Siddhartha laying with beautiful Kamala,
Courtesan teaching him carnal knowledge,
Kamala imprisoned a lovely rare song bird,
A feathered rarity locked-up in a gilded cage,
Siddhartha prior to seeking enlightenment,
Before beginning his final earthly pilgrimage,
Contemplating life on the bank of a sacred river,
Siddhartha dreaming one fateful night,
Lying next to Kamala's perfect body, seductive beauty,
Siddhartha envisioned Kamala's rare beautiful song bird.
Dreaming still, waking in his dream at golden sunrise,
Not hearing that usual welcoming morning trill,
Siddhartha wondered why that  wondrous precious bird,
Was not singing,
Its usual morning songs,
Of happiness and joy,
No chorus or trill or captivating hymn. 
Siddhartha, roused from his comfortable bed,
Dreaming still, finding that tiny golden bird,
Lying dead and still on the bottom of that golden cage.
Siddhartha extended his open hand,
Reaching into that small golden prison,
Clutching the small dead bird,
All that glorious colour still intact,
Holding that feathered beauty,
Now quite stiff and cold.
Siddhartha tossed that small innocent corpse,
Thrown out an airy window,
That unfortunate dead creature,
Falling like a mindless stone,
Plummeting to the unyielding earth below.
Suddenly realizing his disrespect,
Such careless action,
So uncaring he was in that moment.
Engulfed by sorrow for what he had done,
That poor little song bird's dead body,
Siddhartha felt overwhelmed,
God's creature, now lifeless and dead.
What we humans have done,
Reaching thoughtlessly,
Into every golden cage,
Taking hold of what was beautiful,
So glorious and good,
Things so wonderful and pure.
Unceremoniously chucking the divine,
Those gifts so freely given,
Life pitched out every open window,
Plummeting like useless discarded nothings,
Down to the sorry ground,
Onto scrap piles and dung heaps,
Such selfishness and arrogance,
Casting goodness and purity,
Good life itself,
Into stinking rubbish bins,
Buried in toxic waste piles.
Mother Earth once providing us with everything,
Countless travesties and sins, 
So apathetically committed.
Good God forgive us!
 Yet we shall surely not be forgiven,
So the burning bush must leave us,
Abandoned and buried,
While earth's pitiful oceans burn,
Radioactive, polluted beyond recognition,
As the tainted ebbing tide weeps for Eden,
While worthless grief grips,
Our corrupt mourning souls,
And grim death envelopes,
Our remorseful world.