By Yashas Acharya
Old and girthy wood
Begone with thy peace and shade
Make way for the road
Oh but who's disturbed my eve
Petty fools who wish to thieve
Make do with haste men
Bark succumbs to the chainsaw
We'll be done by dusk
My roots, grounded deep as thought
Anchor me through rain and drought
Man and axe prevail
Now, the seven-lane highway
Will require more space
Humans shall forever rue
Greed that is forever true
Clear the forest, men
These oaks stand tall and mighty
What a waste of land
Mine brethren, too, must face death
Mankind shall breathe its last breath
O' mighty bringer of rain
Lend me thy peace o'er pain
I revel in thy beauty
Lament in thy misery
The flying whales, ye, shalt save
Thrive in thine eternal grave
And I am but a mere spectator in this wonderous nihilistic comedy; thus I must resolute to enjoy the motion picture with a bucket of horrendously expensive caramel popcorn that tastes abysmal, and an ice-cold beverage - alcoholic. For that is all good and well, is it not?
As realtors dressed in white
Continue their ambush, irk
And tarnish my home
The firmament, azure, cries
My frail optimism dies
Fortunate I am
For hope, though derelict still
Exists beyond us
Two suns in the sunset shine
One virulent, another
Divine