Heaps of plastics
strewn across the ground
lie long. Filth and foul
The damage is done.
Very hard to retrieve
earth’s glory.
The old order enters.
Cloth bags, metal mugs
glass cups find the way in.
Earthern pots, banana leaves,
paper bags march past
with pride.
Soaps and shampoos,
tooth pastes perfumes,
makeups will not last.
Shikakai, besan flour
neem and charcoal,
sandal will be reinstated.
A renaissance should I call,
I am transported to my childhood.
Sense a gratification.
Pranams.
Meenas Poems 