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73 Sick she really is. Yet on her we daily throw Loads of pollution of all species. She sneezes, she wheezes, She coughs, she’s choking. For time we give her not To clean up the suffocating mess. Now she’s with high fever struck. And now, like greedy ants On an oily frying pan on fire, We’re gradually being trapped By this unprecedented upsurge of heat. Heat too frightening, too horrifying, Too terrifying to permit Even a moment’s tranquil sleep Debtors of Our Children (Adapted from my play, The Hill Barbers) Understand you may not; But a universal truth it remains That debtors we have been Right from that moment When the first deep breath we took, As acceptance of our sojourn On this living ball of dust. Debtors of our children, Born and yet unborn; Debtors of the future Which from them we borrowed. 74 The debt today we enjoy, Often so lavishly, Wastefully and mindlessly, Is borrowed capital, The future We’ve taken as revolving loan From our children, Born and yet unborn. To them the future really belongs, Our debt to them, Which we all must pay back In the selfsame value As we borrowed it, or higher. Started, though, have we The debt to pay. By the care and tending Our children already born we give. But a tiny bit of the debt That really is, And the part remaining Heavier and heavier on us grows, As deeper and deeper Into the capital we devour. Leaves Me Confused I spent one week looking for a clue, And looked up to her for a cue. I thought the magic word she knew, For this was something that was new. ...

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