What does it take to make a wood furniture?
Do we ever ponder on that? the process? the efforts? the art?
Or do we only enjoy the beauty and confort of the piece?
There is destruction in creation. Do we care as long as we benefit?

The magestic "grained copses
where jungle-beasts dwell" can be reduced to sawdust.
That may paint a sad picture.
But what if that is necessary evil?
What if the carving is needed to refine brutality and savagery?

For centuries of orientalism the "swinging of the matchet" has been justified.

Modernity and civilization keep embellishing their wills while the heartwood keeps whistling the verses of courage and despair.

It certainly takes a mind-adze to break with submission and open spaces through which the light of feedom can finally shine.