BESIDES THE STREAM

UNCANNY SCENE

This is a highly inspirational poem that portrays the stream as a persona of utter determination and positive spirit..

BESIDES THE STREAM

 

A lot in motion I can see besides the stream,

As if a thousand tales hidden in the uncanny scene.

The sounds and voices cracking out of each motion,

 Reach to the ears, a lil confused, still sweet.

 

The sparkling water, lighted up with the rays of sun,

Moves swiftly, as if in ire, to reach the confluence.

Never does it takes a break to ease itself,

Nor does it complain for the rocks being the hurdles.

Goes on and on with a resolute pace,

Just to reach the regal lake.

 

The wind then blows to show its moves,

Flies over and above the stream, with a groove.

Together with speed they portray a funny play,

Swirl twirl and jump throughout the race.

 

The wind then canters the droplets through its tricks,

With a dire covet to become a breeze.

The stream gets annoyed , does nothing but chide,

And the naughty wind flies high with joy.

But still it flows constantly to reach its aim,

To fill the dearth of the enormous lake.

 

More to the scene are the blossoming blooms,

On the edges of the stream, to swing its mood.

Violets and roses, in blue and crimson,

 And even the bright bellflowers and dandelions.

 

Macramé their petals to show their gratitude,

To the droplets that waters their leaves and roots.

Accepting their garland of vibrant colours,

With a captivating aura built by the fragrance,

The brook once again starts with fresh fervor,

To complete its journey and reach the ultimate end.

 

Once again it meets quite a few acquaintances,

On its way to the enormous confluence,,

The huge rocks and the tiny pebbles,

Exasperate the stream, causing troubles.

 

Many a divergence it has to face,

To have a successful meet with the lake,

The slopes and downs are another two,

Accompanied by the bifurcations and loops.

To test the endurance and patience it possesses,

 But the staunch stream does never regress.

 

Slowly the moon takes over the sun,

The stream still does nothing else, but run.

 

Though determined, still scared of the gloom,

It makes a soundless motion on the moonlit path,

The chilled wind when hums a scary tune,

It moves with the company of infinite stars.

 

Finally the moment it had longer for had come,

The moment when the mother met her son.

With extreme gay it leaps into the lake,

And wept about the hardships it has faced.

After all the distractions, gloom and grief,

The stream now heaves a sigh of relief.

 

The journey of the stream bleeds to preach,

That to reach the zenith, one needs nothing but ZEAL.

 

And once again I sit beside the stream,

To sight the repeated journey with a keen eye,

And notice the unnoticed tale in the scene.

 

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