Moving Train, Nila and My Heart Too

As I open my eyes leisurely after a brief doze in the seat
The morning has ended all the mourning of my lost sleep.
Through the windowpane, I see nature fast running back
The engine blows a horn for a name dearest had got down.

Now here lies Nila, her curves narrowed by the sandbank
So shallow in real, virtual depth is her lengthy times past.
Every time I behold at this majestic brook with esteem
She soothes my soul with her sole splendor and grandeur.

As it speeds to Thirunnavaya, my mind with adulation fills
On these grimy sandbanks have countless erudite men lived
They who laid their backs on these sand dunes on nights
Looked with wonder to the heavens above, inside them-
Were born supreme theorems of math and astronomy,
Varied verses having perfect meter and mellow metaphors.

Who can avert the gentle gush of emotions in admiring her?
She can turn an absolute illiterate into a real rhymester
Some environmentalist may write on her lost virginity
On her decreasing depth and width, or at large on pollution
They bathed their buffalos here, washed their clothes here
Robbed the earth beneath the water for paltry earnings
But who can take her sanctity away, how hard they try
This life left is enough to make me more imaginative.
Her lost glory will not force me to write a foreseen elegy
I keep hope, as she hopes to end up into the seas one day.
Let it flow slowly for the hectic men in this compartment
I wish the train too to decelerate a bit for them to look out
To send out a breath of despair coming out of restless rush
Maybe learn a lesson of slowness and steadiness winning
From the measured flow of water and the luxury of the sand
No race is won if you pull the man in your front; cheats lose.

In the banks are grasses with long white heads held towering
The gentle wind never fails to bid them bye as it passes by
Grass never forgets to bow before the wind giving due respect
It is the river that has taught her children-grass how to behave.

That stretch of water is now over, now comes the meadows
This lush verdant green carpet of grown tonic to appetite
Inspire the beholder, though not as much as the watercourse
A crane that has been acting the role of a white hermit yonder
Realizes that, takes off parting his meditation with the jade
Flies rearward, maybe to Nila, to find fish, or at least a poem.