Moribund
Pale blue, pale yellow, pale green.
Flowers die,
Plants, birds, animals,
Why do you need a name?
There will be dust, storm, cyclone.
In there, what will you wish for?
This trail, this narrow path, this green belt,
But something erodes them,
We can’t trace them back.
Now a metal road, wide, it’s heartless.
We are travelling fast, faster than light,
Are we? Will we ever be?
Will you be the next? They ask.
Either way, it’s an end. A sad end.
……………………………………………………….
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