The Little Girl Waved Her Hand Poem by Riyas Qurana

Eyeing the sky
the entire place had assembled there
sorrow-stricken.

The clouds lay in wait
ready to float
at the wave of the hand.

The river flowing all alone
alight into the pond
and repose.

The pond doesn ‘t open
its doors tightly shut.

A little girl trains some birds
to carry the pond with their feet.

The clouds should move on
filling up the pond.

Facing the midnight
I am sitting
in the evening.
When I draw close to midnight
climbing down from there
I come to sit in the evening
once again.

Being the river for the last time
and metamorphosing into another form
is in this twilight zone.

The river doesn't transform;
doesn't hold the pond
With nothing of this sort taking place
the clouds start moving.

That little girl
might have waved her hand
playfully.