Poetry Archive
The Doom Of Man
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The beauty of the rolling hills,
The music of the falling rain,
the booming blast of a thunder-clap,
the grace seen in the running deer,
The gentle whoosh of the breeze in the trees,
The wild howls of the wolves far off,
It is ages since all these were felt,
Many an era since they lost their ground.
Man feels he has made the world better,
While infact he has made it worser.
The hills have lost their greenery,
The woods have lost their clear streams,
The forests have lost their trees so old,
And many an animal's home is no more,
Man tries to change every thing,
He tries to subdue nature.
He forgets that nature made him.
Forgetting that she gave him life and blood,
He declares war on his own mother.
Nothing that man creates,
Can ever hope to stand a quake.
His artistry stands nowhere,
next to mother nature's wizardry.
He has to learn to appreciate,
Mother Nature's mighty art.
The tiger that moves like liquid steel,
The monkeys that outmatch any acrobat,
The life giving trees..oldest of all....
If he doesn't then hearken to me,
For I pronounce the doom that shall fall
On men who reject Mother Nature's call.
Her sole aim is to end all suffering.
So if Man who has strayed out of line,
Doesn't step back right in,
The end of all Men shall be,
And the end of all that go with him.
Only the faithful will then remain.
Then will the world be purged of hate,
And peace shall reign in the world.
This poem belongs to the poetry archive on Chips’nCode. Where surviving legacy material exists, the original title graphic is kept with the poem as part of the record rather than rebuilt into something newer.
Copyright © Manoj Prajwal Bhattaram. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used with clear attribution, these poems may not be copied, redistributed, adapted, or used to create derivative works without prior written permission.