RESILIENCE: Earth Day Poetry Anthology Day Three

The following five poems center on themes of hope and overcoming, despite environmental challenges. Contributors: Faith Ojelabi, Yuvan Alluri, Rayan Diwan, Anshul Mago, and Aashreeti Deo.
Illustration by Zidan Wang.
Illustration by Zidan Wang.
Botany of Change
Botany of Change

Will you wilt like flower,
When I tell you it’s all going to change?
Hit with that heat wave,
In September, it’s just not the same.

Oh flower, oh flower, your petals!
will they fade away like the seasons?
Wither down your crown?
Til there’s finally— no more blossoms left around?

To the icecaps in the Arctic
The ‘Mountain Avens’ in the snow
When they melt away with the ice,
Where else are they to go?

See the rainforests of the Amazon
Where the wildflowers grow
With Global warming on the rise
Who’ll save the parched greenery below?

Global warming, climate change—
No matter how you frame it

There’s problem, caused worldwide
And It’s our duty to save it!

We’re Not Done Yet

Spring has long since begun, yet flowers are hardly blooming. 

The ground is damp with what is left of rain,

The air is sticky, irritatingly warm with humidity.

Some days, the Sun is shining bright, too bright, much too bright,

While others, He disappears completely


The air carries a warm, summer-like breeze. 

But it is timid, it lacks the valiance and strength that makes it desirable.

The sky is covered in clouds, the Sun has no presence here.

It is quiet, too quiet for the Spring, 

It’s as if the Earth itself has stopped living.


There aren’t any animals, all gone save for one lone butterfly.

They too have sensed it, this eerie feeling of gloom. 

The world is changing, this much is certain. 

It’s hardly a surprise to anyone, after all, we’re the ones causing it.


It isn’t fair, not to the plants, not to the animals.

It isn’t fair to the future generations,

Whose lives will only continue to grow harder and harder. 

After all, what are the children to do, when their on parents leave the car idling, let the lights stay on as they leave the house, throw away their half-full plates.


Flowers are blooming in Antarctica, is it really the end?

Is humanity destined to fail, to fall, find itself extinct like so many others?

No, humans are different from the dinosaurs, the wooly mammoths, the do-do birds.

Unlike these animals, we are causing our own destruction.


But we are also different for another, a greater reason. 

We can change, understand our faults and crimes against the world,

And we can STOP, we can DO BETTER.

Humans are like bacteria, like a virus, invading and destroying everything in our path.


But we also adapt like a virus, we are persistent, we do whatever it takes to survive.

The world is changing, that much is certain. 

The world is ending. 

But it hasn’t ended yet.

The Lonely Cave Flower
The Lonely Cave Flower

Through the pitch-black ash of the cave, its roots take hold

Drawing life from the most barren of powdery stone
The sole source of liveliness, so awfully bold

The cave is now the deep blue flowers home


In the barren and gloomy cave, this flower grows

Away from any light and societies harsh eyes

Its petals carry a glisten like fluffy white snow

A beauty that humans would never be able to revise


No sun or rain can ever reach this place

Cut off from the blue sky and deep ground above

Yet the flower still grows with an extraordinary grace

Taken care of by mother nature’s indiscriminate love


Against all odds the flower lives

It’s unavoidable beauty and majesty in the warm night

A majesty that unorthodoxly thrives

A flower so small, yet such a beautiful sight


Against the frozen soil
emerges a seedling
vibrant in color and full of life.
An inner fire
resisting the chills of mother nature.

Others soon join,
drawn from the warmth of the first.
Now stands a bustling city,
colorful and filled with glee.

These saplings now older,
grow their leaves to a boastful green.
They compete to absorb the sunlight
striving to one day
be the one to stand the tallest.

Growing bold and wise,
they change their colors to a warmer hue,
each distinct and a testament of their time
from when they were green and lime

The trees now fully content,
release their leaves as a way to liberate.
And they fall one by one,
signaling the end of an era.

What is left is barren land.
for a seedling to sprout
to life.

Echoes of Spring
Echoes of Spring

Through spring days filled with nothing,
a thirst for purpose, left unquenched.
Painful screams echoed in the air.
The voices wanted roots to be ripped off, as they were in despair.

But people walked, unknown and unbothered.
the voices died with dry souls,
just like a singer with a sore throat.
The screams faded; the streets still buzzed.

In winter, laughter filled the scene,
trees together, with voices that were happy and serene.
Yet in spring, the laughter was already diminishing,
with the screams getting nothing but louder.

The last survivor, screamed with power,
yet no one seemed to care,
as they continued their way of life,

with no regret and no conscience.

Then a little girl, different from the rest,
stopped at the survivor and stared.
With a canteen she had around her neck,
She poured her water,
with no last drops left for her.

Her mom scolded, for it was such a “useless” cure,
And she stayed quiet with many different thoughts in her mind.
Intuitions never lie, and hers said her act was pure,
And so it was, as the sounds of laughter came back to show.

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