The ones who wait
To befall them
And deserved are we
That need no judgment
But nothing itself
Find faith in yourself
For you're all God's
All of you
And after the wooden icons have infested your mind
Ground your feet
And all that is real
And bare the scars
Of all your convictions
Do not ask forgiveness f
The man made islands of Dubai don’t stand anymore, but the photo’s still exist as testament to the folly of man, for believing they can create something which only the Earth herself should be able to. For trying to defy the laws of nature which, so delicate and balanced, were brutalized by those gone before us.
She won, Mother Nature, Gaia, whatever you will call her, she won. The battle fought unconsciously between She and her most favoured creatures for so long was ended with Her most beautiful, yet deceptively powerful creation, water. She conquered the ugly cities of man and made them beautiful again, wreaking havoc on all places she touched, taking land from rich and poor alike, whole cities submerged.
It was a lesson learned the hard way, history books speak of the chaos that ensued, entire countries were wiped out, the world economy brutalized, once great men stood before the masses and finally conceded that they had pushed the ecology of their planet to the very brink of self-destruction.
She stood before a gigantic overgrown object, a vine crept around the horns of the tarnished bronze bull, symbolic of the change that had occurred within the city she stood in. Nature had returned to this place.
The gnarled forest reached right down to the ocean. It wasn’t difficult to make out the sharp lines of man made structures under the vivid green but where once they had been clean lines and smooth surfaces, vines and grass softened the concrete jungle of old, running up skyscrapers, blasting through their thick walls with the force of a small explosion. A thick blanket of grass had forced its way through the road and new trees were beginning to force their way through the black concrete, unchecked. Inside and out the memories of a foolish civilization were slowly decaying, but it would take hundreds of years more before the centuries of destruction would be completely destroyed.
The idea of a world without the comforts of old had not happened easily. The western world struggled. The third world, however, thrived. The geographical and economic confines that had once held them were removed and they became a beacon of hope. Profit was a concept that was eliminated, no group was allowed to store excess of any type and therefore goods were shared, ideas were no longer copyright, human rights were forced upon nations that had once resisted and the third world thrived.
What technology was kept was used for the bettering of the planet rather than destruction, finally those who had suffered through disease simply because they could not afford the medicine that had been available for years could be cured. Technology which had been there all along, but which had been ignored by the powerful governments of the time began to proliferate. Solar and wind replaced oil and gas. And those who had always known there was a better way rejoiced.
And she, the third generation since the end of the folly of man, a woman who once would have done little more than live in a small village in the deep south of Burkina Faso sewing clothes, if she were lucky, could now be a part of the world governance. She could now help guide the world in a better direction.
‘You’re needed inside ma’am.’
‘Ma’am?’ She turned, her slim frame dressed with chocolate coloured skin and lightly braided hair, and looked at the bigger man in front of her quizzically. ‘Where did that come from Ismael? Surely we’ve known each other long enough that such formality is ridiculous.’
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘You’ve never been a part of the Global Governance before ma’a…Aida.’
Aida adjusted the shawl that fought off the cold and nodded. ‘Better.’ She looked at him, her head forced backwards slightly by his stature. ‘I’ve had enough fresh air now, I think we can go in and see what those old codgers want of me.’
A half smile spread across his lips as he extended an arm to guide her across the rough ground, conscious of the tree roots which were snaking their way between where they stood and the disheveled building in front of them. ‘They may not appreciate you calling them that.’
‘Oh bully to them. I can call them whatever I like now, they’re just grumpy because I’m smarter and prettier than they are.’
Ismael laughed. ‘I wouldn’t say that in front of them either.’
She delicately placed a hand on the arm that he had offered and looked up at her old friend. ‘No perhaps you are right. You usually are.’