He sat on the river-bank, and watched the water flow...
On the River Bank...
There he sat alone on the bank
Watching the water flow,
How this muddy water once
Looked so fresh and blue.
Or was it his imagination-
In tune with his youthful glow?
Or, is it that as time passes,
Like all things old, once new,
Take a certain charm all their own,
And connive with nostalgia,
to create a rosy picture in gloom:
When everything in present looks stale,
Past seems a dream, a pleasant dream...
But today, he definitely was blue,
And the water, clay brown, seemed sad too...
Does it mourn the passing of time?
Death of those who sat by his side,
Friends and foes alike,
Who shared with him their joys and woes-
Some even cried-
As it quietly flows all the time...
And what about those youthful couples
so engrossed in love that they did not notice
The river was wallowing in their fun
And like a voyeur watched their love making,
Sighed and shared their peels of delight.
And now he recalls those years of carefree spring
When the old river was also young and sweet
To him it looks, the river was a metaphor of life
Ever flowing, ever lasting,
from one bank to, the other bank of life-
When young-pristine and pure,
When old, polluted, with false pride-
With the burden of sin and sorrow
Sluggish with lack of drive...
He sat by the river and contemplated
On his past life:
He had no where to go,
No one to talk to
No one was waiting for him at the meal
No eyes red in his pursuit...
He just sat, sad and gloomy,
and watched the water's flow...
Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Image: Dolphin Point Central Coast Australia; photo by and ©: Zoya Zaidi
Poetry by Zoya Zaidi
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Written on 2009-07-26 at 19:15
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