What on Earth.

The usual stirrings of forests. Boy, they are weakened, but they haven’t lost their grit, eh. Regular winds and swirling clouds. Sunshine creeping over my edge. Today’s aurorae were bluish- sort of… you can never tell.

Peoples are crawling all over the place as usual, giving me the regular itches. Sigh, that species is going to keep tormenting eh? I have seen them swatting those creatures called flies and mosquitoes, I wish I could swat them, these peoples.

Not today though, I don’t need to. They are busy swatting themselves. Some of them foals been crawling around angrily, asking for improvements in what they call education. I laugh to myself. Education: peoples have lost it long ago. All they do is use it to earn loads of trash called money which is then swapped for tearing me down and fashioning their Guccis and pompoms.

And then in that other corner hundreds of people again crawling angrily, protesting against a bunch of their own species for making life so expensive. Trash problems again. Can’t live without it, apparently.

Money shuts down a peoples- powerhouse they call the government, and bunch of even more peoples fighting over who gets the government. Some do it with guns, some with paper, and all do it with trash. I laugh to myself. These creepy-crawlies haul loads of this money on one hand, and still manage to consume more than the freaking load; so much that peoples here end up borrowing from peoples there. Beats me why one would do that after all the bounty I have been providing to these freaks all these millennia. There has to be some limit, no?

I see I am going to get a bad rash in this area; about a billion of these creatures are going to erupt over some defaming of one creature they name “God”. He is questioned by some creature from another corner of mine. God,  eh? Some creature who ran up and down a small droughty patch on my back, and hit really hard wooden balls in the vicinity gets declared as God. I laugh to myself. What do these peoples know about God, yeah? What do peoples anywhere know anyway? Come up here I say, and look as far as I do. Past Alpha Centauri, peoples. Past Rigel, Betelgeuse and Andromeda. That’s what you name them I s’pose. The vastness and nothingness function perfectly to create everything. That’s God, haan. Not…all that has been going on for so long now.

I really wish they would stop all the scuttling and listen to me a bit. These peoples, I tell you. They are so disillusioned. I am supposed to be hosting one world for these 7 billion odd bricks of a species, but it seems I am hosting about 7 billion worlds, each ruled by the one who imagines it. I laugh at myself when I see the amount of importance peoples give to trivial issues like stock markets and political parties, and most of all, to themselves. I am bigger than all of them put together and keeping the paparazzi at bay; perhaps I should take a leaf from their book.

Which reminds me – oh the books they follow under the names of religions, governance, knowledge! Dude, seriously? I thought we were in this together. The cock and bull stories they cook up. I have to give it to them for their imagination. Not all of course, but then, I can’t pin point, can I?

… The ride’s not been smooth for a long time. Apart from the itches, I get pricks, allergies, and wounds too. You must have seen two huge rashes I developed in a quarter of a century some time ago. Troubled me quite a bit, these peoples. Eh, they killed themselves mostly, and I am as fit as a fiddle, but the scars remain. They now have groups all over the place sporting a V and talking of some rash medicine called peace.

Not all’s hunky dory though. Fully developed peoples drilling holes in me, using stuff from my own tummy! Burning my stuff, blackening my winds and clouds. Pulling down other, more sensible species. Oh, the nerve. Fortunately there are quite a few who go about healing my wounds like doctors, but as I said, they are few.

And then there are those crawlers who scream about how sick I am and need to be treated at once. I laugh to myself. Give me a break peoples, and relax. I am not as sick as you think I am. Peoples been around for a long time and hence some probably care – I give them that. But I have been around much longer, mate. I have seen worse, and pulled through it. I got a good immune system, and I can survive through all the brouhaha you cause on me. All I need is one good wobble like your neighbour’s dog after his bath; you mites will be shaken off, and I will be good to go.

Till I am ready to meet God (read: … oh forget it, who am I kidding). That will be the end (for you), folks. High five.


 – October 2013


4 thoughts on “What on Earth.

  1. Mother earth, Oh! Great blue globe,
    I know well that you are itching.
    But I live here too. It’s my abode,
    I hate to hear your bitching.

    Hanging here in space, we see,
    While spinning round the Sun,
    The black bits between the stars is free,
    But, for people clever stuff is fun.

    So to have us stop our scratching
    In the surface of your skin,
    We’d need to stop imagining
    Those games we play but cannot win.

    Perhaps one day,
    With knowing and with careful ease,
    We may learn to live in peace
    Not thinking, still, amongst the trees.

    Quieted mind, small amongst all life
    (Let the space between the stars seep in):
    Then in freedom clear and bright
    We’ll do no more than minor sins.

    You can then perhaps relax a bit,
    To spin slow in gentle sunny shine,
    And tolerate those human twits
    Throughout the rest of Earthy time.


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