The Injured River

By Swapnil Bhardwaj

I rush down the snow capped mountains,

Through deep gorges and pines.

Into the foothills meandering,

Slowly maturing like a wine.

Everyday, I see you performing rituals,

greeting me with flowers and folded hands,

Through careful erosion, I spread that precious sand.

Passing by the holy city, I bless you, promising to fulfill your dreams,

You bathe in my waters, to wash away your sins,

Only to return the favours with trash and tins !

My waters fill your paddy fields and quench your cattle’s thirst.

Returning brackish pungent sludge from factories,

Carelessly ignoring the environment, you must !

My confluence with my sisters saddens to see their fate,

Through this journey you left us to accept your filthy waste.

Helpless, I still accept your wild brackish waters, but a part of me slowly die,

The plastics choke my fish and dolphins, their misery make my cry.

My journey through green sunny valleys is my quest for the open sea.

Passing through these green expanses, I finally reach my destination,

Brutally injured and gasping for breath, I crawl in desperation.

Accept me O’ infinite waters, I plead to wash away your sins,

I, who was as pure as rainwater, can only offer your trash and tins.

I am Krishna,

I am Godavari,

I am Jhelum,

I am Kaveri.

You can call me Sutlej or Tapti; I am Beas or call me Mahanadi.

You can call me Chenab or Ravi, I am Indus or call me Sabarmati.

I am Brahmaputra,

I am Narmada,

I am Yamuna.

I am Ganga.

By Swapnil Bhardwaj