Coming across the river stream, I gasped aloud,
stopping dead on my track with a jolt to wonder,
if she is the same that I used to have,
the one who flowed before my mind was civilized!
I can still remember how wild she used to be
with both her swollen banks and fatal curvature
and those overflowing waves, crowned white,
when the sky got swollen too with dark monsoon clouds.
At winter though much calmer, she was never meek.
Then her banks, like two checkered boards of gold and green
would come to life, both thriving on the silt
deposited along the ground by her fertile flood.
Now she can be hardly called a river at all,
rolling towards the brink of her grand extinction
dragging death on its trail like a crippled snail
and I thought this river of life would flow eternally!