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Claire Lee on Greta Thunberg | Letter to Greta: From Artist to Activist
WILDFLOWER
Because life isn’t all about growing up, it’s about growing wild
Flowers don’t command and don’t make you bow
but there is dignity and grace in a bloom in an unexpected place
being gentle and fragile
The shouts inside a slender stem that only few can hear.
Generous father of the colossal sky
She can almost touch him upside-down inside
a small raindrop on her petal, less than one millimetre in size
She feels sad for his power of all-knowing is
the loneliest presence
He loses pleasure of small ways
patience for small ideas to encourage kindness
A pathetically small flower experiences inner qualities,
she begins to create her own peace.
Watching birds and bees, she learns
what it means to practice the excellence of one’s kind to be fully being.
Earth’s wounds and their delicate seams
Mother sits alone with quiet rebellion within
That is why all things break.
Father sets fire at one place and outbursts of cries
on the other end
Life remains serene and the world is a mess.
She sees silent weepers walking through the meadow
Depression is thunder without a voice, and voices without a sound
This little heart of a flower stumbles down without a beat because it beats too fast
Daring to his ignorance she closes the petals to make a fist
But it doesn’t last.
The quiet ones who want to be understood
always end up understanding the most and disappear.
One by one all stems are bending,
as if he is learning the art of flower arranging
Sadly, instead of empathy he learns only in tragedies.
Quiet determination of a warrior. Her original intention
will guide her through the dark as well as the brightest
The ego thinks.
The spirit knows. It knows the road
before light first appears
As far as my little wildflower can visualize tomorrow
Land to sink but the entire meadow will float.
