Prabhakar Subramaniam

Near the cinema

Stripping women

Of their souls

The river quietly breathes

Stoic like a saint

Though dying of the city's sins

On the bridge the harlot

Too weary to walk the streets

Stands staring at the waters

Mourning the river

She had lost in her hamlet

Where it skipped like a girl

Without a care

Frothing foaming giggling

Unlike the river here

Dying of the city's sins