//Bitter tears embellish the dear sand,
for its dwellers; the weeds, the worms-
near their end.
The bosom friends of the sand
can’t help but harm themselves,
for they are deprived of mercy by being
stamped by feet so hot yet cold –
of none other than we “humans”.
The weeds do yell, agonized,
but no ears hear them.
The worms breathe their closing breath
yet nothing but futile it goes.
Dejected, they interrogate themselves;
“What purpose we are to serve with our lives?”

They solace one another,
for there lives none to address them.
They plea for their life-
to the “overpowerful man” –
and there goes his reply;
“The weak is always weak,
a truth crystal clear,
and so are you –
destined to be “the weak” “.

“We, the righteous inhibitors of Earth;
We, the guardians of soil you stamp;
We, the decomposers;
stand beyond essential for you the traitors” –
did spurt the impotent.
No good does their plea,
no good does their sobs,
for they fail to move the heartless human-
who but never fails to exploit the defenceless.

They weep and weep and weep,
thence they weep to death//
© inksofmind