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by Roy K Austin
I think of that old tree,
( still dear to me,)
like God’s fingers, clutching the earth -
feeding below the canopy above ;
but what have we made of it
with man’s inhumanity,
slicing the bole, felling as timber
to have lost a canopy of love ?
What have we made of it since then ?
What have we done ?
What shall we ever do -
in the same vein
when the whole forest has gone ?
Plant for a sapling and hope
for someone to kill and deify ?
From Towards Atman: