On this blessed land
Foundations of giant structures
Are laid over virgin landscapes
Blotting the antiquity
And burying the ancient panorama
Under the crust.

Pandemics spread
With a pollinating effect
And no cure at all
Thus, Mankind withers
Like petals of olden flowers.

The overwhelming productions and foundries
Disperse their smog
That takes away
The freshness of myrtles.

New orchestras are formed
And people rise
With neoteric melodies
Yet, unaware of melancholic sounds.

Flying metallic birds
Throw their droppings
Full of fire
Disseminating hatred and grief
And dreams perish
Halting the lively cherish.

Units, full of apetite
Even with their complete boundries
Still try to expand
And no one cares
Because the whole world is
In the trance of players!




(12/31/2008)

Sameer Ahmed

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/players-8/