If you cut a tree; you cut your own mother - Poems on Environment , Wildlife

STYLE

Abruptly crisp; Sonorously manipulative; Astutely
target oriented; was the style of the checkered suit
businessman,

Vibrant breezy; Beautifully serene; Stupendously
animated; was the style of the gigantic trunk oak
tree,

Boisterously escalating; Tenaciously clashing;
Fabulously salty; was the style of the boundlessly
undulating ocean,

Impeccably innocent; Entirely oblivious to vagaries of
monotonous life; as innocuous as the virgin sea
shores; was the style of the freshly born and
incessantly sleeping child,

Viciously wicked; Perilously threatening; Furtively
clever; was the style of the acerbic tailed & lethally
venomous scorpion,

Bountifully colossal; Blissfully serene; Dynamically
fluttering; was the style of the unfathomable expanse
of azure sky,

Overwhelmingly verbose; Inundated with countless
alphabets; Encompassing every word on this planet; was
the style of the leather bound and enchantingly
embellished dictionary,

Tangily seductive; Voluptuously enticing; Ravishingly
beautiful; was the style of the young maiden,
Blatantly deplorable; Thunderously smelly; Obnoxiously
fat; was the style of the garbage coated and
pretentiously inflated pig,

Magically smooth; Uninhibitedly unrestricted;
Handsomely buoyant; was the style of the wide spread
and majestically gliding eagle,

Brilliantly flamboyant; Omnipotent & supremely
enthusing; Sizzling the entire Universe in the swirl
of its austerely fiery rays; was the style of the
Kingly Sun,

Disdainfully dirty; Mischievously poking; Large eyed
and petrified; was the style of the gargantuan rat
sleeping peacefully on a bar of immaculate cheese,

Gorgeously sweet; Insurmountably tantalizing; Heavenly
scented; was the style of the incomprehensibly spongy
and cherry tipped triangular cake,

Pertinently harassing; Relentlessly irate;
Perniciously and incorrigibly permeating; was the
style of the inconspicuously diminutive mosquito,

Preposterously large; Heinously diabolical; Mammoth
jawed and cannibalistic; was the style of the
stoically silver shark,

Rambunctiously busy; Rampantly darting around;
Mystically diffusing delectable globs of golden honey;
was the style of the electric paced and diving bumble
bee,

Poignantly sharp; Celestially tasting; Astronomically
reinvigorating; was the style of the profusely
aromatic morning tea,

Unsurpassably slippery; Wildly woven; Intractably
sticky; was the style of the splendidly captivating
and criss-crossed spider web,

Stringently barking; Irrefutably loyal; Blessed with
an astounding prowess to smell even the most obscure
of footprints; was the style of the fur coated sheep dog,

Unimaginably blessed; Engendering a person to march
forward all his life; Vivaciously pouring tears of
happiness and sadness at times; was the style of the
effusively turbulent eye,

Infectiously sweet; Crunchy & Delicious; Incredulously
exotic; was the style of the raw crystals of
scintillating white sugar,

Tumultuously freezing; More transparent than any
mirror; Shimmering ingratiatingly under milky
moonlight; was the style of the mountain of white ice,

Astoundingly cozy; Wonderfully compassionate;
Exquisitely sheltering naked skin from inclement cold;
was the style of the richly evolved and meticulously
stitched satiny quilt,

Insurmountably heavy; Extraordinarily abraded
demeanor; Remaining as stoical as dead even in bizarre
affliction; was the style of the bulky grey stone boulder,

Magnificently striped; Dispersed into shades of
mesmerizing beauty; Tremendously fascinating; was the
style of the opalescent rainbow,

Abusively dirty; Repugnant to virtually all mankind;
Abhorrently white sandwiched between glowing follicles
of scalp hair; was the style of pugnacious dandruff,

Deadly disastrous; Inexorably earth shattering;
Unprecedentedly devastating; was the style of the cold
blooded and killer earthquake,

Melodiously cascading; Clashing into a billion
globules of sparkling froth; Gorgeously caressing the
periphery of black rock; was the style of the
profoundly exuberant and gurgling waterfall,

Unflinchingly brave; An intrepid adventurer;
Compromising on nothing but the traitors scalp; was
the style of the true soldier,

Love without discrimination; Unquestionably sacrosanct
visage; Thoughts about her child solely lingering in
her mind; was the style of the Divinely mother,

Incessantly on the prowl; Ruthlessly assassinating
innocent heads for meager bundles of currency; Traces
of humanity evaporated into remote oblivion; was the
style of the cold blooded criminal,

Inevitably smiling; Instilling life in morbidly dead
veins; Heaps of talcum powder irrevocably sticking to
his face; was the style of the comically attired
circus clown,

Opulently glimmering; Overpowering everything in
vicinity by the tenacious power in its shine; Coined
as the richest source of human survival; was the style
of the fat bodied gold coin,

Deluged with blissful scent; Beyond perceptions of
captivating beauty; Sprouting like a magician from a
pond of dirty water; was the style of the prolifically
redolent and pink lotus,

Dolorously dull; Strangulated with gruesomely
contemptuous malice; Aligned with a massive battalion
of blood sucking termites; was the style of the
impregnably hostile prison cell,

Rosily pink; Intransigently titillating; Chattering
infinite times in a single day; was the style of
velvety soft lips,

A glistening thirst quencher; Pacifying scorched
chords of the throat beyond the mightiest of
perception; Guzzled by every palpable being till the
time he exists and even in times of after life; was
the style of pure and plain spring water,

Bombastically sleazy; Nictitating with a festoon of
garish lights; A clandestine retreat for hearthrobs
after midnight; was the style of the indefatigably
pulsating country discotheque,

Continuously ticking; Accurately depicting various
shades of life; Portraying to all the immense value of
time; was the style of the towering and century old
grandfather clock,

Lifelessly still; Nostalgically reminiscent; Placid
yet profusely demonstrative; was the style of the
decade old and dusty photograph,

Exorbitantly mounted; Embossed with several lines; The
ultimate chapter of destiny; was the style of the
scarlet complexioned rubicund palm,

Infinitesimally tiny; Blended with a rectangle and
square; Kissing the key umpteenth number of times in a
day; was the style of the intricately dainty enigmatic
keyhole,

Supremely tantalizing; Astonishingly curled;
Flirtatiously flashing; was the style of the gentle
and beautiful eyelashes,

Vehemently stinking; Freely available all day;
Enticing an armory of flies the instants it caressed
the ground; was the style of colorlessly trapped
saliva,

Astoundingly incarcerating; Playfully rollicking;
Acrobatically jumping; was the style of the adorable
and honey crested dolphin,

Satanically awesome; Taller than the skies; Ghoulishly
growling; was the style of the savagely stepping
devil,

Perpetually invisible; Able to cast its wicked spell
over innocent human beings; Lighter than the lightest
of thread; was the style of the lecherously minded
ghost,

Standing like a pillar in times of distress; Helping
without the slightest of expectation; Praying for her
brothers safety in whatever arena he stepped; was the
style of the unprejudiced sister,

And Passionately free; Invincible to all powers of
this globe; Immortally existing since centuries
unprecedented; Divinely blending palpitating hearts
together; was the style of love; infact the style of
the Omnipresent Creator.