Agony

 I was a great favorite, many a life form lived in me. On my bank's lush green vegetation spread like a heavenly carpet.

Beyond this, toiling farmers tilled the land all we're happy the air was pure, the water so clear you could see the bottom.
Then the disease called progress caught up in this heavenly land.
Farmland turned into brown industrial buildings. The streams and rivulets, that fed my ego and my soul were blocked by paths and roads made for the rising industries on both my sides.
In place of natural streams, industrial streams carrying waste flowed into me.
Little by little I shrunk in size and depth pollution changed my color from blue to brown and then to dirty black.
Life forms left me or died a breathless death,
from a mighty river, I was becoming a stream maybe in time a string of puddles.
Who is to blame, people who started industries at such a fragile site, or the farmers who sold their soul for a years toil in the bank.
Or is it the politicians, who signed my death sentence, whoever it may be, damages beyond repair is wrought?
Now they come and meet on my banks, with mikes addressing large gatherings making the promise of restoring me, to my old glory.
Their work done, votes pocketed they disappear leaving their dirt behind.