The River

That's small river

near my mother’s village.

In summer it shrank,

but in monsoon it swelled.

Mother’s school was on

the other bank.

She was a teenager,

and with her books,

she crossed the river

in a boat.

Whenever I visited

her maternal place,

I insisted on visiting the river,

for it was peaceful,

is it not?

Walking barefoot on sand,

watching the water flow,

embraced by the cool greenery,

is not everybody's privilege.

Last time I visited, however,

was far from serene.

Now as bridge runs over it,

fleet of trucks carrying

construction material, coal,

pierce the serenity.

It is polluted now,

air, water, sound all

another victim of reckless

human actions,

sorry river.