal sky,
mending the Monarch’s wing
as she held it dearly and sowed
seeds of metamorphosis deep in your heart.
As loving as the wind,
you began building havens for the late Monarch’s family—
gardens of yours were transfigured into waystations
filled with warmth, milkweed blossoms and nectar plants,
absent of coldness, and pesticides.
As minutes, hours, days, and months kept passing by,
the Monarchs continuously emerged from
their radiant chrysalises, and flew gently into Eden,
with their wings singing in harmony with the birds and trees.
On this Earth,
the caring embrace of Gaia’s children
never fails to make the butterflies feel infinite and lovable,
and the fond kisses that the Monarchs place on your cheeks
never fail to make you feel complete and lovable,
and so, you will never let “Almost” consume you again.
To feel lovable
is to feel Earth’s warm embrace.