Never met the sea

Vibrant hues of crimson and cherry red,
Swelled over the rambling hilltop,
Land of the potent cliffs and feral green,
All were unvoiced at the sun drop.

A soothing hum that wanes one to sleep,
Ensued from beneath the mossy rocks,
Where breeds a cluster of white blossoms,
A transient spring emerged from the hillocks.

Bantam trickles of chastity in jolly swirls,
Rolled down with copious shining foam,
Reinforced by other brooks fed by the rain,
Hauling with it the gravel and the loam.

Winding it surged through the fiercest gorge,
Deluging the eroded banks and making way,
Bulging the white waves in a thousand rapids,
The bountiful raged on towards the bay.

It reached the plains, land of ornate people,
Running through wider canals and flatter land,
Giving life to the exuberant gaudy culture,
The watercourse flooded past the fertile band.

It left behind the forts and the placid lakes,
Medieval stronghold of the Rajputs, they say,
The wild profusion of flora was behind,
It raged on to fuse with the sea one day.

Till when the downpour declined to nurture it,
Till when it entered the perilous arid zone,
Losing its force in the sterile shifting sands,
Dwindling in volume and flowing alone.

Obliterated it ran through the salty clay,
Where all the migratory birds take a lee,
Finally disappeared in the marshy wastes,
And, the bountiful never met the sea.

---Jibendu Narayan Mazumder