River Poem by Ajit Das

The deep frozen origin drips;
the river collects its mass,
begins the serpentine move
over moss, around rocks,
down the sand-filled beds.

Beguiled by its own ripples,
the river fills hollows,
dislodges stones, then
on the plain slowing down,
doles out fertility, deluge.

The river is enigmatic:
sometimes, pensive, sombre,
lapping at its wall of silence;
sometimes, furious roaring,
swelling at human follies

The river runs through villages,
towns, cities, meeting all the way
the needs of humans. It takes
their sins, ashes, wastes
in its huge breast and surges on.

At last, oblivious of murmurs
and pride of expanse,
the river, drawn by its destiny,
plunges through estuary
into the embrace of the ocean.