We Can Hardly Turn Around


Can the mountain peaks with their ice caps receding
foresee the ominous days up ahead?
Can the icebergs in the poles, shrinking fast,
taste the bitter trace of doom in the brine?
Do we, human beings, miss the rain save those
toiling on the fields for the year around, to plow,
and till the ground for tender seeds to grow?
All of that to feed the indifferent ones
who would rather build a house than a farm!
Do the seasons miss the dates they used to come?
Do they heave a sigh for the setting gloom,
the mountain peaks and icebergs in the poles?
Can the forest trees sense the looming saw
of progress and light on their ancient roots?
Though we can pine and shout or we can blame and cry,
as the need is too deeply ingrained in our blood
we can hardly turn around and start walking back
on the way our forefathers had paved for centuries.

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2 thoughts on “We Can Hardly Turn Around

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