Repristination

My eyes were hooked on to the West Feasting on the riot of colors the sun had cast I stood dazed at an experience blest That any poet would treasure with zest By chance I glanced at the river below It moved like an overloaded carriage slow With floating weeds and dirty rubbish Reminding one of an ugly heap of trash I saw partially submerged bottles bobbing on the surface Gradually filling with dirty water perforce And slowly sinking down to rest in peace With their sunken brethren at the river base Spill of oil glistened iridescent On the face of the river florescent Its water was far from clean And had turned into murky green On the still surface was a layer of scum Like rancid butter annoying anyone’s calm Reeking smell of rotten fish and mulch Entered my nostrils with an obnoxious stench I closed my eyes and turned my head And looked away from the river bed I thought of man’s callous audacity In assaulting Nature’s pristine vitality I heard the river’s rising lament And me it did acutely torment I felt it was clamoring for repristination And inviting man’s commiseration Any sensitive soul would be left grieving Seeing the river in such agony heaving In the far horizon, the sky had grown into flames I wondered if Nature was mad at man’s tall claims March.13.2023 ~ Placed First~ Pick a title, Vol.35. Poetry Contest Sponsor. Edward Ibeh