The blossoms of spring
are shed down alongside-
where stand the dead logs
left behind.

The dried leaves crumble
below my feet;
I find no shade
to rest or sit.

The wavy hands of ‘my friends’
now seem still;
white tears trickle down
of their sap downhill.

The axe of greed
never hault for a while;
they keep dying for us
with a selfless smile.

The sun feels helpless
for His ‘green fellows’ –
enraged, casts out deadly flames
upon us to swallow.

We plead for mercy,
curse Him for our deeds;
yet ourselves guilty though,
continue fulfilling our needs.

We earn revenue
for sacrificing their lives;
dehome the dwellers
to be in ‘concrete hives’.

The clouds of smoke
prevail in the skies
where sail the ‘metal crafts’,
not birds and butterflies.