A Craving for Greener Milieu {Poem}| The Indian Sage

Photo Courtesy: https://gurleensawhney.wordpress.com/

This photo was originally posted on Gurleen Sawhney’s photoblog: https://gurleensawhney.wordpress.com/

At half past four
in the small morning hours
of a May summer day
before sun rise,
I sit on a concrete slab
on terrace; my legs folded, eyes closed,
waiting for the mighty sun to appear before me,
waiting to embrace the beauty of morning flora and fauna,
I focus on the minimal morning chirpings,
of creatures other than homos.

Making a subconscious decision,
I decide to take a stroll in more greener milieu.
I walk bare feet on crafted grass,
in an adjacent park.
I take in fresher air, I enjoy the visible flora
and sense available fauna.

A sudden urge to revel in the sight of life,
other than ours, other than homos,
to listen to chirpings, neighs, snarls, screeches,
hiss, woo, oink, croak, bleat, and howl,
in a world natural to earth,
a pleasure to my five senses,
a world more greener, less hostile to other eyes,
more acceptable and tolerant to life,
grips me.

I again close my eyes,
and feel ecstatic with past memories
of countryside,
The damp chill, a pleasure,
to my ears with invisible life, singing tunes nonpareil,
to my eyes that witness such exotic flora,
to my lungs that breathe in unpolluted air,
newly exhaled by friends,
to my mind that transcends into preternatural peace,
uncommon in city noise.

I come out of my illusion,
to feel sour truth,
about homos and earth.

What have we done to life?
How many have survived our torture?
How many will survive another century?

With expanding cities, and dominance of homos,
I see no giant trees, no monkeys, no peacocks,
only stray dogs, a few wild cats,
and invisible creatures living inside earth.
I see no more than five different birds.

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I feel alone,
surrounded by homos, each
searching for peace in the unholy morning,
shattered by themselves over the years.

We were never alone,
yet we never cared for them.
We couldn’t realize our powers,
of boon and devastation.
But now that we do,
we must share, not rule,
enjoy their company,
not pave path of homo seclusion,
rather treat life as a gift, invaluable.

The harbingers of pain and agony
must become the voice of new life,
of various shapes, and sizes.

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