Leave the dirt.
In it grows
our only hope
to live again.
Pavements crack.
Buildings fall.
Rain and wind
shall do their work.
Have no fear
of all we build;
even evil
will have its day—
invasive weed
soon stripped away—
trees shall grow in its place.
---
I walk through this brown city, and think how lovely it could be if only we would leave it alone to grow some green. If only we would leave the dirt to build up on the sidewalks, filling up crevices: little greens would shoot up, and slowly tear the asphalt apart. In a few years, the city would be unidentifiable, and we would have a real place to live.
Forgive me. I know I can't have it both ways. It's just, we seem to ruin all we touch; instead of guiding and stewarding the earth, we try to conquer it, as if we hate it instead of loving it.
All cities do not have to be "a paralysis" a la James Joyce. Moroccan designers, builders, craftspeople, rich people, green-loving humans with souls who haven't known peace: BUILD US A PARK IN CASABLANCA.
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