Withered - Poem

By Zoe Bernadette

When I was small, My parents would recall: “Back in my day we used to climb trees, Now young people only look at screens.

Mummy and daddy dearest, The playground of your youth, Alive, fresh, and green, Sail leafy boats down rain guttered streams, Pick sweet sticky mangoes off towering trees, Has become something of which I can only dream.

We climb trees of cold steel, Busted knees on concrete and tempered nerves of steel Trees today are just an aesthetic appeal, Paired with coffee and quotes on an instagram reel.

How long will they continue to steal, The very breath from our lungs?

This song has been sung

By voices old and young

In all kinds of tongues. It burns me, this forced complacency And they tell me: “You have a problem with anxiety.”

But what if it’s because there’s less air for us to breathe?

What if it’s because we keep on destroying trees?

What if it’s because I’ve had to throw away my dreams?

Because it’s not paranoia if it’s real.

What will it take for us to wake up from this ordeal?!

My heart yearns to climb trees, To run barefoot— wild and free.

But not enough of us realise that there is no planet B, And we’re running out of time to show accountability.

Note: Zoe is a young published writer who lives in the United Kingdom. She was born in Trinidad & Tobago and maintains strong links to the Caribbean.