See the wind blow
the top of the grown trees.
No bumblebees on the way
and no birds, I see.
As the skyline is trying 
to take shape from air
pollution and dirty clouds intake,
I hear the birds chirp.
Somewhere, hiding
without light, I assume
they learned their lesson of not clean air
to the rhythm of a piano
tune day and night.
We are forced to buy 
that as we sleep in, 
fight that we don’t suffocate.