Is poetry dying
Or not?
Is poetry a dead art,
A planchette with the dead souls and spirits?
Who writes poetry
In the modern age
When global warming seems to be knocking
At the door,
Atomic summer taking a fatal and deadly toll
On ailing and sick humanity
When there is no sign of recuperating
Of health and happiness,
People dying unnatural and tragic deaths,
When acid rain seems to deface us
And the vegetation around,
The climate change scorching the tender flower buds
In winter and spring,
You say it,
Should poetry be written even then,
Isn't poetry a dying art,
A dead subject
Chosen by the escapists and neurotics? .
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem