Far too many places are now bereft
of marches and streams, that was not left;
robbed of their wilderness, even the hills,
where man constructs and builds as he wills.
Iron electric pylons like naked scarecrows
are almost everywhere that one goes
with smoke, pollutants and technology’s ills;
where man constructs and builds as he wills.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A truth poignantly penned with brevity.10.