Voices

Countless days pass

As I go about my business.

Mindlessly chomping away

At the delicacy known as mulberry leaves.

Unnoticed amongst my fellow beings.

As I grow bigger and bigger,

Numerous divisions occur,

Separating me from all the other spotlight-stealers. 

 

Eventually left on a stage with very few others,

We whisper our secrets and perform our art.

Listen close, you can hear us.

The seemingly mindless chomping of leaves,

The innumerable stories exchanged.

 

Some of us, like me, are storytellers,

Others adventurers, seekers, wanderers...

But we are all the same.

All left facing the unknown.

The inevitable future.

Who knows what’s lying ahead of us?

None of the joyful memories passed on

Contain a single glimpse into the unforeseen future.

 

The raging, boiling water,

The slow, treacherous process.

All we are left to look at :

A beautiful yarn of silk thread,

With a dark, blood stained past.

 

The delicate fibres taunting us, mocking us.

Luxurious, comfortable, divine;

A gift of the gods.

Nothing compared to these seemingly fat and ugly blobs 

Of unborn dreams.

 

Our safe, secluded paradise

Turned into a horrendous nightmare.

Ripped from our hands as we build it.

A sense of false security and comfort,

Replaced by everlasting danger.

 

Darkness settles in,

Enveloping us in a blanket of terror

Unto our last and final breath.

The lucky chosen few

Survive to live out their dreams,

No longer identical to the flightless, white blobs,

Oblivious to their narrowly-missed fate.

 

But who thinks of the rest of us?

Who keeps us in their thoughts?

Their prayers?

Who envisions a future for us?

The stark, scorching reality crushes all our hopes

And fantasies. Our once protected heart now destroyed. 

Who speaks up for us?

Out thundering cries come upon deaf ears.

Who hears our voices?

 

The voices of us,

Makers of this lustrous fabric,

Creators, dreamers, storytellers.

Left filled with untold stories,

Lands never ventured,

Dreams beyond our wildest imagination;

Hearts no longer beating.

Us, The Bombyx Mori.