The Natural Order: A Collection

Bringing

Once swinging now swung.
Flinging and flinging and flinging my extremities hoping something would present itself from the strain.
Between shoulders,
Between fingers and ears and thighs all things symmetrical.
Arms shaking trying to contain trying to keep and convulsing in the process.

The process of growth,
photosynthesis,
movement,
life and death.
Wrapped up and packaged in one and many bodies.

Arms heavy.
Arms undone.

Decomposition stage

The fall from the tree.
The shatter that caused it and the aftershock that followed.
Waves and waves of debris at blunt force plummeting towards and away from you.
Reaching for shards to stabilise your fall and only encountering sharp scratch after sharp scratch upon reaching.
Fearing the inevitable rot you’ll face upon hitting the ground.
Embodying the debris that falls around you succumb,
Lean in,
Go down.
Plummet.

We and the Trees By Nisha Whittingham Spending all the while growing against gravity taught the young boys whose childhoods were an accumulation of accumulating between tress accumulated in the forest. This accumulation of the natural order. We became one at different altitudes. You saw us from below and admired how we reached in circular motion out towards to beaming sun. And we peered down at you, Soaking in the dredges of sunlight we discarded. The psychedelic greens and yellows that tinted the frame and lined these childhoods with our accumulation will be. As the altitude thickens and it becomes harder to look down- The most whole my roots and felt. The most sun bathed and ready my extremities have looked. Because of the glory-soaked memories that scatter my leaves about the things below me when it pours. I’ve felt the trees.

Colourful abstract painting by Nisha Whittingham

We Were by Nisha Whittingham We were the children in the trees. The parents present or not at their root. Foundations, nonetheless. But when you’re far away, In a distant land- Foreigner in spite of being on foreign land, Land above your feet not feeling steady, and so you’re hit with a perpetual taste of nausea. Misunderstood and abandoned and wondering how adults could walk past trees without offering water despite the knowledge full well that those you pass are dying, withering, untouched at the root. We, the children in the trees that shook violently in the wake of famished branches now brittle. Watching adults pass by and ignore us. Our introduction into ageing had become bitter before it had even started.

Abstract painting with dancing figures by Nisha Whittingham

Middle By Nisha Whittingham As above. The colossal weight The minute altitude difference. So below. The downwards dragging force. So below, the lower altitude and the booming relentless sounds that grew upwards from whatever lay festering beneath. And between. Where we meet. Equilibrium in our chaos, Cancelling each other out, Forcing silence. Stillness between the mountains, The solemn oceans trading in tides for the sound of life.

In its Entirety By Nisha Whittingham With merely a body I die over and over again. Weaved in and out of being alive reborn and dead once again. I watched dystopias unfold around me like undisturbed flatpack furniture. There’s an unsettle to it. An unnerve to it. The derelict, the waste, the things we’ve left behind and pushed like cold leftover food to the side of our plates to the side of our brains and wonder why we’re running out of space. The abandoned stumps of stories torn down for the sake of space. The paradox lies in the feeling of being suffocated. The harsh and the brutal taking place of the fruition of all things natural and, so now our affluence lies in the grey.

Abstract art showing purple faces and orange hair and hands by Nisha Whittingham

Garden

I soak up the sun with the will to grow closer to it,

fonder of its rays and its solidarity that helps me to stand red.

Because of this I am glowing and brazen,

I am the asparagus foliage that does brush against the fingers of the wind.

Binding with the green,

binding with the thread of blue that swayed like the tides that ebb into the part of the sea we

cannot see so we assume its existence despite not having seen it in all its glory,

this will be my next discovery.

I am the fascination that travels the seas like the flowers travel

the air travels the tearing of the sun’s rays to

soak into each branch each thorn each

browning spot on this stem.

Power has the longevity of a bamboo,

with the strength and grace of the air and the sun to pull me back to centre pull me back

to a state of mind that allows me to enter back into consciousness.

Bloom the most voluptuous flowers that

fall upon the sunlight like feathers

tainted by gold dust,

I will love these petals even when they

are falling away from sunlight.

I will love this garden even on nightfall

when heads are tilted and hope seems

blackened by the shade of the moon.

I will see through.

Mask like faces and flowers on a black background. Painting by Nisha Whittingham

The Price

Why do we wait for the last tree to fall until

we realise that breathing is a necessity,

Taking for granted every essence of free you think

you have in trade for decay of the world around you,

Look up

Look around.

Don’t look down at the steps you’ve taken the wrists

you’ve shaken to drown out the thought that

you’ve helped the earth in its dying.

We’ve helped the birth of an antimatter

that doesn’t stop multiplying until it sees

destruction all around.

Sees the last tree that doesn’t make a sound

but cannot be blamed because you asked for this silence.

You asked for peace and quiet momentarily so

you could listen to what you thought were

chirping birds graceful herds. But really those birds were fighting, those birds were dying.

Your biggest mistake was mistaking mortality for

an illusion that made harmonious sounds tainted the

breeze like we tainted the ground our steps didn’t

make a sound because we were too busy trying set

fire to the mound of distinctions and deaths we’ve plagued here,

tried to hide it by slipping it under the mat

that other wiped their feet on when entering a new

realm of denial but we couldn’t shake the truth this time.

We couldn’t risk another life just to prove a

point of the damage we’re doing and we’ve done.

Paying the price for this has only just begun.