River, A Maid Of Poetry Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

She, born of height, cradled by lofty crest,
Mothered by mounts, and reared by little brooks,
Dancing down sprightly, a stream still modest,
Oft hiding hind hillocks, crannies and nooks,
In no time to resurface once again,
A new avatar, a wide-mouth waterfall,
Cascading down and in utter disdain,
Meandering river to be in thrall,
Thence, at long last to be an estuary,
Sprawling, shallow, wide-mouth and slower still,
Destined to embrace sea, fulfilled to be—
One, with option nor yet a free self-will!
No, no maid rushing forth to embrace sea,
She's painted so in fancied poetry.
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Rivers are painted in fancy by poets, the most common being that of a bride rushing sprightly down to meet her beau, the sea. The plain truth however is: water flows down seeking gravity.
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Sonnets | 02.02.12 |