My river’s angry today, or call it restless.
Its foaming, rolling waves make swishing sounds.
Its former flow has changes, with broken bounds,
My river stays the same, or little less.
For Ganga, swollen, broad, it still is called.
But Ganga it sure is not, in its own ways.
The course and flow and colour of summer days,
All change, and what we saw, is fully changed.
And thus will it go on, a month or two.
Unbroken crescent of ghats that used to be
Can now not be walked, are now submerged.
One can walk the lane – a river one can see –
That crowded, parallel, sinuous runs un-merged
To go the same few miles, a month or two.