The Poisoned Chlorophyll

The fecund forest now
Breathes effluvium,
You teach me to chant,
‘Jai Hind!’

Your unctuous Mangalayaan,
A pride you constructed
to refill our poverty;
and we drank it;
Like the poisoned chlorophyll,
Your anti-red potion,
you consider inveterate.

Your saffron scientists
have classified our forest;
Their filthy fingers,
Our scientific names.
Genus stating religion,
Species stating gender,
and a hundred more
categories, distinctions,
They fix the dosage and inject
The poisoned chlorophyll.

The trees are dying;
Their red flowers plucked and crushed.
The chlorophyll breeds saffron.
There’s a new element in the brain,
That reacts with your injection;
The scientists focus on Mangalayaan,
The new saffron matter
makes them conscious.
Funding for other research
is not needed.

The trees bear your poisoned chlorophyll;
but the child you are;
The sanskari vermillion,
Genus red,
will heal the dead foetus.
Do you know your poisoned trees,
Can dance in the wildfire?
The fire, my dear mitron,
Is Red!!

NaPoWriMo #Day 20  #Poem 20

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