R. Parthasarathy

River-once

 With paper boats

           boys tickle my ribs

and buffalos have turned me to a pond

there’s eaglewood in my hair

 and stale flowers ,

           every evening

    as bells toll

 in the forehead

 of the temples

 I see a man

     on the steps

 clean his arse

 kingfishers and egrets

 whom I fed

  have flown my paps

 Also emperors and poets

 who slept

 in my arms

 I am become a sewer

      now, no one

 has any use for Vaikai river, once

 of this sweet city.