by B R Nagpal
From the mountains, the wanderer bird ***
tracked her route towards the lands,
perched herself upon the corner of a concrete pavement
in the humdrum of metropolis.
Toiling to open its beak, its wings clogged,
She was unable to sing.
The foul winds, haziness of dust
Gaseous emissions with their poison
Trees, leaves in their bare skull
were like ghosts.
Mother Earth was being pounded in genes, gestures,
She was like a corpse.
Her maternal womb was empty,
She was devoid of her benevolence.
With cars overreaching, human crowds colliding,
An orange signboard glowed
‘Leap into Future’
while quakes, eruptions stood in readiness
for their assault.
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