An entry in the 2016 Crocodile Prize
The wooded land atop the hillock
Where the silhouettes of the ancient oak
Stand aloft and motionless in the midday hour.
Those eucalyptus trees beyond the graveyard
And the ancient oak and the others
Whose names the midday wind utters
In such gentle tunes.
In the cool of the midday hour
A sudden destruction befalls the wooded greenery
The roar of chainsaws reverberates
Through the sacred burial grounds.
We watch the rise of the steel tower
Where once stood the ancients oaks
This sudden bloat upon the landscape
Is a testament to the malicious greed
Of the capitalist despots and profiteers.
I know not the measure of such malice
You have wrecked upon my sacred landscape
Now till eternity I must keep a vigil
For the ambience in the sacred woods
Atop the hillock is destroyed, gone forever.