the hands of men

The hands of men

Are full of craft but harmful to Mother Nature

I watched as tall, spackling features came to life

Just like us their roots where in the heart of Mother Nature


Their language was foreign from ours

They did not respect solace and serine

They conversed so loud,

Despite the fact that they were side by side


They were friends with the enemies

Yellow flower and her chocking colleague

The skies changed to a dull red-blackish

As if the rains were to emit


Their fruits run the grounds with wheels

They destroy everything they come across

They drop black watery pigment that chocks

It kills the little ones yet to spring from the soils


All my friends and colleagues chock,

From the new air we breathe

Our fruits are full of disability

The rains are sour on us

At times the sky does not even wet the ground

At times it is so harsh on us

It gives us more than we ask for


This is what they term modernization

It is what they call industrialization

They even have a new term innovation

Tall buildings, cars, huge machines.


Mother Nature is so angry at them

At times she cries so loud

Her sobbing heaves, open gaps in the ground

Her tears flood the earth uprooting the structures

At times it’s so bad she even nose bleeds










the hands of men

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related entries

The Book is Being Written

How we observe and how we reflect.

The Dreary Faceless

The observations and reflections of a traveller in a foreign land.

The Model House

The facades of a perfect home.

The Woman Who

This peom is about a woman in my life, who is suppose to be there for me but is not.


Dreams, desires, id and ego.