 |
| PC: Myself |
There flows the river of life,
All the way to the ocean - ripe.
To watch her flow is a sight to behold!
At places she is absolutely silent,
And at places she roars exuberant.
At places she meanders through curves,
And at places she diligently swerves.
If one day she drains herself completely
All into the ocean, not a drop in flow
Only the silent trail of dust to show;
The gut wrenching shock of sudden loss
He is willing to bear it as this too shall pass.
He says he will miss, but not brood over her.
The splendour with which she once flowed,
The grandeur with which she once roared.
Nor shall he sit by what was once the river,
And over her demise moan in pain or shiver.
Hardened at heart, he will continue with his life.
He will brave the unpredictability of the seasons,
Even if to negotiate despite the many treasons.
He will as always struggle to raise plant and bud,
Even if to water them through his sweat and blood.
