Wednesday 30 October 2019

The Keeper Tree

It was about two hours after the colonists realized that the air on the new planet was very similar to that on their native Earth, and removed their masks, that the groups wandered in different directions. According to the reports, there were no predators here, no bacteria and no intelligent life. The results for the virus test were not back yet, but nobody seemed to care. They've had enough of the stale air and tasteless food, and if they were in danger, they could not go back to Earth, anyway. This was a one-way journey.  
-          On this planet, we are born into the air. I know you won't understand… but listen anyway, OK?  
Steve was lying down under a giant tree, staring at its leaves in utter disbelief. The tree was talking to him, inside his head, in a loud and sonourous voice. For the avoidance of doubt, it began by introducing itself. The images it sent added up to words, and Steve had no idea how it happened. Having gotten some control over his shaking limbs and chattering teeth, Steve agreed to listen and not to call anyone else just yet. The tree clearly meant no harm. His panic manifested in such weakness that he had to lie down. His knees were still occasionally bumping into each other. He felt cold and clammy, even though it was warm enough to sweat. Around him, light blue and lilac balloons were flying, colliding and turning about, with shadows shimmering inside them, and he could swear he heard them laughing, but only inside his head. "The air here made me lose it", - he thought. But then the tree carried on speaking.  
-          I remember the day I came into being. Lighter than air, we fly around, absorbing the sunlight, free of all worry and care. You would call it photosynthesis… we don't need anything. Only air… We fly and grow in pure happiness of being alive… then slowly we get heavier, and begin to sink down to the ground. That means it's time to choose the spot where we will live for the rest of our lives, as trees. But still we have some time before we become too heavy to fly. After I found this spot, I landed here, and when my roots grew, I got a mind that could think and speak, from the ground. The ground is our mother.
Steve chocked on his question, and pronounced it instead in his mind.
"Do you hear me like this?"
-          Of course, replied the tree.
"What do you mean when you say that the ground is your mother?"
-          That is exactly what I mean. We come from the ground… she feeds us, loves us and takes care of us. We are her… just that she cannot see or communicate, so we do that for her. Her name is Orola. You should treat her with respect.
"Whom do you communicate with? Until now, there were no humans here."
-          Everything you see can communicate. But we, the trees, are the ones who help the planet. She sent me to speak to you. Our roots are so deep, they connect all living beings into one body. Without us, Orola is deaf and mute. You brought fire, and our planet is afraid, so afraid… don't you feel her?
Steve could swear he felt a deep rumble under his back, where it was pressed into the ground. Like a very distant thunderstorm.
" I do" – the thought came. "I am afraid, too. Humans are not exactly some lovely bunnies…"
His head was spinning form the effort. Being the colony's meteorologist, he had no control over what happened. Yet, the captain was not likely to listen to any trees. He was ready to mine, build, and burn as necessary. It was absolutely clear to Steve, that should humans stay on this planet, it would be destroyed much faster than the Earth was. It was more sensitive… and intelligent. Just as Stanislav Lem predicted in "Solaris". It was true… except this planet was not an ocean. Somehow, the colonists needed to learn to be gentle, in a world of a gentle-speaking trees, and their baby balloons, and take only what the planet gave willingly.
"What would make you … and your mother… feel safe?"
-          Call the humans here, and I will speak to them. If they cannot live by our rules, they will have to leave. Fire has to be limited and contained. No being shall ever be harmed.
"We cannot leave. Our planet will not take us back… there is nowhere to go. And we eat… meat. Bodies of animals. Understand?"
-          Call them. Now.
The ground shook again, this time harder.
Moments later, Steve was running, tripping up over himself, towards the seashore.
As he was approaching one of the groups, a scream reached his ears. A woman was screaming, hollering, shrieking so loudly, that the intelligent ground of Orola gave a powerful lurch, and Steve ended up flat on his belly. Wiping his bloodied nose on his sleeve, he carried on running, until he reached the screaming woman. It looked like she tried cutting one of the crawling vines, and now it was holding her by the leg, pulling her away from the group. The ground shook again, by now most of the colonists were sitting down, not trusting the ground anymore. Steve fell on his knees, out of breath, in front of the woman.
"Stop! Stop!" – he screamed to the vine in his mind. "Let go!"
The vine released its grasp and swung itself again over a tree.
-          Wait now. Full stop. There is something you have to learn before you take even one more step over here.
The tree breathed a sigh of relief in his mind. The humans walked slowly, one by one, watching their step, careful and aware, towards the Keeper Tree, as the ground calmed down gradually, with low-grade tremors. 

