from "Flying Man" by Rabindranath Tagore

I feel the age we live in is drawing to a close - 
   Upheavals threaten, gather the pace
      Of a storm that nothing slows.

Hatred and envy swell to violent conflagration:
   Panic spreads down from the skies,
      From their growing devastation.

If nowhere in the sky is there left a space
   For gods to be seated, then, Indra,
      Thunderer, may you place

At the end of this history your direst instruction:
   A last full stop written in the fire
      Of furious total destruction.

Hear the prayer of an earth that is stricken with pain:
   In the green woods, O may the birds
      Sing supreme again.

Tagore, Rabindranath translated by Radice, William. "Flying Man" in Selected Poems. New York: Penguin Books, 2005, 113.