Bark. Fingerprints.
Dirt between toes.
The Little One plays,
The Little One grows.
"Why do leaves dance,
Whisper and spin?
From where comes the wind?
How do clouds begin?"
Questions. Queries.
How the mind turns.
The Little One asks,
The Little One learns.
"Colours and shades
Season the year.
Earth wants for nothing,
So why am I here?"
Silence. Secrets.
The tree stands still.
The Little One climbs,
As Little Ones will.
"Leaf and needle,
Why am I here?
Whisper my meaning,
Speak gentle and clear."
"We are the leaves,
We dance and spin.
Of you we know nought,
Nor where to begin."
"Wind and flurry,
Why am I here?
Tell me I'm wanted
With nothing to fear."
"We are the winds,
We tour the land.
Of you we know nought,
Nor what you have planned."
"Clouds and spectres,
Why am I here?
You watch the whole world —
Do I once appear?"
"We are the clouds,
We watch and see.
Of you we know nought,
Nor why you might be."
"Spirit! Strange Light!
What might you be?
Will you uncover
A purpose for me?"
"I am the Moon,
I wane and gleam.
All I could offer
Would be but a dream."
Tears. Frustrations.
The hours grow late.
The Little One sits.
The Little One waits.
“Sun! Sweet vision!
Answer my plea!
Can you envisage
A future for me?”
“I am the Sun,
I blaze and glare.
I know you’re needed,
And know also where.
The tree! Your tree!
Find purpose there!
Look close, Little One,
It lives by your care.”
Peril. Despair.
Smoke climbs the skies.
The Little One sees.
The Little One cries.
All that was lost,
All that we chose,
The Little One thinks.
The Little One knows.
All that once was
Still lingers near.
We need only ask,
Why am I here?
About the Author and Illuminated Poem
My name is Nikolai Lysewycz. I am a writer, musician, and artist based in Germany. Originally from Australia, I now teach English and Music at a state grammar school (Gymnasium) and play viola with the Neuss City Sinfonia. In my spare time, I do my best to escape.
This was my first attempt at a sequence – seventeen plates made to be read in order, with the verse carrying between them. I drew them in 2016, and the poem came alongside rather than before, each pulling the other into shape.
The narrative came to me far earlier: a cyclical journey, after Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist, a novel that genuinely shifted how I saw the world. A search for meaning that carries its seeker far from the thing sought. It was waiting where they began.
The images were made as my other digital work is: pencil sketches, and photographs of patterns and textures from the world around me, layered up in Adobe Illustrator and Sketch.
Disclaimer: No part of this poem or its accompanying images – in planning, writing, drawing, or editing – was made with AI. The work has been proofed and refined with the generous help of readers and editors around the world.
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