“The crying of the whales is not heard proclaiming a loss within My garden.
The crying of the whales is heard within the seas of mortality,
is heard within the oceans of the Earth,
is heard within the submarines which burrow through the whales’ domain.
The crying of the whales is heard within the reach of dolphins,
within the reach of identity commensurate with understanding,
within the reach of all who can identify a distress call when heard impinging on the ear.
The crying of the whales is heard within the ranges of the ships of death:
striking death to the mature,
striking death to the young at tail still drinking milk,
striking death to the largest selected both for size and bulk.
The crying of the whales speaks of the cries of loss,
of the cries for babies still remembered as they were,
as the cries for family members no longer in relationship,
as the cries for the elderly stolen from their time of
grandparents to the pod.
The crying of the whales arises from activities of the pirates of the seas:
those who hunt and kill to sell munching on the parents of the seas,
those who hunt within the bounds of deceit,
those who satisfy the multitudes as the liars of their nations,
those who would hide under the research of the scientists—
who do not examine with integrity the necessity of the killing
sprees of the ships of death.
The crying of the whales is the signature of the witnessing of death,
of the witnessing of the pain and suffering,
of the smell of blood upon each breath intermingled with the taste of blood within
of the distress calls for help and assistance beyond the capabilities of the mothers:
who circle in despair.
The crying of the whales is instigated by man against the will of nations,
against the attempts at justifying,
against the lies of the necessity for food,
against the pressures of economics,
against the need for research of benefit to the whales,
against the slaughter where protection does not prevent the will of the few.
The crying of the whales diminishes with the catch,
diminishes with the mothers left to tend their calves,
diminishes with the numbers still left free to roam in their inheritance.
The crying of the whales are not heard above the water;
are not heard upon the ships of stealth;
are not heard upon the fleets as gathered;
are not heard,
except within a cabin,
upon the ship charged with the rendering and incisions—
to transform that taken from the seas into the pieces set for marketing upon a distant island shore.
The crying of the whales exist upon recordings,
are not popular to hear,
are mournful in their nature,
are sad in their context:
as they spread the news of loss,
as they continue on their journeys related to the seasons,
as they endeavour to avoid the thrashing and the death throes they have come to know so well.
The crying of the whales sees the wounded drown within their home,
no longer able to take advantage of being nudged to the surface—
where life exists within each breath,
no longer to be seen in majesty upon the seas where they both spout and submerge as their will decides.
The crying of the whales is attributed to man,
is attributed to the oil lamps of the past,
is attributed as a curse around the current neck of man—
for his needless killing of the beauty of the sees,
for his hunting and destroying of the survivors from the past,
from his uncaring attitude of the fragility of life when hunted without respite,
when hunted without a sanctuary,
when hunted as a delicacy which
a nation can well do without.
The crying of the whales is resultant on the exercising of the dominion of man,
where accountability for a lack of wisdom in the courts of God exists unto eternity,
where the scenes of slaughter are not shown unto an island nation,
where the need to stop the slaughter falls upon the deafest ears,
where the selfishness of greed should take away the pride:
in hunting and in capturing that no longer required to meet the needs of man.”