Isn't it a shameful, bitter, painful irony,
that we cut trees and make our home?
that we cut trees and make our home?
While we slide past other's life and agony -
tormenting those who there freely roam.
Beauty in wings were there always free,
while we tried to put them in cages.
Taken from motherly branches of the tree
and captivated as slave for long ages.
Roar, growl, trumpet or the shrill hoot
are getting lost behind bars in the zoo.
Grasslands, tall trees may become moot,
while the guilty here is just me and you.
Prasenjit©2023
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