They can't talk, our convenient assumption,
May be, it is we, who are deaf to their cry and passion,
We think, life they do not seek, like you and me?
Oh, how many more signs should be passed for us to see?
Rains lost and holes in the ozone grown,
Pity for ourselves, the one thing we have shown,
Never melting ice caps and ever sweating brows,
Climatic differences across the world grows.
Words, indeed, they do not speak like us,
Their silences, we will hear, if we quiet our buzz.
Their tears do not pour down in pain,
But let them live to shower joyous rain.
We cut and carve and shape them, for what?
Couldn't we give them, at life, a shot?
Like a canopy as we walk with our loved ones,
They will let live, our daughters and sons.