There is no dissolution of love, Mother, even with so much evil around: A poem 

I can be a bush ranger 

of animals that are so rare 

that they don’t even exist in reality 

but reside in imagination  

You know love lives like that 

so that it should not be snared 

And this bushland of my soul 

can never be cut into parts 

to become the grounds of conspirators 

greedy to build their edifices, like sacrilege 

You can see the world is fraught with such corruption! 

I won’t let these manmade wickednesses 

burn out my vegetation of love,  

that breathes fire as if it were air  

And still remains firm as earth 

It can experience no dissolution, Mother 

over the ages we lived and are yet to live 

It only undergoes a devolution 

from our hands into our own hands 

We are progenitors as much as dispensers 

The conduits in the sewerage are full of the scum 

that sought to hijack the love of the chosen few 

I don’t feel victimised by chicanery, Mother  

I can count on the Sun and Mars 

and even distant Neptune, for you 

Evil is all around but simply dissipates 

in the face of profundity and virtue