The Creek That Never Reaches The Sea Poem by M. Asim Nehal

In the quiet cradle of the valley,
a creek winds, murmuring soft secrets,
its waters glinting like scattered dreams,
trickling over stones, smooth with time,
each ripple a whisper of the heart's longing.

Here, life unfurls in a dance of shadows,
the sun spills golden laughter upon the surface,
while the wind weaves through the branches,
a symphony of existence,
each note a struggle, a joy, a fleeting breath.

The creek bends and twists,
a labyrinth of choices,
where the banks are lined with hopes and fears,
and the current, relentless, pulls us forward,
yet never quite to the vast embrace of the sea.

We stumble upon jagged rocks,
the sharp edges of disappointment,
and in the cool depths, we seek solace,
but the water, like time,
slips through our fingers,
a reminder of what cannot be held.

With each bend, we find new tributaries,
paths carved by the weight of our yearning,
some lead to the shade of ancient trees,
others to the open sky,
yet none can promise the taste of salt.

We gather at the banks,
sharing tales of our tributaries,
the laughter of children, the sighs of lovers,
the echoes of dreams that shimmer,
fading like twilight in the distance.

Yet the creek flows on,
a testament to our struggle,
each droplet a moment,
each bend a choice,
and though it may never reach the sea,
it carries the essence of life,
a journey of being,
a tapestry woven with the threads of existence.

And as the sun dips low,
casting long shadows upon the water,
we stand, gazing into the depths,
not for the sea that awaits,
but for the beauty of the creek itself,
where the journey is the destination,
and the struggle, the song of our souls.