Amitabha Bagchi
Sprightly daughter of the mighty hills you were born transparent and vulnerable Now, occasional subcutaneous detritus betrays your black opacity. The parasitic halogen light has driven out the silver moon from your lap. The yellow pinpricks are like television to my mind. Chained by stone banks and hovels back broken by concrete and steel listless defeated mother silently swallowing the poison that is ravaging your womb. Yet the other day foot board flying over you when I turned my head I saw birds spelling victory gliding across your depths