who needs prayers

Who needs prayers?

Sitting on the broad branches, broad
as big as a drum, though felled and dead,
Still seemingly alive, for the wetness is green
with brownish color, for the soil struck roots
are strewn are here spread idle on the corner,

looking up at the sky at the injustice done,
I too look up at the sky, it has forsaken the land,
the gurgling waters of the pond murmur
we are in the throttles of death trap,
aridity is our slow and frequent visitor,

the horse effortlessly grazing upon the
withering grass, sand and pebbles popping out,
the nearby mango tree has two regular
visitors of parrots pouring in,
counting the life span of the tree, fruitless,


the graveyard is full, people mourn
looking for a burial ground,
the stench and stink rotting the wind,
stack the busy throb of life,
who does not need prayers?