Dear Lord of the world,
have you found another
— a more promising one,
where men are not made of matchsticks
and the air doesn’t taste of iron?
Where egos are less flammable,
and hearts untrained in killing.
Tell me— have you seen forests there,
green as mercy,
trees that refuse to bow to men or to machine?
Are there words for hunger there—
or mine, sorrow, war, famine, hope?
Lord of the world,
Lord of two worlds—
Tell me this :
have you found another world like mine,
and have thus forsaken us ?