The Brook

the lyrical gait of the waters meandering through the river bed

like the rush of million poor souls racing to stay ahead

boats carrying people across the shores

humble village folks going about their daily chores

and still the stillness seems to have that invisible hold

mysterious happiness wraps a wamth almost alien in the breeze so cold

life seems so wothy and worthless at once

the heart so happy but also a streak of sadness runs

all emotions run to the sea of oneness

drown a thousand triumphs and tribulations

and then I lie on the grass and feel reassured

like a baby on the mothers lap secured

with its gains,losses,small victories and mindless feuds

the "real world" seems a stupid interlude

But this harmonious song of nature always seems to end

with every nightfall my village beckons at the river bend...