A WOODCUTTER’S NOTE

 

A WOODCUTTER’S NOTE

-By Bindeswar Saha

Seventy years ago-
My father told me to forgo
Futile wants of luxury
That causes trouble for nature’s family.
But-
With fool’s greed of treachery I,
Grasped at the green gold to vie,
And reach the vertex of the upper class
To build me a Palace of Glass.

Several trees I fell--
In spring of my rising ale.
The fauna forsook the land with ease,
And moaned loudly the beloved breeze.

At summer of my greed—
Millions bled at my feet.
The flowing arteries with natural wry,
Retreated to oceans dry.

During the droplets of infant monsoon,
Thousands unfurled in boon.
Thence, the forest lost to transpire--
And the clouds failed to perspire.

At autumn, my greed smote--
Hundreds more for economic trot;
And a cupped chariot of tsunami heighten,
And swallowed low-lands like a monstrous glutton.

Fifty I fell in chopping winter--
In my famished attire of hungering hinder.
But, the granary of mine teemed with lichen.
Alas! Realized I not what my action slacken.

At the dawn of a hollow Earth,
I cut the solitary tree,
And marked the beginning of wraith--
For now, the Earth lost its legacy.