The Sun Harvesters

This narrative poem, I wrote for a friend of mine. At the library, I found inspiration in a book about Haiku-poems.

Dusk

Ravens

Exchange trees

- Haiku poem written by Noor Singh Khalsa

As the pine’s twigs touches his arm, a shriek travels from the dystopian forest and reaches the depths of my mind, creating waves of distortion in my sea of inner peace. Elven castles, stunning constructions - placed around in the south. Still to this day the jungle flirts with my curiosity, even though my feet have aimlessly wandered there countless of times, through generations of changing faunas. With a quick jerk his attempt of escaping is made futile. Never underestimate the wrath of mother earth - a quote I used to serve him together with his daily seaweed soup. Strangling tentacles of living mass, thirsting for glucose. Ever since they succeeded in constructing the huge balloons - floating in the sky like whales, and dancing with the clouds. Around his feet it twists and gently saws its razor-sharp surface into his leg until it meets the bone. Rivers of red juice traveled in creeks from the veins of its leaves to its steam, and gathered in a bowl-like formation made from violet petals.

Careful observations and experience would hardly come to the conclusion that the speed of an organism’s adaptation would take on the quest of reaching the cosmic speed limit. Trapped by the thirst of carbondioxide, the bomb would never have exploded if They had not removed the safety barriers. Mixing and blending biological chemicals, following a recipe of mass destruction. Little fingers reached for a pocket, to extinguish evil with evil. Syringes filled with sizzling liquids, side by side from a spell book. Despite of the seconds lasting lifetimes each, his fingers wouldn’t settle for the right one. Moving images flashed before his eyes, and fireflies transported him through space and time in a whirlwind.

Page after page with DNA - burned as suspicious witches. This week, the humans were on the menu. Two hundred years ago, Mother Earth had abandoned her superior race for another species. A mosquito tasted my arm. I resisted the temptation of scratching the itch, as humanity did not. Seldom, history is played backwards. Who would know? A scent of sweet tea spreads into every corner of my colossal castle. In a chest sleeps the equipment of an adventurer. Glowing leaves separated them from the rest, semi-living creatures that we call plants. The ravens spend their time exchanging trees, knowing the plague will catch up with them.