Buried Alive in Plastic by Arya Mohapatra
Tangled with the acrid scent of burnt paper
and wasted sap,
the earth reeks of incinerated beauty
The oceans are confused today
they found out that the humans tricked them
into swallowing chips of concealed plastic
a baby tuna knows it won't hear the echoes
of oxygen filtering through its gills
a penguin finds himself adorned with glistening
his eyes widen as he takes himself in,
he looks prettier today
We are gift-wrapping the earth in plastic
a red satin bow all around,
Its ribbons are dead eels dangling,
branches wallowing in the wind,
streamers of cracked polyvinyl chloride pipes,
punishing lungs of Pepsi cans.
Somewhere a young woman aged twelve
walks on hairpin triggers,
that house a few millilitres
of abandoned orange soda
her plastic flip-flops slapping
against her heels
the soles worn.
The earth is wearing a dress into which
fabric is still being sewn
the bodice, the skirt, the hem
all glistening chunks of plastic in the sun
Nobody appreciates the creation
but they do not forget to
supply the raw materials.
If i tilt my body left, i might be buried alive in plastic.
Ocean is a terrible swimmer by Mohua Chakraborty
In a parallel universe
where pollution follows
the family planning scheme,
the sun hides earth's teenage
suicide note drenched in UV rays,
the ocean is a terrible swimmer
with heart clots inside crux gyres,
the soil holds surveys
for high illiteracy rate
candidates of which
are certainly non-biodegradable,
the sleeveless hands of the sky
squeezes those wet penalty sheets
that were excreted in
empty garbage cans
also devoid of nutritional trash.
is a limited anthem stuck
in between gritty teeth
and biotic organs are oblivious
to the increasing mortality
rate of abiotic daughters,
the animals digest four
squares of packaging syrup
three-fourths of which were
of single-use transparent shrouds
toxic lovers who weren't
dumped in open playgrounds
but separate perimeters that
could be named after their demise.
Oh, just remember,
this demise is ephemeral
like love at first dump
Silently scrolling through
hashtags of nature lovers with
tidbits of hazard maps nearby
as if all nature lovers are
Choking impatience gets disciplined
in the chaos of biodegradable shrieks
while stripping off
it's combustible name
and burns the soil, the water, the air
with reverse osmosis of
incessant tears evaporating
at the rate of side-eyeing
the questionnaire curtains
per grade in EVS
highlighting important points
to gaslight its non-ductile tongue
and brittle lips hunted
in low temperatures and
pressure that forms
the fossils are incised
with them as souvenirs
We are left with the earth
gift wrapped in plastic,
but for whom?
Synthetic Mosaics of Regret by Taqee Syed
We gift-wrap our surroundings in synthetic mosaics of regret,
Yielding a garden of garbage, a bleeding field of despair.
Elastic bowers in backyards, springing lifeless blossoms and plastic petals.
We purpose our homes, in multipurpose Tupperware in shelves, expanding a legacy surpassing it’s supposed shelf-life.
A kaleidoscope of waste stains the earth.
polythene-ghosts floating through meadows, suffocating life.
Like a chameleon, it blends shape-shifting with ease;
Toxic parasites proliferating through our deep blues and purple pleasantries,
The sight of flea-begotten, rainbow wrappers, unleashing pandemonium on the horizon is not just an eyesore, but a full-blown carnival of debris.
A technicolour nightmare, a surreal dream,
A world transformed, or so it seems.
We wreaked a world where plastic waste reigns supreme, and consequences reached a point where a synthetic plague has flanked beyond its seams.
Like a mirage, it dazzles the crowd,
A wolf in sheep's clothing, it may seem,
A Trojan horse, a synthetic plaguing dream.
It's a tapestry of tragedy, woven with care,
It's a quilt of our own making, stitched with care and precision,
A masterpiece of destruction, a despairing affair.
A testament to the tragic nature of our times.
The symphony we’ve weaved is one of sorrow, a mournful tune that resonates throughout the earth.
A daunting melody that speaks volumes of pain and agony, while over-shrinking a shrink film’s worth.
It's a garden of garbage, a field of despair,
A wasteland of wonder, beyond repair.
It's a graveyard of dreams, of hope and of love,
A tragic end to all that we hold above.
So let us mourn, let us grieve for our loss,
And vow to fight, no matter what the cost.
Let us break free from disposable-nightmare’s eerie hold,
And gift wrap the earth instead in a future we can behold.
The Fishes are off to a Plastic Protest by Khatija Khan
i once mistakenly swallowed
a strawberry bubblegum
and panicked at full blast because
my science teacher had taught us
that it was non biodegradable
and does not break into sugar.
the stomach does not digest it
for it is made up of plastic
and do you realise how
plastic has become our personal history.
it is conjuctivitis in the eyes of the earth
spreading its roots to blind all of us.
carry bags so easy to go out with,
tiffin boxes and cookie cans,
my mother's favourite piping wires that shimmer while she sews,
dad's screwdriver collection and the box it is kept in; decades and decades; never replaced.
all my dollhouses that lay on the shelf
and the shelf itself; forever new; for evermore.
the cough syrup bottles in sickness
and rasna sachés in health.
all the hairbands my sister bought
for me on my birthdays, one of which
i still wear.
we are gift-wrapping the earth in plastic,
but for whom?
how did we come this far?
the paper banners read in the school exhibition some months ago,
that was supposed to put
a full stop to excessive plastic usage.
but at the end of the day, there were
disposable glasses being crushed
under uncountable legs
polythene bags breathing our air,
candy wrappers crawling all around
and a hundred straws lying everywhere
like stray animals, no one talks about.
the stray dogs- that swallow spat strawberry bubblegums and die near beaches.
maybe someday, the bubblegums
will walk back to those who spat them.
crabs, oysters and jellyfish,
colourful piranhas and prawns and snails,
starlings of the water
have gone missing
from the nearby river.
some newsmen on the tv yesterday
were addressing the amount of plastic in it
"the narmada replaces marine life
with toxic waste"
said the news headline
until my father switched the news channel
to one where some people
were on a protest.
now i eagerly wait for the day
the journalists find the fishes
that are off to a plastic protest.