Clear Cut

Talked to face of mastermind

Who mocked my breath and speech.

‘These concepts are so beyond your reach,’

Said he,

With arrogant proclivity.

Progress must progress

There is no redress.

‘It’s clear cut. Don’t you see?

We must maintain efficiency.’

There are no favours.

Landslide killed the babies of the mother’s labours

Dead are dead, buried in the wake

Of appetites we fail to slake.

Raze the forest tracts and hills.

If the mud spills and kills

And the voice of nature quavers,

A seedling bandage we’ll apply

To sate demand with supply.

Rhetoric of false sages.

Mocking growth of ages.

It’s not nature that contrives so well,

To line pockets with the sticks and stones

And bones

Of nonrepayable loans.

‘Your children’s children

Won’t miss what they never knew.

Trees are there to hew.

So that’s just what we’ll do.’

Bereft, the Mother moans

Under axe of progress drones.

© Grapher April 21 2013s