Stream

There flows

A stream

Between the

Parliament House and

The Rashtrapathi Bhawan,

Not at all deep,

Still so long,

But too narrow,

However,

None dares

To cross it,

Somewhere

Along its banks

Switched on

The Neon bulbs

The stream

Without waves

Creates roars

Of waves

In the minds

Of the donkeys

The stream stretches

Its length day by day,

Splits Mother’s breast,

Emerge many branches,

Lions roar,

In its high pitch

Faint the fellow humans

In front and rear,

Tighten the twines,

And at the end

Splits the heads

Of the donkeys

Dries up the earth

Finding no way to flow,

Steers the stream

Towards the sky.

By Ismail Meladi