It wasn’t a blessed sight
The natural conversion
Of waste to nutrition
As the revered animal
Grazed on litter and garbage
By the dirty city lane.
It wasn’t so pleasing,
Caught in the smoke maze
Of blaring peak hour traffic
A butterfly choked, coughed
And Struggled for air, before
It came down in circles
It wasn’t so dignified,
The hasty sprinting of weary
Working class women
Trying to catch a local bus,
The ornament of our homes
So uncared on our streets
It wasn’t so soothing,
Because the nightingale
Did not sing, for the
Noise of this bustling city
Had killed its song forever
I wonder if it is dead too....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the last stanza is beautiful.but nightingle does sing the sad song perennially with the still sad music of humanity.there is so much agong in this world, there is no mystery as human misery said the great artist.and i agree with Wilde.