Rivers lament over why they were born, they
Question their existence, ask their maker if any
The rivers weep copious tears no one can see
For the loss irreparable. Clinically dead, they
Seem to wait for a time when news echoes in
The air: the wasteland returns. Cuckoos will
No more sing to declare the advent of spring
Deadly and ear-piercing cries of humans and
Animals will break stones. O agonized rivers
You don’t shout like human beings absolutely
Vacuum within! You’re calm like trees gifting
Nature with gentle breeze. Desperate and evil
Land grabbers ravage banks extending gluttony
To the rivers, eating out life, destroying beauty
And disturbing cadence like Grendel. The rivers
Had golden days with stream of water as a force
To create rhythmic sounds as if celestial music
And petite white flakes made many a shoal of
Small white fish swim, jump and fall in between
Giant boulders to have a flower nearby blossom
Rapidly and feast the eyes of travelers. Children
Would bathe in a group, young girls would swim
Together, farmers wash mud after plowing their
Fields to sow seeds for golden crops. Toxic water
In different colors spawns fetor making distance
Between humans and rivers—to touch water now
Is to catch incurable diseases! O rivers, you do not
Inundate fields to bring silt for healthier crops and
Bountiful harvests anymore! The soil has already
Begun to crack, trees stopped growing and a new
Form of epizootic is imminent. Ether couriers your
Valued missives: don’t kill water, let your life flow.