The Man, The Nature (an Elegy)
Lift up, lift up your voice like a trumpet;
Cry until your memories wither away;
Lament, lament until your tears refuse to stop;
Prostrate and weep till the earth kiss your lips.
Speak, speak to the stones and dead leaves;
Console they do not have heart to feel pain.
Like crab’s young ones tear their mother’s body
Man, his hauteur eats oh! Emaciated nature.
Incessantly searching for planets to dwell;
Alas! His own mother earth always in hell.
Prostrate……..Lying at length, lie flat.
Emaciated…… Lose flesh gradually.
“Speak…….heart to feel pain” …….It is better to speak to the stones and dead leaves which do not have heart to understand the ‘death’ of the nature than to tell or advise man as he never cares his earth.