Efren Petalver Carranza


A rock on the river sits
Collecting moss, tufts, and weeds
As others moved by a torrent
To unknown shore from a distant

A rock, I am, in that sense -
Of self-value - what have I missed?
Than a new flow passing by
Under the arms of its stream

Each bathes of sunrise and sunsets
Clueless mornings of muddled clouds
Or a cascade of moonrise
I'm unmoved without self-pity

Submitted: Sunday, September 16, 2012
Edited: Monday, September 17, 2012

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

When a life of a crowd is missing, you know your best friends/co-workers have moved on to better their dreams in some places; thus, you find yourself beseeching what is next for you when celled at same area and copycatted no one. I look at the metaphor of life: a rock in the river unmoved collecting weeds, tufts, or mosses from a running stream while others have already reached to a distant shore. I am rock in that sense.

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