Pushing Jungle to a desert I am singing of the immortality of it. Along with jungle vanished will be the beauty. Along with trees departed will be the appearance. Along with birds flown away will be the decoration. Along with rivers shredded will be the treasures. Desolated will be the day, no butterflies of youth flying around. Flowers not in view, distraught will be the affluent seasons. The golden-haired damsels of fragrance, alas, will be kidnapped by the clumsy-faced demons of foul smell. Deprived of the warm embrace of leaves, left in the lurch will be the wind. Having lost the company in hide and seek with jungle and river, plunged will be the moon in despair. Unable to sleep in the lap of trees, suffocated will be the night. Died will be the warm song, sung for ages by the impulsive sun. And transformed will be the pond of lucid ambrosia into parched sand. And the perennial flow of life, will go on getting translated, bit by bit, into a toxic fantasy, into an abstract guffaw, into an absurd wail. The man will become earth. Deserted will be the earth. Pushing jungle into a desert, uttering I am a termite eaten incantation- 'May trees live long'
