A ruin in menopause
Souparnika has shrunk
heaving drier banks, where
pebbles like aborted fetuses lie
reminiscing of dead fertility.
The urban sewage mixes
adding to her subterranean
grime of sin washed over
by generations of the joy-starved,
who err for a day of mirth,
and annually douse in her waters
consecrated by collective transgressions.
Fluid confessor whispering
consolations of cyclic time
springing from quiet anticipations
of seasons, rises, and falls.
* Souparnika is a holy river in the state of Karnataka, India.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem