Ask the wind that stopped-
Why are you stalling?
I can not be overwhelmed as before
It is the pollution at the source.

Ask the tree which is trending downwards -
How this has happened to you?
She answered, as she is ill,
In the absence of water I am in the big trouble
This is how we remain alive.

Ask the fountain that is flowing lifeless,
Why you do not flow like before?
I'm in great trouble being harmed by the environment
No one shows any sympathy.

Let's talk about the slow-moving river-
Where are your excited waves?
Due to lack of navigability, I am dry now
There is no one to see it.

Ask the bird sitting in the shade -
Why are you so depressed
The canals are all filled up
Can not get food properly when I am hungry.

I ask the dusk on the horizon-
Why do not have gold color as before?
The world's back is gray now
Cannot get immersed in the boundaries.

Ask the people who are half awake
This is the way the world should run?

To protect the environment around the world
Everyone should be gathered together and claim.

I sunk my fingers down
into the loam of an ancient
buffalo wallow and the
land that had quietly
prepared for their species
untold millennia before me.

I held the buffalo’s
mourning in my heart,
and felt the Buffalo Nations’
cry rattle against my ribs.

I opened myself to the
Earth and it spoke
sorrowfully to me
of its broken home.

At midnight I'd see a cat
Male or female I do not know
Though they're fluffy —
White as snow.

A pleasant approach with an embracing face
As the creatures eyes glow
Warmer than the ol' Moon up above
And shine so splendidly that I often forget
Both the time and place
In which we met.

How can a nameless feline like you
Make me ponder who I am?

Possums on a wire
Or on a roof.
Wherever they transpire
They remain aloof
To what problems we
Inflate and accumulate

Possums on a wire
Or on a roof.
Little care for how we take fire
And hide the proof
Of what damages us
Until the day
We meet our fate —
Wherever it may be;
Possibly on a wire
Or on a roof.

The dance of Amphitrite
I used to see
When I lived by the sea
Which in turn saw me
With her ever azure eyes
Below clouds, camphor-white

Her tides used to rise
With the coming of the night
And descend slowly
With the advent of light

I was welcomed everyday
By her king's white horses
Who galloped by her bay
I used to watch with wonder
The seagulls by her quay

Zephyrus, the west wind
Caressed her wavy locks,
Composing mellifluous harmonies
(The songs of the sea).
He brought with himself,
Ships, salts, sand
And faraway lands'
Numerous stories

The swash and backwash
Were like the ballet of nature
Performed by the sea
Which I used to see
As the sea saw me
With her ever azure eyes
As her tides used to rise
Sometimes low, sometimes high

In the Amphitheater of Amphitrite

O Spring goddess reply to the young prophecies
of today's world, my studies on the ancestries
are as recent as my birth where thy resources came
with the nativity of the world which cannot be a source of blame.

You are the strength of every living being,
and every exploitation of your mother nature becomes a war,
between the artificial and rural thing,
you are the pride of every unfamiliar
species because you protected them
and have hidden them,
from premature extinction,
beside human intention
of doing evil to the unknown.

A barren home
An indescribable emptiness
“Under development”.
A loss which lingers.
The air of pain.
Still, there remains
Something.
A speck of gilt
Serrated and luminous
In the ravaged pasture o’ emerald,
Murders of crow’s chortle,
Feathers of lark’s fall
Bodies of sparrow’s lay.
A display, spread uniformly amongst the
Blades of liquor-green, stained with
Unusual crimson.

The wind is whispering to the trees:
"Come! Come! Do speak to me."
The trees reply, "Please send the breeze
Our leaves break loose and free!"

In their beauty, an unparalleled race
From a higher, supernatural place,
Driven to hidden, underground refuge
When mans’ cynical wars the earth deluged-
Leaving only the slightest, unclear trace.

They knew no pain, nor any suffering
And the world is darker from their leaving
And we are left to pick up the pieces,
While our own ambivalence increases,
Seeking to find a singular meaning.

You may call it naive wish fulfillment,
But I will search for reconcilement.
I will upturn the soil and the roots,
Until I may procure some lasting truce
Make amends for Ill-judged revilement

And then mankind again will have a guide
Some holy beings to gift us back our pride
What a dream, to again have dignity
To direct our kind to benignity
So we may be pulled back from the wayside

It’s all very romantic, isn’t it?
That some saviors will see us fit.
It takes the blame off us,
Makes our apathy superfluous,
Proves we are not hypocrites.

But maybe we should fix our own mistakes,
Go outside and clean our own ******* lakes,
Stop hiding behind flowery language and care
Waiting for a savior when they are rare,
Before our zeal irreversibly breaks.