Periodic Thirst

When a forest sheds its leaves,

It’s a seasonal thing,

A periodic dropping of clothes;

An act of self-defence

Against the blow

Of pure, white snow

Dirtied as soon as it touches the brown soil:

It becomes soiled.

The muddy river doesn’t wash itself

It flows forward

Across the plains, across the hills

Across the cities,

Till dirtied to the core,

It finally loses itself

Into the arms of the waiting ocean stream

One of these days,

A dried up river will be bemoaned,

And a dry forest will be mourned;

Incessant snow freezes over soggy branches

Cold to the touch

Melting as it touches the ground:

A brown floor greedily gulps each melted drop of cold.

December 17, 2013

© Geetakshi Arora