Walking the cobblestone streets of Bogota, Colombia. In the rush of the city, you can hear their cry.

I am walking on false stones

Pressed together like bodies on a train

I am sitting on crying wood

Forced into a shape of convenience

I see plants behind bars

Their imperfection cut by human minds.

● ● ●

I miss the wild arrangements of green

The chaotic dance of trees & flowers

Or so it seems …

Because it is in those places

Our mother and father unite

To tell tales Of magic and divinity.

Are you listening?

I like to free

Every stone underneath my feet

Every flower on the sidewalk

And every tree planted for beauty.

● ● ●

We are breathing the air they give us

But are we honouring their life?

Chaos is what we need to attract

The chaos that is growing

Within our hearts and from our earth.

Let’s be wild again.

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