Only the human race can call fertile copses
Of gooseberry and ash “unclaimed development”
And leave a crater of carnage with the entrails of their corpses
As the triumph of the will of industrial progress
Then satiate their thirst with superfluous conquest
After all
It takes a particular mind to see the quite shores of paradise
And convert green cathedrals into a barren bordellos
Of soulless conveniences stores and sterile strip malls
And leave the slaughter of habitations and all their indwellers
To become homesick refugees in concrete webs of urban sprawls
It is crafted creature that shapes the earth into a grave
And trades the richness of dirt for the cold comforts of pavement
To see the lush fields of green with everything that’s submarine
Subjected to the drag of a constipated civilization
Levelling the earth until there is no sign of creation
And we are the makers of our death
In our Metropolis Wasteland
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem