Not Till The Last Tree Is Cut Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Not till the last tree is cut asunder,
Till last river dries up as lost wonder,
Or its waters turn into slow poison,
Till last well as mother earth's breast dries out,
So that the next glass of water's in doubt,
And creeping deserts race a wily run,
Not till the last fish has been duly caught
And weather's turned from hot to still hotter,
Not till man's filled up last of leaking pot
Of poisonous self-polluted water,
When last vestige of nature has been shred,
Only then we'll know greed can't be gilded.
Would man be ever wise of looming ruin?
May not until Earth's barren made like Moon.
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Sonnets | 01.01.10 |