By: Goutam Roy

All creatures are
cradled into existence
by the ancient lap
of our Mother Earth.
Every pulse of life
found its first rhythm
in her timeless touch.

Rhythm blooms
in every heart,
as she becomes
a living cadence—
harmonious and serene
in every realm
she wanders through.

Yet our axe now clips
her sacred breath;
her veins wither into dust,
and her ageless memories
fall faint—
unraveling into the shadows
of our own toxic sighs.

Even the sky
is no longer safe from us.
The ozone layer is torn,
the oceans polluted
by our brazen greed.

The wounded Mother rises in fury,
for our primal breeze
is bruised by our sins.
Her summer now steals
the place of winter,
the monsoon grows whimsical,
spring mocks the flowers,
and autumn collapses
into confusion.

Our own primitivity
tangles the chords
of creation—
disrupting
creation’s rhythm.