Global Warming has reversed the phase,
And made environment on a critical stage,
where people are dying,
for the Sun that continuously shine.
Their Inner Soul has pleased,
When they felt comfort at ease,
under the air conditioners,
that upgrade their chances of health tease.
But still man works,
to get these comforts,
as now a days they become,
their habitual perks.
But this time they realized,
when the monsoon didn't arrived,
and then they raised their voice,
with inner choirs.
They made slogans,
arranged some camps,
to stop taking artificial breath,
and aware their champs.
Soon their hard work converts,
into a lush-green hush,
as the clouds blessed them,
with a rainy bush.
They shouted in a pride,
after seeing the beautiful sight,
Welcome the Poor Rain,
Welcome for our cursed invented brain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem