I sat upon my stoop the other day and looked out onto my block. I thought about how this place that I call home is so beautiful yet so ugly. The landscape, homes, and people are the beauty. But the trash tarnishes the neighborhood, painting a wasteland over the grass and concrete. I captured my thoughts and emotions in this poem. I see it as a call to action to myself and others. A reminder that we are the root of change.
Litter Free Dreams
What does it mean,
to see a leaf drop from the trees?
How can a rain drop be described?
Or flowers blooming from root to sky?
I grew from earth.
The soil so rich.
I lay in fields.
Wind carrying my dreams.
And years have passed.
From child to adult.
I look around, but the dream is gone.
The beautiful streets…
Now trash in heaps.
The breathtaking breeze,
now choking on smog.
A fallen cup,
The grass is mixed,
with discarded dreams.
For each time the trash falls from our hands,
our earth is murdered, our hopes dismissed.
Now our children cry, to save the land.
And we must comply to the earth’s demand.
By example we will lead.
By cleaning up our city streets.
4/27/10 —–Preeti Pathak