I never felt my legs since six,
And ever loved my lake since then
My boat was my cradle
And my lake was my Grande Dame.
I remember those greener days,
When my lake was pure
And my oar was free
from the floating bottles.
I never felt my legs since six
And ever loved my lake since then.
My boat became my last hope
And bottles became my close friends.
I saved them from my lake
And rowed them to shore
And they told me their story,
Poor fellows were born to be abandoned.
Synopsis of Poem:
This poem is dedicated to a poor old man (who is paralyzed below his knees ) collecting plastic waste from the Vembanad lake and other streams of Kumarakom, in Kerala, India.
He would hire a small country boat and venture out to collect plastic every day, early in the morning; he would maneuver using a stick or his oar. He mainly collects plastic bottles that were dumped in the waters.
Originally Published in the Silver Bierch Press Magazine,Los Angeles on 29th Jan 2022. PHOTO: Vembanad Lake by Simianwolverine (2013) News Source: The News Minute, Human Interest Story by, Haritha John.