The great broods of cicadas
emerging in North America this year
last appeared on the same year in 1803.
Nature doesn't care about humanity's
dates or its borders, whether Spanish,
British or American empire rules
the land on which the locusts
surface, species resurrecting
themselves into one frantic
moment of life. Flags change,
palisaded cities turn into abandoned
mounds and those are bulldozed,
the great rivers are tamed,
the locusts come and swarm
not caring on which language
the humans curse. The nature
sends them forth in their cycle;
and our cycle of rise and fall
points towards fall. The cicadas
won't care if next time
their convergence will bring
the broods on ruins being
overtaken by the land.
It has happened before.
09.06.2024
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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