Ruma Chakraborty
There runs a river outside my window
Where I sit, not because I like it,
But out of dead habit
I have sat there for as long as
I remember since childhood maybe
The river flows with languorous ease
With a mind of its own
Flotsam, carcasses, algae abound
Stench rises and ebbs at whim
Sometimes I see fish swim
I wonder how the water feels
Does it burn or heal?
One day I open the window
Trying to see within the depths
Losing balance, I fall into the murky depths
Only to realise that which I thought
Was stolid, calm, a watery repose
Had within it eddies, whirlpools
Of currents and cross currents
I feel dragged and tossed within
Finally, some movement
The river’s abrasion heals
The die is cast, fate sealed.