Sitting alone on the river bank
In the fast fading amber light
My eyes glanced across the flowing river
To the other side, on my right
...
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Movement Life in other words is love, and love is a movement. Movement of restless molecules, increasing temperature, sometimes suitable for a life to love, sometimes unsuitable. Sometimes its absolute zero, creating a cold black hole of nothingness, and sometimes it’s infinite, creating once again a nothingness of destruction to be followed by a gradual cooling slowing molecules to a movement that suits to love that suits to life. Movement I see, in orbbiting of electrons round the nucleus, like that of planets round the sun, like that of moons, round a planet, like that of a lover, round his beloved, like that of a believer, orbiting round a belief in God, there may not be a God, but at least there is an ancient nature, this angular rotation, increases temperature of hope, hpe keeps us alive, that’s how man lives. Without any such movement it’s too cold and icy like death. . (I started writing a comment on your poem, I don't know if it became a poem or remained just a comment. Whatever it may be but it's magic of your lovely poem)
So glad my poem has inspired you to write a wonderful poem on movement, love and life...... Through your imaginative gift, my poems get a lift! Thank you Akhtar ji!
Just then I chanced to think of Time and The twin forces making a pair Unable to get back from whence they came Rushing forward anon and for ever- - -so beautiful thoughts expressed in this marvelous poem!
Very nice to read with a start a middle story and a clever end, that's what makes a great poem...regards
Thank you. You have made me experience, viscerally, and lucidly, a full environment which is absolutely foreign to me. It's like I'm there with you. much deeper than a mere video.
I wonder how your twilight broodings is like a reflection of my own thoughts! But the manner in which you have penned the poem and the wonderful comparison of time and the river as the twin forces making a unique pair unable to get back from whence they came is really profound. Thanks and best wishes. Chandra Thiagarajan
a well written poem with a poetic touch transit into converging '' I see life on wheels.....
Wow wow! Ars poetica! Attractive title n marvelous musing poem! Admire yor night imagery. My votes accept.
Rich with thought, and very entertaining. Enjoyed very much.
Making the night look so pretty Says it all. We all are moving, where we know not. And how shall we know when nights start looking pretty. The imagery of human race with that of the flowing river, visualise, on meeting the ocean just as the river looses its identity this human race too like the river is bound to loose its identity. Thought provoking poem, ideas. I would like to share my poem Wayward, Are You? on almost similar subject.
A very contemplative write.I like some of your unique images. such asthe long pawed night and the rivers agitated frown.. A very thoughtfully written poem. We all need to slow down
As the wheels of time have run unto a moor of dismay and dismal exhibitions, we remain stranded on the pavement unusually shrunk. We recoil from the resplendent past but are flattened to lie deserted at these junctures of a callous phase of transition and new principle of halt for a while and resume your journey would be ideally looked upon by you and all. A poem that surmises the pile of concerns universal and inescapably surrounding. It is a fine piece to read ever.
Life races on, often we are unaware in our own busy lives and we miss so much, a lovely descriptive write,
We are all in such a hurry that we forget to look at what is around us - good write Valsa.
A lovely evocative poem with gentle imagery and growing pace, but time and the river know endless pace and gently flow, indeed where is the destiny of human, to never halt, never slow, a great philosophical question and poetic observation. Hopefully there will always be time to sit beside the river and imbibe the unfolding and dynamic and inundating ambiance. From a calm seat to meditate and reflect and write.
And hordes of people, unmindful of any Move briskly along the crowded street.. as the river, time and train, we are forced to move forward cyclically for many thousand years on the shores of the home land, but now a few of us have drifted to far away land to be replanted there! Nice poem!
The muse of life and the ways of nature. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.