The poet did not read much poetry
In the river which had water only once.
The river that had carried away
A pregnant woman carrying twins
The poets had still talked about its beauty
What if the river had just sand
And a few water-melon patches
Water-buffaloes soaking in the sun
Rocks that glistened on the river bed
White wet clothes drying on them
Without water the river is still a river.
It is hot on the sand under the bridge
We still talk about its pristine beauty
As though it is a river of water
It is not carved out of brown hot sand
Its reason for existence is not to supply
Truckloads of sand for buildings.
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