Gods of the Sundarbans

There is a place where three rivers
pour into the Bay of Bengal.
Merging in a vast forest,
they wind their way through
the soaking delta of the Sundarbans.

Mangroves line the creeks
with their rib-like roots.
By day otters swim in the waters,
deer quench their thirst while
macaques watch from the trees.

Night falls, turning the streams
into mirrors of moonlight.
They catch the reflection of a solitary tiger.
It lurks in its forest refuge,
guarded by the coast.

Men sometimes see the tiger at night
as they fish the mangroves
or gather kindling from the forest.
It can swim through creeks and rivers
to kill them on their boats.

The boats rest at the beaches tonight.
No one intrudes on the forest
lest the tiger should appear.
It spies the boats on the shore
and retreats into the shadows.

NaPoWriMo #22: Manta Flotilla

Okay, this is a bit earlier in the day than usual, but since I'm on a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon this weekend, I thought it better to release this poem earlier. Featuring one of my favourite settings for poems, the animal in this one is a bit more off-kilter than usual.

Manta Flotilla

The Indian subcontinent
reaches out into the ocean,
a current caressing its coast.

Sometimes the current
carries creatures with it,
creatures on a journey.

Out of the endless blue
a manta ray appears,
the eagle of the waters.

Then two, three, six
follow their leader
with great sweeping fins.

They follow the highway
around the southern coast,
heading for the Bay of Bengal,

where the flotilla will find
the reefs to raise their young,
and the current goes on its way.