Now as I stumble on

Now the signs of the awaited one

To adorn the mother-earth alone—

Disemboweled crippled. Thy Love,

The motherly sacrifice all above…

Lo, the signs, how the numbed ones breathe!

Every pleasantness by thy toils bated breaths,

A period of fun for her children ill-starved ever

How we ones’ weekly fair here piazza-fever—

Fed up with thy heavenly gifts taken granted,

The crisp leaves of glossy colors, melody-notes,

Those clusters of white-pinkish flowers laden,

The awakening sprouts, buds dainty maidens,

The azure speckles blue void, fleecy clouds,

In essence, the warmth all senses to nods…

The diabolical greed to be fed even more:

 Like, Lo, those rolling lines of sight-sores,

The full-body chickens on rods rolling fat-burnt,

Yellowish, in those stationed steel cabins grunt,

Within the showcase-ovens busy rolling greed,

Those mouths to be fed. Oh, innocent lives fated!

To slay, burn, roast, crunch, is this greed,

Insatiable, ungrateful of us, genius-breeds.

Oh, send down the shackles to bind them,

To let see in the other realm pale and burning.

The din can’t be taken more.

The footpath stretches up there,

Across the waistline of the calm wooded ridge.

Better be there alone and vent down the grudge.