Two Islands

By Ishan Jadhav

Between two islands,

There was a road,

Below the waters now,

Its existence is stored,

It rises when wind blows,

But often underneath it hides,

Swamps near it and crocodiles see,

The flag of a ship and how it flutters,

Through the air, over the sunken road,

Drifting through the muddy water,

Sending across white bubbles and foam,

Settles on that road,

Countless layers of humus and mud,

Reckless waves from all around ,

Crash against each other,

And, pigeons and geese fly low,

In the evening which is dark yet glows

-A pale dusky hue,

The creek falls into silence.

There were streetlights,

On that road,

Dustbins? – maybe one or two,

All but resting in the humus,

Descrying the shadow of a ship,

Or debris floating astray ,

Creek turns colder by each day,

The current of the creek,

Sheepishly moves near the marshlands,

Where herons raise worms from their beak.

Near the muddy marshes,

Plastic bottles are also found ,

Half dug , half exposed,

Their contents , a shade of beige,

On its facets,

Snails of a similar shade crawl ,

The muddy water reflects

• Not what it sees,

But exhibits emotions deep,

Deeper than the creek,

Which wrestle still,

The scream of its soul,

Forsakes its ghoul,

In search of a listener who looks,

Down in the creek but fails to see,

Voice of anguish, mirth of crooks.

The road submerged in the creek,

Had islands two on its ends bleak,

Now there are but marshes low,

Muddy and dark like eyebrows,

They shudder at the sound,

Of an airplane,

Which often comes around,

It shakes the waters too,

Which are now cold ,

Cold, beyond tolerance,

Cold, for an Indian,

Its colour is dense.

Meanwhile,

Bird calls ascend higher- towards,

Taller bushes of the lot,

And loom, over its dark branches ,

Connecting two islands there was a road,

Under the water its streetlights glow,

Drowning in the creek, there is a road.

By Ishan Jadhav