Walking Across The River

Flowing Into the River

One summer evening the river strolled silently.
(Led by me,) we too trudged along:
Me and I,
Walking together towards a common goal
To reach each other across twenty-one furlong.

Between us, through the solitude and blank desertion,
Flowed an innocent and oblivious river.
With purpose of its own; transforming wishes
Into errant endeavour of measured motion.

I faced the river and peered through my veneered eyes.
There, on the distant other shore stood me naked and unwise.
I called out loud, but could not hear myself.
Waved, but definitely could not see myself.
Something separated us:
The ignorant and deficient river.

Years have passed together,
We are aliens groping the darkness.
Mark of a hypocrite:
Not to learn oneself in its medicine of sickness.

A blissful anomaly, felt by each other:
Standing apart the stream, we were attached to the swans.

Awoke together, together asleep we fell.
Watched every sunrise and admired every sunset.
Between us, with its vigour and weakness,
The tides washed still.
We had no willful choice to stare
But at that towering and monstrous hill.

The river of taboo, but follows usual course,
Merely that we two are born on unknowing opposite shores.
The distance here, is meaningless than meager.
There is no renegade ship or skimpy boat to carry us home.

As a last resort to reach me,
Through the covert of the willow tree.
I take up my quiver,
Make my choice:
To walk across this hollow and unbeckoning river.

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