Yamuna's

The river was my life

lies it putrefied in my veins

now.

I tendered to its wants gloomy despair it reckons

how.

of filthy deeds of man's

blind creeds love sans

slowly as I watch the river die

I ask why

should I not be angry

for the very progeny engulfs the progenitor

senseless choices beguiled by vanity extreme

the river was my poetry

it's contours my prose

not will I watch this amiss too long

man will pay for the deeds done wrong

for I, the nature, will not spare those who inflict, conflict and destroy this prose.