Mother’s lamentations
She stumbles to my doorstep, upset and drenched, Her tears blend with the raindrops, the skies gloomy and tense. The air is thick, hazy, hot as her grief, A storm rages within her— agony and total disbelief. Her hands shake like the quivering leaves in the downpour, Her eyes wild with fear, and her soul just too sore. She gasps for words, but all that comes is pain, A cry for help, lost in the wild hurricane. "I can't breathe," she whispers, voice cracked and frail, "From the fires to the floods, everything around that’s unwell. My forests burn, my oceans rise with rage, My heart - once steady - now beats in a cage." And then she takes - this feeble form, so worn, Is the Mother Earth herself, beaten, broken, and torn. No more can she bear the weight of our deeds, No more can she heal; we are making her bleed. I sank to my knees, guilt heavy and raw, "I’m sorry," I murmur, "for our every flaw." “For every tree that we chopped down, every river...