True Story

We thought we were wise;
thought we had taken up life,
when we avoided skins;
thought we'd purged our sins;
believed our selves more civilised,
when we hid the sight of blood;
put on rubber and latex gloves,
removed our feet from Adam's mud

But we only diverted the pain;
then mulitiplied it thrice again,
when we fabricated toxic woods;
we truly saw them something good:
cosy domestic rainbow edens,
royal robes that hid our shame--
yet these ways swallowed up the rains;
none of what we did sustains

Feeding the virus in system's core,
we killed, as ever, even more;
not only did our own enslave,
but river fish we could not save;
corrupting the tiniest of creatures,
the whole earth became our zoo--
and oceans died and forests too;
we sacrificed our vital glue

The Love was once our common bond,
the thread of life that streamed beyond;
child and lamb once gifted gains:
the vine that linked up all the chains,
of a grace that got trampled by rubber,
which put out the unrecognised light;
and waning vision fed the fight,
as pleroma union faded completely out of sight

From dependence on Creator we tried to flee,
but instead became our own enemy;
thought that machines would be the start
of utopian living, super-smart;
and that's exactly how the story ended:
our eternal savoured love affair,
between the moon and solar flare,
broke apart when we refused to care