Burning paradise

Bare soles sink
in the dark grey of conscience
like a missing orphan’s trail
gone cold.

Before long
they will be entombed within structures,
some concrete, some that give rise
to multidisciplinary discourses
when they crumble.

When the fires have been stoked enough
by indifference, they will take
what’s left of freedom and set up
mock pyres on watchtowers
and let the smoke
the colour of their choosing
escape.
And, then, maybe when the the world
is waking up to the meltdown,
we shall ask ourselves:

Does anything burn
more defiantly than freedom,
more greedily than a furnace,
more searingly than
a rainforest?