My head, the Kanchanjodga, aches.

My eyes shed tears as Yamuna

Washing the feet of the Taj.

Satpura, my chest, chokes.

The saline breeze of Point Calimere

Brings murmurs of pain.

Satkoshaia’s solemn silence

Froze into greater depths.

The elephants of Silent Valley

Suspended entwining their trunks.

The extinguished Sabarmati

Languishes in her grave.

The Great Indian Hornbill chick

Fears to come out of its woody nest.

The Great Indian Bustard keeps dying.

Sudarbans walks into the sea.

Violence, public lynchings hatred and incarcerations of the innocent

Usurpation of public wealth as poverty deepens.

The rainbow  hides its face over me.

The winged flowers are shy to come to Bharatpur.

The pupas refuse to take wings as butterflies

Fearing the mountains of lies.

My children weep the loss of freedom

To those who stood with the occupiers

The labour of millions.

Yet the  rainbow shall not be defeated.

I shall take my wings again, lost in an unguarded moment

And banish its tormenters

And the plunderers.

Into a morning of new freedom

Shall I wake up one day soon

My children shall wake up one day soon

The author an ecologist based at Trivandrum, India specialising in international policy issues.

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