Bleak Perfect World

No more woods, no more natural goods

Industrial revolution has swallowed everything,

Her grandson, Information revolution begets artificial beauty

A thing of beauty, now a past remnant in keats' poem.


Cut-throat is the race to the utopian development

“Need a sacrifice, trees, you go first

No worries you will make Demi-godly human life an ease”

Unholy and cursed become water of the himalayas

When it commune with sludge of industries and sewers.

If Varuna were alive and watch his domain

Blue it still looks, but human plastic arrows

Strangle its life, now oceans avenge by flooding men's abode,

Timely adieu to future grandchildren

You wouldn’t know what is real?

Augmented reality will be your window.