my ancestors they feared
the world that birthed them –
but I set it on fire. now I watch
from the skies, as my children
burn. now these are the things
without all remedy, when they
were once without regard.
when my daughter stands on
the beach, the earth blazes
her sole. when she jumps in
the ocean, she acerbs her skin.
the village where my father
deified the soil
with his tiny hands, is drowning,
imploding unto itself,
and with it the first tree
he planted. I have heard the joke
about the end of the world, it’s
the same one about love
and life – we think we have time.
Srishti Jain is an Indian poet and physiologist based in Sydney. Her work reflects a personal representation of diaspora identity, vulnerabilities as a person of colour, as well as love and belonging in a fast, unforgiving world. Her work has been published in various literary journals such as Red Ogre Review, Rigorous, The Cancer Researcher, Meniscus, Clepsydra- Literary and Art Magazine. Her poetry on climate justice can be found in the streets of Dublin as part of The Bohemian Way campaign.