The​‍​‌‍​‍‌​‍​‌‍​‍‌ Plea to Return

Come back home, my wandering-child, free yourself from your steel cocoons,

Come back to the breathing wild, under the ancient moons.

I do not ask for a great sacrifice, no altars made of stone,

Simply melt the heart that’s made of ice, and make my heartbeat feel alone.

Put down the iron axe, that cuts my timber deep,

Running through the wooden veins that were asleep.

Do not kneel next to the mud and pray, while poisons are choking the stream,

But remove the oily cover, and let the waters gleam.

Start planting seeds to thank nature, not take more than needed from the furrow,

And greet back at the riversides, the brother in the burrow.

Look, my green veil is torn into pieces, my skin is scraped and raw,

But still for you my table is spreading, not even a single one has a flaw.

Return to the soil, return to the light, before the winds die,

Before the beginning of the night, that puts out the sky.

Return home before the silence comes, to stay forever,

My love is still here, in these walls, and it is waiting next to the never.