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
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