The River Poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester

Starting from tributaries at a time before time,
Younger the river is born and so she grows,
Loosely and gracefully embracing the art,
I know not when but how alone she does.
Vindicated by the years of age, so many,
Every spring that sprouts along's made crucial,
Shaping up into a confluence to so unit
The river is finally headed everywhere,
Everywhere it touches a life to beget another,
Reaping forth hope from deserted grounds.


I wish, I could for once be a river, a life source,
Stretching alone from high grounds tolow.


Gathering all the unwanted rocks and logs,
Edging them into iconic heaps of levees.
Tracing the secrets of the ground fearlessly,
Through thick and thin regardless of differences.
In harmony, whirling her way down even cliffs,
Not fearing to fall off yet fancying waterfalls,
Growing wings that never were, so she flies.


Over a stack of years, safeguarding her personality,
Lived so well, through each stray of a meander,
Donating oxbows to less fortunate, no waste yet,
Expecting no pay but a life equally lived.
River o river, I hail you, happy birthday everyday.