Journey To Freedom

By Indira Penubolu

A big mass of white snow slowly melts,

Pure and colourless.

At first a trickle, dangerously cutting through the ice,

And then it becomes larger,

Spreading itself wider.

It touches the first mud and carries it along,

Eroding its way through, singing a carefree song.

Still pure but no more colourless,

A slight hue of brown-

And quietly the river flows on.

Transparent and placid in the green forests it is lost,

Hearing only an occasional roar or cry that belong.

Hesitantly, a small pond it forms,

Where the wild animals throng,

Where the lotus flowers thrive,

Making the forests come alive.

To travel, it has miles,

Already it is a greenish brown-

And so, quietly the river flows on.

Peacefully meandering its way down,

Gurgling and murmuring, it reaches town.

On the banks, people wash clothes,

Some wash themselves, others- buffaloes.

Some set afloat a small lamp of hope and oil,

So that the future is worth their past’s toil.

Suddenly, it reaches a big white wall,

A dam; on the other side it crashes and falls,

Turbines squeeze it of all its might,                                                                                

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Depleted of all energy; brownish white-

And quietly the river flows on.

It reaches the noisy, bustling city,

Thinking to itself, “here is where I loose my sanctity.

For here there are many more washing buffaloes,

For here is where the sewages along with me flow.

For it is here that transformed lotus flowers,

Appear as “beautiful” plastic covers.

With a cry of anger and helplessness,

It dangerously swirls and crashes,

No more calm or placid.

But to our inhuman ears-

Quietly the river flows on.

Yearning to be free,

It finally merges with the sea,

Breathing a deep sigh of bitter sad relief.

Crushed and dispersed by the coral reef.

By Indira Penubolu