2025 Let there be light

As I stand over the plains and drink deep of the dust and the dry air, the heat rising and falling, back and forth in distorted waves of shimmering vivid colour, the sun co-mingling with a pervasive chemical melange that hovers above the parched earth, I wonder where we all are headed. As clouds form and dissipate, reform and shape shift against a disturbed sky of deep blue, I ponder.

2025 marks a pivotal epoch, a juncture where collective consciousness unveils its latent potential for metamorphosis. It stands as a crucible of moral reckoning, spotlighting the inadequacies of our statesmen and economists, of bankers and industrialists, entwined in a tapestry of lobbyists and dealmakers. Their endeavours in climate change, for peace, a cacophony of missteps. resonating against a backdrop of radical technological evolution, revealing the flawed orchestrations of the preceding four decades.

Humanity is ensconced in ecological imprudence, bereft of social justice and economic equilibrium. The chasm between affluence and destitution has widened relentlessly, a precarious precipice. We all, wittingly or unwittingly, exist under the omnipresent gaze of surveillance and yet all the while, terrorism and subversion, tools subtly sanctioned by the state, have manifested insidious indoctrinations that too have besieged our freedom, shackled our individual liberty and negated our critical thinking.

The panorama is in disarray, fragmented by successive winds of unrestrained turmoil. In the remnants, the fabric of society unravels, straining under the weight of calamity and the ubiquitous news transmissions, fragmented yet laden with urgency, unfolding like dystopian sonnets, each stanza revealing another crescendo of chaos.

Amidst this discord, I am gripped by remorse. Is this my Armageddon, the denouement of a life intricately woven amongst family and friends, architects of change and the faceless, voiceless multitudes? A plethora of memories race through my consciousness and a torrent of sorrow engulfs me for those luminous souls who shaped our world for the better. With every heartbeat, a symphony of lamentation echoes for those aspirations failed and unfulfilled. I inhale the hot, arid air as tears mingle with the dust, bearing witness to the desolation.

Percussive echoes resonate through the fibres of my being, my head throbbing in symphony as I gaze upon a desolate vista — once vibrant, now drained of colour, silent except for the fading sun. The void, once teeming with the cadence of joyful life, now lies barren, devoid even of an avian sonnet. An ethereal chill envelopes me as I look to the future and what choices I might make.