Time is running out,
No one understands,
This isn’t right;
The world is dying
and we let it,
So many emissions,
I want to fight it:
why don’t you?
Help it die
or help it live,
the choice is simple.
world
billions dead [poem]
so many corpses
without graves,
so many victims
forced to be slaves.
to all of us they serve,
not knowing why,
but this they don’t deserve,
they don’t deserve to die.
cracked or boiled,
baked or fried,
don’t forget the oil,
and murder on the side.
i cry each night,
for those who can’t fight;
they have no rights,
no future in sight.
the world is dying,
so many starving,
it can all be fixed,
but only if we change.
if we stop
if we look
if we realise
then maybe.
I Think
I think
that I exist,
I think
that it’s real,
I think
that we’re alive,
I think
all of that,
but what do I know?
Nothing.
Because knowledge is
never definite,
as it could all just be
an illusion;
rain, sun, snow,
the world,
the stars…
We’ll never know
whether our eyes
are actually there
or whether all of this
is a dream.
I think I can touch it
but I know I can feel it.
I think I can see it
but I know I can think it.
My Brother Is an Egg [Short Story]
My brother is an egg. He is oval, white, and very fragile. Seeing him so fresh to the world, and so unknowing, it pains me. He is the purest form of life, waiting until the day of his hatching, not knowing when it will come or what will come of it. I know. Our mum knows. We donāt have a dad, they donāt need dads.
My brother is an egg. He sits around all day, waiting for his time to come. But he will never have a time. He is a boy. I cry sometimes, knowing that he will have been an egg longer than he will ever be a chicken. I am merely a chick myself, but I know more about the world than he will ever know. I know that itās cruel; my mother has gotten so used to it that her eyes donāt flinch anymore. I remember when she used to try to warm us all. Not just me, but all of the girls. All of her many, many daughters. Weāre in a cage, you see. People donāt call it a cage; they say itās not a cage because itās a barn, and that weāre cage-free, but I can barely breathe here. My mother has gotten crushed accidentally so many times that her feathers are mangled. She isnāt that positive anymore. I try to be, but Iām so young that they donāt believe what I say. They know I havenāt had the worst of it yet. Even after the debeaking, the most painful experience I have ever been through, theyāre telling me that was just the start.
My brother is an egg. He is starting to shake. He wants to see the world, to be free, to dance. A little crack here, another crack there. He is ready. But he shouldnāt be. What awaits him is a horror story. I have only heard folk tales of what goes on but we all know the basics. They talk about it sometimes. There is a conveyer belt, and there is blades. He will not live to tell the tale.
My brother is hatching. His body is shivering, he is starting to wonder. Where is he? What is he? Where will he be going? We all know the answers, of course, but he doesnāt. He is a baby, and I want to wrap him in my wings and keep him close to me.
My brother is a chick. A hand reaches down and snatches him. He lets out a soft startled squeak. He wants to be with his mummy. Is that too much to ask? He is dragged away, and that is the last time I ever see my brother, but it is not the last time I imagine him. I imagine his scream amplified as he falls off the conveyer belt, I imagine his body being ripped apart ā but that is nothing compared to what I imagine next. I imagine him running around, in a field, happy. That is what breaks my heart the most.
My brother is dead.
Questions
When weāre children, we see things for the first time, experience things for the first time, and our reaction is pure. We question the world too, asking stuff that we would never ask again because weād grow up and develop a narrower mind. Itās true. Our minds are very open when weāre young, and then the experiences start to define us, and we close our minds, so that we donāt have to think about stuff we canāt comprehend.
What makes philosophers great is that they never stop questioning, and their minds become as open as the world around them. Though some of them still have narrow-minded approaches to certain things (*cough*Aristotle*cough*), they still see the world in a way that very few do. They would ask the simple questions that nobody would ever answer. Itās not about receiving the answer, but about letting the question out in the first place. In todayās society, we are still deeply narrow-minded and more selfish than we have ever been in history. We donāt stop to think about why we get scared over trivial things like doing a presentation in class (one of my own fears) when we actually have the advantage of education. Education is supposed to broaden our minds but, in my opinion, it does the opposite. This is simply because we learn stuff to do well in exams and exams are all we ever see in education. We donāt think about the bigger picture. As well as this, we donāt get taught about the bigger picture. We get taught things that will never matter, theyāre only for an exam paper. Back in the day, there were philosophy schools, founded by some great philosophers, like Plato. If more schools taught us about philosophy and the questions that really matter, then we wouldnāt worry about our future so much. The future is a very temporary thing, as we are very temporary. We worry about our own tiny lives, without realising that our own lives are very trivial in the grand scheme of things.
Of course, it is a perfectly human trait to worry about yourself, and your own life, but I just like to think about the bigger things sometimes, and that makes me stop worrying, at least temporarily. I think about how our existence is a wonderful thing, yet we continue to abuse it. We are not monsters, but I am sure other species think of us as that. The way we treat the Earth, and the other living beings on it; we were given these minds so that we could use them kindly, but instead we use them like a weapon. Why do we use our minds as a weapon? What are we hiding from? Our minds are tools, and they should be sharpened like other tools, but they should not stab other minds. They should sharpen each other. Then, weād be able to see the bigger picture, instead of our personal pleasure.
The questions are waiting to be asked. You donāt need to answer them; only ask. Just like when you were a child and you questioned everything. Become like that again.
What questions did you ask when you were children? I asked ones that could be seen as offensive if I wasn’t a child! I was just curious!
Thanks for reading,
Lia
The World According To I
IĀ canĀ seeĀ thingsĀ youĀ canātĀ see,
LikeĀ theĀ moonĀ risingĀ beforeĀ theĀ sunĀ hasĀ drowned,
IĀ canĀ seeĀ theĀ grassĀ dyingĀ whilstĀ itĀ isĀ living,
IĀ canĀ seeĀ theĀ oceanĀ disintegrating,
IĀ canĀ seeĀ theĀ worldĀ falling,
andĀ noĀ oneĀ canĀ seeĀ itĀ butĀ me,
soĀ IĀ willĀ cryĀ whilstĀ youĀ allĀ smile,
soĀ IĀ willĀ tryĀ forĀ aĀ while,
whilstĀ youĀ donātĀ needĀ toĀ try,
soĀ IĀ willĀ letĀ itĀ beĀ becauseĀ otherwise
iĀ mustĀ beĀ crazy.