Scurrying, frightened, from block to block.
Huddled tight against the fallen, ‘strange-stone’ tree
That stretches beyond understanding.
The people wait, the caribou wait,
For the end.
In tented villages in now barren lands
And on narrow ledges on high sea cliffs
Hunger rages and eyes stare skyward.
The people wait, the chicks wait,
For the end.
Greed drives control, perspective is lost,
The balance shifts and no-one seems to care.
Or is it that no-one knows
That the people wait, that the creatures wait,
For the end.
Who will tell their stories of fear and pain?
Who will bear witness to the greed driven crimes
That lead to an end so unjust and cruel?
The people wait, the creatures wait,
No, not for the end -
But for those who would speak up,
Those who would give an account on their behalf.
For in such an account there is hope.
By Jack Christian
Manchester Metropolitan University
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