Don’t kill me, I pray to thou

The sun is over my heaving breast, about to sink into me

The conch shells I can hear afar, seems they are coming for me

Will this be the night when I die

And will the breeze carry my final sigh

Today is Dashami, the end of a fest

It surely is time to put the Goddess to rest

All these years, I was her grave

But I am now ailing, peace is what I crave

My arms are shrinking, shriveled is my bed

The belly of the country, I have always fed

But the nation’s thirst how will I fulfill

After my own sons go for the kill

Author’s Note: The above poem has been penned to highlight the atrocity committed by humanity on the Ganga river during immersion of Durga idols