The pond

 

I sit near a pond with a drenched brow

The drops that wash the sins away of believers

Throngs line up for miles with chants

Purged once they return after a holy dip

Till when the water is tinged with the residue

The sediments of acknowledged vice

Whereas I defy my chasing soul

With a stout denial of deliberate errors

My waters evaporate to leave the pond

Replete with filth of practical wisdom

Like a beast burdened with bridled salt

When the flow in vicinity could offload

The salt now silts the drenched brow

The tributary to a dried up pond

Where the coagulated sins bask.

Enroute Lucknow

2352

12.56 hrs

13.5.26