This was one of the poems keeping in my mind as an old person…Land precisely filled with many felt souls and yet covered by the concreate forests , thankfully S/he got their place and yet pondering upon things…Here’s the poem…
Just laying on the soil, the mud covering me, a few flowers blooming in remembrance of me, grasses growing right above my nose, Am I still alive right beneath the soil?
The sun hits me indirectly, I feel so warm, When it rains, my feet's so cold. Didn't they bother to put a blanket on me But the soil just holding air in between it must've bothered me-
I was grateful to be a soul which can roam around, why am I saying my soul a 'which'? No It's good, It has my name in my memory All I understood was the Earth cares me not the human in/on her .
This was not to hurt anyone, but imagining a person who was born in the early 40’s 50’s may feel this century very much weird. Competely filled with trees then, came later with buildings. It was much filled with nature then, came later with gadgets.
What else can I do to make this clear.
Save nature , Save you , Save HER.