The Measure of the Earth Within
Beneath the hush of ancient trees,
Where sunlight weaves through sighing leaves,
The world still holds her breath and waits—
For us to mend the shattered gates.
The rivers murmur, old and wise,
Their silver tongues reflect the skies,
They ask no gold, no thrones, no pride—
Just that we walk with them, allied.
We paved the hills with smoke and steel,
Forgot how bark and stone can feel,
We chased the clock, and never knew
It ticks inside the forests too.
The hawk does not wear a crown,
Nor does the rose in silks look down,
Yet in their silence, truth remains—
That worth is not in human chains.
The time we spend, the time we waste,
Are carved in soil, and lost in haste.
But every seed and drop and breath
Delays, or draws us close to death.
O child of dust and dream and thought,
What is the price your soul has bought?
A screen-lit sky, a plastic sea—
And names that die with legacy?
Step gently now—remove your greed,
The Earth does not your empire need.
But you need her: her pulse, her air,
Her cycles deep, her patient care.
Look inward where the roots descend,
Where soil and self in secret blend,
The forest mirrors what you hide—
Your fears, your hopes, the light inside.
Time is not a beast to slay,
Nor gold to hoard, nor debt to pay.
It is a breath, a flame, a thread—
A path you walk until you’re dead.
So walk it well, with open eyes,
Where swallows dive and oceans rise,
And know: no monument shall stay
Like one green tree you saved today.
For life is not a race to win,
But how you guard the earth within.
