Temperature’s Rising
| By Tadhg Kwasi |
Temperature’s Rising; in the South
Our fellow crops dying of thirst and heat stroke
I’m lucky I’m only dehydrated
Remembers when times were less hard
In the lush motherland
When we were hand in hand
My papa calls it the olden days
Where Sundays never set
And cool breeze met warm gazes
In crisis we stuck together like lice
Despite our differing tribes
Of roses and weeds we lived harmoniously as one
Before the wicked gardeners separated, divided and sold us
Like meat from a carcass
Temperature’s Rising
And the perpetrator’s hiding
We heal through nature’s remedies
Who treated us like their precious golf
Slime mould bonds we held eachother tight
Through the frightful nights and days
In bondage and occupation
Living in commune with the trees and cycle of life
No matter the strife
We fought against rife conditions
Whether the lacklustre yield or absent hiding rains
My body aches for merry times
Fuelled by wine kindly provided by the palm trees
We don’t take
We asked
Received
And returned in kind
But now we’re dominated by mechanical tools
Our sacred healing pools are dirtied by greed and fools
The gods have died and their blessings long dried up
So I can’t help but reminisce on when
The temperature wasn’t rising
| By Tadhg Kwasi | Director: Ai Narapol |
| Director of Photography: Eva Yap | Editing: Ai Narapol
