Poetry

An oasis after the desert

I planted the seeds in your ribs,
that will fill the holes in your lungs.
But you have to remember one thing:
You have to water them yourself,
if you want to survive.
You have to open your chest,
tear it and water your seeds.
Because no one is capable
to make you what you are,
except for nature.

Old, colorful and dark at the same time.
There’s a labyrinth in you,
a forest that evokes a sense of discomfort.
All those animals that wander in you,
they consider you home and use your beauty
and the freedom you give them.
But you, you run away from your nature,
you let your fruits dry, rot and fall off.
Your ribs will eventually dangle,
your lungs will run out of life.
Animals will start attacking you
if they feel threatened,
if they have nothing to eat and nowhere to go.

You have to tear up the inside of your heart
if you want to survive…
Let the pain slip down your ribs,
you have to poison the animals that use your beauty,
you have to hurt them and kill them with your pain.
If you want your land to have roots again,
you have to make an effort.
Because no one is capable
of making an oasis after the desert,
except you.

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