Forest floor, alone and free.

Free to live as they have lived before.

Free to roam and explore like all the times before.

Travels in packs, packs of families. Young and old.

Humanity before humans walked these paths.


Known by compassion.

The leavers rest here free of danger.


Grey and black wooly creatures.

Found in the trees, found in their home.

Found where they belong.


Black boots trample in,

Not regarding the lives they destroy.

Throwing nets,

Capturing the innocences of this flora world.

Blurry Black shadows rushing,

All directions at once.

No harm faced the intruders.

They just harm all around them.

How can this story end?


More Black boots arrive.

Numbers decreasing.

Harm arises.

Takers gather.


Shot with a sharp needle.

The world becomes blurry now.

Step after step,

Feet become heavy.

Air is harder to catch.

The world comes to a halt.

The end is close.


Will this jungle ever be safe again?

Why does this world need menageries?


Eyes close,

pain stops.

Mother Culture would be disappointed.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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