In daughter a river seen I had,
Wee bit homeward tried to wean I had.
It’s so hard to say goodbye to her,
With clenched fist, home lush green seen I had.
Her life sea-bound imagined I had,
A live stream beneath sun seen I had.
The banks looking bare, she coursing far,
Home, not so love-less lean, seen I had.
Eyes homeward, life marine seen I had,
Her journey riverine seen I had.
Heart anchored to the birth-bound old shore,
The rest turning saline seen I had.
____________________________
Musings | 27.09.2026| daughter, goodbye, home, river, Quatrain
Based on a Muktak (as under) in Gujarati by Darshak Aacharya: Along with two stanzas added in anapaest meter.
Dikree mañ meiñ nadee bhali hatee,
Aitle to ghar taraf vali hatee.
Dekree ne kem karavuñ avajo?
Dost, muthee aitale vali hatee.
Sat by the jetty overlooking the waters
of Tombia
Waves and ripples as boats drive
pass speedily
Passengers and luggage alike all
disembarking
All by the Tombia waterside in the
riverine Rivers
Free from the hustles and bustles bedevilling
Port Harcourt
The mayhem and chaos in the Oil city all left
behind in the city
Yet such serenity by the waters of Tombia
Piece, quiet and tranquility quieten my
stress
Trying to be patient, but my patience is
running riot
Trying to stay and remain calm by the waters
of Tombia.
Roasted peppered fish and plantains my
consolation.
All by the waterside of Tombia.
Exposing rays from leaves, dense forest
Over and above with idle flow, riverine raft
None, still numerous belongs my closest
Melodies out the tropical denses,
Spreading vibes in everyone's hymn,
Fueling the bonfire with all poor instances,
Join all and let's ride good times.
An empty closet and cliffhanger
A gift to little George,
A member of Windsor Castle.
Mood, over mindfulness ,
They are riverine songs
Moody, churned up
Uncertain and floral
Rejoicing whence
The turbid and morbid
Glum and glee
And a morn and
A corn
These all are
Cosmos and a cosmic
Emotions are changing textures
Where these all are
Changing surface
On an eggplant
The purple surface
Soothes
Where the goosebump
Of the green begins
A goosebump and a texture
An empty closet are lonely wool, woolen warmth
Yesterday and a bobbling
Runs along, unsung
Over boards the present,
Tense and I
All infuses and surges
To surmise
Greetings again
Hungover a softer sky
And a luminous, chandelier
Even though an uneven sky.
Over burning canefields black soot ash
on an east wind past my balustrade blows,
and big white pelicans the riverine splash
their dive pouch longbills in the shallows.
Windsurfers, sailboats, and rowers in row
pass up and down in their wake across,
and fishermen in the Cod Hole below
sit reeling in their boats off Mykonos.
Beyond my Grecian villa walls of stone
a great bridge does cross the river’s divide,
and the Maroochy water’s gentle groan
concentrates my mind ‘twixt moon and tide.
When the sun is low and the moon high
fly a plague of bats just passing through -
sipping a wee tincture of scotch in my dry
puffing a wee willem on the avenue.
Girl, like The Iliad it’s all Greek to me
and soon a new life and bridge to cross,
but before the two of us become three
I write my postcard from Mykonos.
Beyond my Grecian villa walls of stone
a great bridge does cross the river’s divide,
and the Maroochy water’s gentle groan
concentrates my mind ‘twixt moon and tide
Written: October 1999
Noise has died down
So also the darkness
The rays are yet to appear
My eyes are spread over
The river
Silent ever before!
Best part of the river
Being part of the flow
You never know
Time, start to a possible immersion!
Life that begins and ends with a knock
A journey from riverine to the river!
Winter melts
&seeps
deep below
permeates
cathedrals with snow
in spate
nature's blood
in flood
in moorland
gorse
new springs
become
a tumbling
source
a babbling burn
in
feathered
ferns
to riverine
unseen
a stream
of
freshwater
clean
in rivers
soil silts
against
sloping banks &
the current slows
into
eddys
where fat chubb doze
deeper waters
then
running free
winding slowly
to
the sea
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
flowing together
licking dew drops
exchanging warmth
melting into jelly, yet
unsatiated we remain.
hurtling down slopes
into a secret valley
rushing to unite,
slip, gush, hold tight.
Negotiating riverine
meandering curves
union becomes serene
before surrender, into
an ocean, of ecstatic joy.
