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Dear virgin land

Dear virgin land, you who has never been cultivated, pray hard that the metallic hoe does not land on your crispy soil. Wish not that the coarse hands of the industrious farmer lands on your virgin lands, for in you he will plan seeds of discord and seeds of praise. The farmer will take care of you just so you take care of him. The day that hoe lands on you is the day you lose your free will and become a slave. Pray that he doesn’t come with his chain-saw to cut off your trees, or with pickets to dig out your established roots. No matter how well the prospects of patches corn and acres of wheat may excite you, do not let him get to the heart of your existence. He will only quit the day you can no longer churn out produce like you did before. He will turn you into a wasteland after milking your bowels dry then you will realize your pride has gone with the wind. You will stand naked for all to see many seasons later and jealousy will fill your heart when you see others blooming but you are just there, dejected, abused and trodden upon. Weeds will grow all over your proud head, illegitimate children, and you will hate everything you are. Your dreams and aspiration will become the source of your nightmares and midnight curses. When the farmer leaves you will find no reason to live again and year after year you will pray for his return, beg him when he passes by and even try to show him you are better but he does know, after all he is the one who robbed you of your virginity. Dear virgin land, hold fast to your pride. Smile when the winds rustle your leaves and weep when lightning strikes a branch off you tree. Give the insects a chance to multiply and the vines an opportunity to taste the sun. Try not to think about the pot-bellied man with rubber boots and the glimmer in his eyes when he looks at what you have brought forth. Let him see your pride and resilience then maybe he will let you hold on a little longer. Maybe he will give you the right and the freedom you need to expand and grow your own way, but let not greed and envy get a hold of you for it is then that you will move from grass to grace, for envy is a poison that spreads yellow in green flowers and purple in yellow fruits and that, dear virgin land is what the farmer cannot stand.

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