FOREST OF GARBAGE

Amid the whispers of once-green leaves, now trembling with the crackle of frozen plastic, this forest no longer breathes the scent of wet earth, but reeks of sins never confessed. Birds fly without direction, beating wings in poisoned air, roots writhe, gasping for breath, strangled by plastic bags, ensnared by empty cans. A sea of leaves replaced by a sea of bottles, trees moan in voiceless silence, streams scream, carrying waste, pouring sorrow into the trench of time. This forest was once a song, now a grave, silent and still, we, who planted wounds into its soil, are the ones who reap its death. Rise, O conscience of mankind, before the forest is just a name on a map, before our children ask: why does the earth no longer tell its tales?