The Thinking Sapling

This is part of my writing project where I go back and read some of my childhood poems then rewrite them. For the first poem of this rewriting project, I’m choosing one that was titled “In The Land.” If I recall correctly, child-me wrote this when he came back from a beach vacation. It seems the sight of white sand and foamy seas had inspired him to write about what he saw as paradise. The original poem goes as follows.

A place where animals roam.
It’s a great honor to share a poem.
As the cattle eats,
us men also feast.
How many times have you suffered?
Well here you will suffer no longer.
On the beach of our land,
The children both in the sea and sand.
Look at the farm.
A place that couldn’t be harm
Let the land be what it want to be,
because we can roam free.
And you are still with me.

Me (May 2016)

The image that immediately sprung out at me was that of a free-roaming field where we idly sit. The location contradicts this containing “sea and sand”, but both these places point towards a similar feeling: a world without concern. It’s a world where simple things, like fields and beaches, are enough.

The end of the poem is what fascinates me. This idea of “Let the land be what it wants to be” reads to me as an embrace of the impermanent nature of the world, even in paradise. Yet why do we stick around? “because we can roam free. And you are still with me.”

I tried my best to convey these concepts in my version. I walked a bit of a tightrope on what to put in as I felt myself instinctively writing out what I now consider paradise. I don’t know if what I wrote is actually “better.” Still, I did my best, sticking to what I understood from child-me words, and I hope I did him justice.

This life brings pain
as passion lends to hate.
Every joy slowly wanes.
Every boon is too late.

Imagine with me,
a land where we’re free.
Every joy begets another
as we dance through every weather.

We’d be free to roam
where seasons bring wonder.
Then come back home
where trees brings shelter.

The sandy beach is white.
The wind is in our hair.
The sun sinks from sight,
we delight in stars so fair.

The land changes.
The dearest things leave fast.
The warm gives way to cold.
Soon will go all we hold.

The world does as it pleases.
I’ll still sit beneath our tree,
for, throughout the seasons,
you’ve stuck here with me.