The tree, shimmering in a puddle,

ripples as a bird pauses for a drink.

The sun peeps from behind

the grey lined with silver.


The river mirrors the sky replete

with clouds and sunshine.

Water drifts over a lifetime

spanning your story and mine —


narratives of our Times, of an

eon that sweeps the Earth,

mankind’s own hearth.

Long ago, dinosaurs died.


Now, in this new age of greats,

fires burn kangaroo meat.

Flames that devour forests are

put to rest by ice that freezes


blood and bones. Breath chills

to lifelessness in a refrigerator.

Some succumb to the coronal grip.

It is the passing of an era.


Yet, the water is still to rise, submerging

land, till there is no place left to stand.

Where will mankind go? Will we,

dinosaur-like, recede in Time


to be found by the next species in line?

Or can ingenuity move us to the red

Martian sands? On Earth, like Nemo, will

we roam under the engulfing seas, live in


Kamino towers that weather all storms

or breathe freely in the domes of Trantor?

Mankind will still stand, abound, continue.

We were, We are, We will still be…


Mitali Chakravarty is a writer and the editor of Borderless Journal




Comments are closed.