Neither the creatures, in heavy huge form
Nor the Elemental havocs of Fire, water or windy storm
Could so much mark the panicky horrors of Death;
Invisible as they are, a morbid, chill choking breath
Runs through the spine and the Doomsday
Seems to advance trampling and blowing over the hay
Of existence; all valued tokens small or big
Lose their specific place in the span for a fig;
But No..! it is only a greed -powered chaos, man-made
By transgressing the limits of Life and its shade...
The World for sure, is no more a Cacti Land!
Yet, Eliot's words in loud echoes linger and reprimand
" This is the way the world ends, Not with a bang but a whimper" **
Faith charges Hope: Man as ever will win the war
And then, restore the anthropos ' supremacy on a par..!
**Note: Eliot's ' The Hollowmen ' ends with the lines
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Indeed end of world is not from storms or fire or floods, but by greedy deeds of man only!