Families searching for their loved ones
After the mud has settled to the ground
And water is flowing at a normal pace
But all that left are the little memories
In forms of clothing, pearls or
In their decayed form as a skeleton

They all witnessed the horror with their eyes
While this poet was horrified from what I saw on TV
Families stuck between the flood water, holding each other close
Gets thrown off from the height like a rock falling from waterfall
 
How can that fool sleep at night after watching this?
Just a little message from him into local newspaper
And the story settles to the ground, never rising again
Until more atrocious scenes baffles the mankind

the town that once sat in the foothills
one night felt the terror of nature
someone was dancing with their lover
while someone was having dinner
and someone was playing with their kids
it all came down like the ruins of an empire
the rocks started to destroy the homes
then the water that followed swept away everything

there is no one this poet hate more than
those little ******* with power in their hand
who would do nothing but sit back and watch
as the world continues to burn in the fire

there is no one this poet hate more than
those little ******* with hands full of money
who sold their soul to build the empires
that run on the back of the poorest

there is no one this poet hate more than
those little ******* who have everything
but choose the silence as a way to escape
while the planet continues to cry out for help

the man set his own house on fire
and looked at the animals who are running away
he screamed at the trees for not taking the toll
even though ht was the one who started the fire
he blamed the clouds that won't rain
for bringing his house down to ashes

the man set his own house on fire
allowed the invasion of aliens
that destroyed him and all his principles
thinking it won't cause him the harm
forgetting a scorpion will bite your hand
even if you feed him

dear readers
let me be an invitee to read these files
about the same place where you live but
chose to live in complete denial

don't be a traitor, don't ignore the cries
this place gave you oxygen, water, air and
every source meant for your survival
even in the adversity of times

dear readers
our house is on fire, the ice is melting
you're breathing smoke, and million species at risk
and each day a new revelation in these files

the man who drink champagne after
signing deals that harm your land
he lives in a palace built by his greed
while the future generations search for their place

The ocean is home to a curation of shells,
The type you admire, the kind you call into,
The ones that whisper stories the sea never tells.
The peach and the pink, the pastels and the white —
All of them bring such a sense of delight.

I trace my finger over each and every grove and indent,
Each fracture and dent,
Wondering what they have seen, and what places they went.
I wonder if they are signs — heaven-sent.

This poet wonders — does she know the truth that is grand?
The shell that is pretty mesmerizes those little eyes
While the sea calls out her name for help.
Sand between her toes and wind through her hairs,
She felt every emotion one feels at a shore.

The next scene was haunting — it took away her innocence.
Fishes started to wash up on the shore,
The water began to form bubbles.
As she looked at her mother, who
Whispered with her eyes-
“Sorry, my precious little baby,
Forgive the humankind,
For the future we will leave behind.”