Fear of facts, fear of truth, fear of standing out.
Fear of fraternal correction, fear of the hypocritical mob:
"Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear." - Alan Paton
I'm a teacher where the future flows from
The ground. I water in the shadow of the clouds,
As the sun fails at peeping at me, smiling proud.
These tender blades look like mini green swords
Although the arid air wishes to suck out the breath
That fills their stomata, replacing it with death.
Cool air rushes round my feet, as I side-step
My precious lawn. Nature and I collaborate
To heal the future, and watch it elaborate.
But the clouds suddenly shift and the peeping sun,
Like a Netflix nightmare, smiling at innocence,
Paints them brown forever in masked silent violence