The world is turning on its slow spiral of destruction.
We human ants are turning, turning in upon ourselves
In the last death-throes of a dying race.
The human, pale and hairless has lost all common knowledge
Of the Ancient Race that spawned it.
For once upon a time some Large Awareness must
Have given us a spark, some loving essence to bind us,
To hold us all together in a fond embrace
And set us on this wheel of life fast spinning to Eternity
With some great but long-lost Truth.
So what has become of us, pale hairless humans?
Oh, why have we lost that awareness of Oneness?
Knowing all things to be part of each other
Should enable each one of us standing alone
To welcome the stranger as brother.
In olden days when strangers met gladness filled their hearts.
The long straight track led to the door of the lonely farm -
Then on. The traveller would be welcomed in,
A meal and rest with joy be given. His return gift
No less than news and simple entertainment.
In time the roads would by-pass dwellings, carrying travellers
Far too many to rest at the farmer’s simple hearth.
Now the long motorway leads past millions
Huddled in cities, walled in their houses,
Fenced in their fearful minds.
So now it turns sour as we slide down our spiral.
And so we turn round as our love turns to hate.
We have gone down the road where no homestead is found.
We have gone down the lane where no turning leads off.
We have chosen our path and we cannot turn back.
© Sarita Armstrong
(original 1995, revised 2014)