The trips to the ancient forest
never seem monotonous,
for the repetition of nature
makes one sing.

I think about science
& the drone
of modern technology
robbing us of spirit,
the simplest of
human pleasures.

The art of conversation,
the intimate interaction
between living souls
has eroded
to
the use
of electric fingertips.

O to touch the sky,
to taste rain,
feel sunlight,
to kiss your lips,
I cry in utter torment.