The river breathes noxious gases that can kill
Earlier, it was home to fish and storks and songs
Of the hardy fisher folks rowing little boats on its
Over the years, it has turned into a trickle
Torn by jagged rocks in many places
Greenish, gasping, and slow-flowing
Its deep lungs malfunctioning as they are
Choked with dumped garbage from the ‘urban’ centres.
A pathetic testament to our civilizational progress!
Very soon, says a tribal hooking a fish,
There will not be any old songs,
Only a loud dirge to be heard
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