Screams Etched In Stone

This May,
my country’s tigers did not smile –
staring extinction in the eye
it was hard for them to even cry
for the amorphous, scented shelter
of velvety forests and delicious hunts
that beckoned maddeningly in dreams.
When life’s scent is cloyed with doom
wearing badges on T-shirts reeks of tiredness.

This August
there was an elephant less.
Heard one had been shot down…
its blood blackening the dew
that played winking games with sunlight
on tender green leaves.
When its majestic tusks
were blown to smithereens of ivory artifacts,
the earth stilled.

This November
the flock of seagulls that flew down south
from the snowy north, was poorer.
Their wings spread wide
trying to hide their vulnerability
with touching bravado.
Down below, their lakes lay folded forever-
crudely book marked with an oil-spill,
the former sparkling clarity of water
reflected only in sad memories
glinting in their eyes.

This April
the count of eggs
from sandhill cranes was scary.
Their lofty courting had
mated with demons of hell this time.
Monogamous death!
Civilization had ravaged their marshy
wetlands and razed it to dry fields,
for structures to bloom and bloat
and scoff at angry, hissing winds.

This whole year I have heard