Long Streamlet Poems
Long Streamlet Poems. Below are the most popular long Streamlet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Streamlet poems by poem length and keyword.
The Hidden Nature Trail
While I was hiking one soft summer morn
beside a streamlet flowing through a dale,
I found a narrow nestled path unworn
which led me down a hidden nature trail.
I walked amongst the pine trees standing tall
along the hidden trail their shadows cast;
I heard a song bird chirp his mating call,
and reminisced sweet moments from my past.
The hidden path meandered far and near
and ended by a pond of sapphire blue
with splashing birds and water crystal clear,
and sirens bathing in the morning dew.
I wonder was this but a reverie,
or is it just my secret fantasy?
November 24, 2023
One night returning home from the marketplace
Street lights suddenly went out.
I could see the road curving in the headlight of my car.
After driving for some time ,I reached a place
By the side of a streamlet.
Yet there is no streamlet in my locality
Nor on the way from that market place to my home.
Confused I turned back but reached at another place.
This time by the side of a rill ,water hyacinth floated,
Some houses standing quietly in the darkness
On its other bank.
Again ,I failed to know where I was;
It seemed nature disguised herself in another garb.
Then, to my relief, in that lonely atmosphere
I saw some local youths loitering.
I asked them for directions to my locality.
One of them gave me directions of the routes
I should take
I resumed driving my car to the direction he indicated .
After driving some distance on the right turning roadway
I saw some women standing on the roadside
A pressure lamp placed before them.
Oh, a beautiful girl I saw among them !
She seemed like a maiden in an oasis
To a tired wayfarer who lost his ways in the desert.
I politely asked them for direction to my locality
Not sure, although told by those youths which direction to go.
One of them told me to go further till a crossroad
There to turn left and drive to find my locality.
I again drove my car.
Then the street lamps illuminated the dark street and I knew
The place where I was .
Oh, that was the place I frequented, and it
Not far from my locality.
I reached home, finally out of a big puzzle.
But I felt that night I had roamed to unknown places
Exotic in the darkness of the night .
It was an exciting experience .
25th April 2008
Is it the cinders of hope?
Is it the life which wheezes unfailingly?
Is it the enduring ,crimson tears?
Is it the blue streamlet which sings
like the starry sea?
Is it the bloodstained rivulet which
whistles unflaggingly?
Is it a grey happiness?
Is it an unfettered joy of a moonless
eternity?
Is it the reddish star which streams a
green ink?
Is it the death which flutters its wings?
Is it the withered lily which shines
like the turbulent brook?
Is it the flaming hope of otherness?
\
I believe the most important thing
in our life is to love God
profoundly, our fellow man
unselfishly ,and Gods'
creatures unflaggingly.
Just as the brook will flow into the river's bed,
So too the river toward the sea is led.
The little brook can never conquer streams,
Nor can the river tame the ocean's dreams.
We do not choose the river in the brook below,
Only the chosen are allowed to flow.
We do not choose the ocean in the river's grace,
Only the chosen find that boundless place.
It is not we who choose what comes to be,
We are but chosen by destiny.
We cannot choose the springtime when it starts,
Nor pick the winter waiting in our hearts.
As every season gives another birth,
Death comes unbidden to this quiet earth.
We never choose the seasons or our end,
To higher wills our mortal paths must bend.
The holy words upon the sacred page
Are not just read by choice from age to age.
By hands divine, our eyes are gently led
To see the truth by which our souls are fed.
Why is this life so hard? You softly cry—
It is not you who chose the reasons why.
The hardship chose you in its own embrace,
To leave its shadow on your weary face.
Why is this life so full of joy and bliss?
It is not you who chose a gift like this.
The happiness has chosen you instead,
To bloom like sunlight where your feet are tread.
The other is no hell, but blessed grace—
Without another, there is time nor space.
The solitary flower on the distant hill must fade,
While flowers side by side bloom bright and unafraid.
Then is there truly no free will of man?
It lives and breathes within the master plan.
The swift and restless freedom where the streamlet rolls,
The calm and patient leisure of the river's souls,
The majestic freedom where the ocean waves arise—
Yet even these free wills are bound beneath the skies.
For brook and river, ocean vast and free,
Are separate vessels of a separate destiny!