The Last Syllable Poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan

The man made demons
Spit dense dark smoke
To spread a black blanket
Hovering the sky of sun
The starry night's beauty.
The mercury level rises
To an alarming heights
Yet men take chances
With his greed in excess
That make the earth skin
Sore and bear the brunt
Of scars of dehydration
On the face of the ill fated
Earth, the mother abandoned
By the thankless men!
There is unrest in the late
Monsoon breeze
That linger hopes to the ryots
But with all odds
They planted a few patches
Of paddy saplings
With hope that monsoon breeze
Bring the rain and revive
The agrarian hopes!
The glaciers melt
With an astounding speed
Swelling the yellow river
The Yangtze, the Ganges
The Sindhu, the Volga
As the flame before extinction!
The seas floating with the ice bergs
Started flowing
With no road blocks
As the oceans around
The globe turbulent with warm
The demon's smoke spit
Let loose typhoons!
The dry shore bore blank
With no greenery
with no paddy fields
With no sheath on courtyard
With no grain in granary
The flies swarm over
The decaying corpse
Of cattles, men
Along with the fluttering
Flock of vultures
To have the last supper
To lose the life ever!