Death of a lake
A lake,
landmark to
locate easily
my nest like
home, a center
to ever widening
concentric city,
lies without life,
no fishes, no ducks,
no mosquitoes,
not even microbes
exist within.
Like a frozen body
intact, lake is
kept as a
keep-sake, for
there will be no
other places to
dump such waste;
chemicals flowing
from a few hundred
factories, slush, sewage,
garbage reaches her
in hushed silence.
When people
flock to see
with curious
eyes the fire
and froth issuing
from the lake,
taking pictures,
striking unison
notes-aw’s, wow’s,
as if it is all
of the lake’s doing,
my ears hurt-ache-burn.
I see a crow
sitting on
electric pole
cocking its head,
looking restlessly
at people or
mourning the
death of lake,
I can’t say, but,
with as expressionless
face as that of the crow
I turn with heavy steps,
ruffled, helpless,
towards my home.
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