5.6.2020
A beautiful soul with spreading arms, but tired of a constant embrace
a steep valley, grassed and watered by so much pampering
bordered by two massaging hills and round-the-clock sheltering
then much attention is given to the Winchester to always stay refilled.
Wide is mother’s bossom but becoming a soft blockade
strong are father’s arms, enough to be restrictions
their eyes, stationed in all cardinal points of this young life
to measure every alternating radius and changing circumference.
Grateful to dad and mum, they yet not deserve applause
boredom slowly germinating from the show of too much importance
with a younger one, the dry lands will also be riverine
when the seeds are two, this being will become superordinate
please give this child a sibling and with peace, she’ll reconcile.
Met her first
Where
The meadow stopped
Behind the mountains
Benched on the buffalo's back
A cowherd
Played a riverine tune
Where
The bow-shaped river
Flowed north
The white yachts
Were sailing east
Like the shadow of
A flight of cranes on water
Where
At the market near the river
Away from the crowd
She clutched herself
To keep selling tears
Folks haggled
And gladly bought
The pearl-like tears
It was then I asked her
The reason for such discounted sale
She accounted -
A tree's tears have no value
Only to be burnt to ashes
A seedling grows into a matured tree.
Translated by Prof. Anita Baruwa from the original "Xeh Kotha" in Assamese.
Life, where I grew up
Had quite often a rainy day
Life there thrives in a riverine canvas
And people are amicable and friendly. I may say.
Life, where I grew up
Had the turns of a long, long story
Some are puzzling, some understood
Often the story had a lot to say about past of glory.
Life, where I grew up
A sky was wearing a golden saree, then
With rosebuds, white flowers in a braided hair.
Words of life were too easy to say.
Life, where I grew up
Thrived in a meaningful and reserved way, in serene
All are not a poet, but some are though
People mingled in nature, and nature touched heaven.
Perhaps, isolation is a term getting familiar, now
Feelings of loneliness, together in a journey, for many
Recognition of this is not easy to cope up though
And I was looking for a sky, a helpless, lonely soul in me
And all I see is a beautiful, meticulous, ever-generous sky!
hedgerows greenup-
nature's pastiche
awakens from winter sleep.
Quiet greets the Spring morn,
a shaft of light diffuses night
snow melts slowly-
a trickle,unseen,runs free
begins a new spring
#
A babbling burn ,riverine unseen,
a stream of freshwater silts sloping banks
the current slows to-
eddys, where fat chubb doze.
Quiet greets the Spring morn,
a shaft of light
diffuses night into -
a dawn chorus.
Amid the eerie dayspring light
yesterday's memories glow so bright
#
blossoms a welcome
springtime emblem-
the foretast of fruitage
to come
inspired by Ricks contest theme
Winter melts and seeps deep below,
permeates cathedrals with snow,then
in spate,nature's blood in flood .
A babbling burn in feathered ferns
to riverine unseen,a stream of
freshwater clean.
In rivers soil silts against sloping banks
the current slows into eddys,
where fat chubb doze,
deep waters flow ,below
There’s a harsh river that’s flowing outside,
I can hear it from inside the house;
While I’m still slumbering after my rouse –
It is tugging the sand and eroding the riverside.
It is uprooting tragically the trees from within;
Yes it’s quite ugly in its flow –I don’t tease,
It’s true because it is breaking its new lease;
I surmise, its turbulent flow breaks a fish a fin.
And to add, the rain is pouring heavily with hail still,
Intensifying its flow at riptide; I hear a ripple in fine
And fast rough water that breaks the riverine –
And the sound of shivering and swaying water lily.
And as sweet with these admixture of sounds I fall asleep;
As solely does the sleep in sound mine is just too deep.
Torn from an endless night
Bound by a creeping fog
Like a shadow of the twilight
Born of the bog
With a cry or a moan
Half-heard with a hum
She flashed and shone
Nodded and shrugged
Eerily impenitent
With a weirdly vulgar laugh
She gushed like a runlet
And choked back a splash
Without a trace of a name
Of flesh or bone
As spare and slim
As the hair on a stone
In ripples like ribbons
That mocked the rainless shore
She murmured and gurgled
As haunting echoes stirred
Clutching and tugging
Without hope or love
As the moon glared down
She surrendered to the flood
Written by © Raven Drake
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