T P Simon
Man wishes to live long and stay agile,
The irony – he made his very Environment fragile,
Oh! Now he is denied clean air to breathe like a juvenile,
And it forced him to fall prematurely senile.
I become nostalgic; for once my piece of land was fertile,
Shockingly, the landsharks converted it terribly sterile, erewhile;
Not for the present, but for ever man’s condition has turned servile,
How sad; his offspring in their lifetime will lose all the smiles.
Hey man! How cruel you are!
What sin of your descendants you punish them for?
While they long for your so-called proud heritage,
Aren’t you handing them this battered Environment?
Will they not accuse you for its breathlessness?
Alas! Where does your credibility stand?
What tradition can you boast about on your roof tops?
You, the two-legged beast outraged her modesty,
Which even a wild animal and its whole tribe
Will feel ashamed to commit,
And it’s a ‘Black Day’ for Mother Earth.
Curse will be the reward to fall upon you;
That day, while the Sun will set furiously,
Your own greed will hide your corpse deep down in your grave
With the murky mud and filth around you.
All the Heavens will shut its gates,
The angel guards will chokehold your very own soul,
And kick it out to the Hell of eternal furnace,
For a perennial torment sans peace.
