Red t-shirt, blue jeans
He is young but not teen
In his hand he has a rod
With handles and engine
He holds it while walking
At its end on the ground
Blade rotates grass cries
Desperate, and moaning
Tear in eyes are shouting
'You cruel, the murderer'
At its end a red line, plastic
Engine torque, with speed
Keeps killing, blood splash
As if is Zeus and the Arash
Air smells, rich with scents
And elsewhere rivers break
Monsoon time with the rain
Far away in sky birds shiver
'This loud noise scares worm
With worms; there's no life'
With mankind all around
Even nature isn't natural.
Everywhere cars, engines
Everything turned technic
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I also am one of those who has a love/hate relationship with all the technological advancements in the world today. It's hard to hate something that makes our lives easier but yet I sometimes long for those innocent days of lost childhood when we used our imaginations on a daily basis! Nice poem of awareness!