The sprawl of suburbia into the surrounding countryside
How tragic the event, how sad the now rustic scene,
How do we change the minds of Time and the flowing tide
What was once verdant and alive, now gone the colour Green.

From the lands that carried the colour of mustard fields
Where lions once roamed and the Peacocks now do not preen,
Come the empty sounds of cement and mortar that nothing yields
And Nature cries, as though bound by chains, in quarantine.

The flowers, whose appeals for Mercy the skies always heard
At the mercy now of ravenous thought and all morality bought,
Where once the skies that offered shelter to each and every bird
Themselves, now in danger as are empty spaces sought.

Man’s avarice knows no bounds, unlimited his unquenched greed
Nature, does and will respond in time, overwhelming its ferocity,
You cannot ride, and so irresponsibly, the galloping steed
Else, over the cliff awaits calamity, nay, a disastrous Eternity.

The perfumed hills, the hillside slopes that twinkled each night
Had a lamp within, that lit some hearts and the outside too,
Given way to lamp posts that now offer the dimmest light
Tears clouding the eyes of skies thar once were a brilliant blue.

Is there panacea, a nostrum, a way, for splendour to again bloom
Is there will amongst us all, for the lost glory to return,
Is there heart within that beats in Hope, to drive away the gloom,
It’s not a lost Book but a lot of pages will have to turn.

Is there strength and the courage to not just succumb
Or, are we all guilty and so , silently, dumb, struck numb,
Are all souls owned by Mephistopheles now
Is this all or is there more to come?

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 40 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)