Monday 28 October 2019

Yaakov and Esav


Yin-yang twins
Red skinned and hairy
Entwined with white
Held by the heel.
Twins drifting apart
By power of choice.
When one rises,
The other will fall.
One gaining power
Brings the other one down.
Drops of red melting down
Lentil soup? Is it?
Or rivers of blood?
***
Soul rising for judgement
Dressed in ultimate evil
Tainted by murder
Power of destruction
Archetypal corruption
Dismantled to fragments.
***
God offers the souls
A new package deal:
He's carrying a trunk
Full of fragments of Red.
Rusty bullets and knives,
Cannons and guns,
Surgical needles,
Pick axes, darts,
Scalpels and scissors,
Saws and hedge trimmers,
Pliers and drills.
Who wants to carry
A tool in your soul?
This Red here –
Those fragments -
Need purifying.
Volunteers are needed.
Anyone willing?
Souls are running,
Competing and begging,
Such great opportunity,
Such wonderous power.
Integrating the scissors,
Knives, bullets and axes,
Grabbing the chances
To re-shape those weapons.
A confetti of fragments
Re-absorbed by the souls.
***
Just as Rebecca
Felt the twins in her, struggling,
Pulled apart by their goals,
Begging to grasp and employ,
So too, those souls,
Walk the Earth with a pull.
Fragments of Esav
Draw them to danger,
Entice them to combat,
Squinting into the muzzle sight,
The soul crying in horror.
Shards of ultimate evil
Contaminate their path.
How can we remind you
The promise you made Above?
Purify those fragments,
Not use them as compass.
Elevate and heal,
Not feed them and settle… 
Do not let them take over,
Nourishing the Darkness,
Complying with orders.
The White One is waiting
For his brother to heal,
Wake up, dear Soul.
Wake up.
It's almost over.



Thursday 3 October 2019

Never ask me again


Babi Jar ravijn.jpgNever ask me again
"Where's your family?"
My family is weighted down by lead
In Babiy Yar.
My family's blood fertilized the fields
By Shepetovka.
My family fell down
In nameless fields
In Belarus.
My family was never born.
Millions of unfertilized ova
Melted into the ground
With war widows and orphans
Who never knew a mother's kiss,
Only a steel hand and an iron voice.
A generation of mothers
Whose wombs turned to stone,
Nipples – to copper.
Hearts – to pewter,
Twisted and broken.
All for the Front,
All for the Victory.
Looking down into the Yar,
Where the trees touch the heavens
The colour of mercury,
Just like the Dnieper,
I tried to imagine them,
Suitcases in hand.
Walking in hostile land,
Huddling close.
Cursed you are in the city,
Cursed you are in the field.
Coming and going,
With fever and drought,
Smitten by enemies,
That was my family.
***
I hug trees and caress stones
Of our Land.
There is a pine cone on my desk,
That came from Jerusalem.
A tiny little piece of the dream
Which is always with you.
Wondering why my children
Grew up to be patriots.
Did the toxic sand of Babiy Yar
Pass through my DNA?
Did they hear the pride in my voice,
When I said, don't be afraid,
It's OUR army aeroplanes?
Did they see me weeping
Towards the end of the flight
At the sight of the Tel Aviv coastline?
Or do they know – really know –
Where we come from,
And where we go?
Never ask me again
The innocent question
About my family.
Blessed sanctuary of America, 
Peaceful suburbs in England,
Beautiful uninterrupted generations,
Uncles and sisters and cousins,
Interconnected and growing,
Never ask me about the sadness I carry
And will carry forever.
Don't ask me.
Look at my children.
That is your answer.