And he sits

The river, it flows
The cool breeze, it blows
The lamps, they flicker and glow

The birds, they chirp and then they nest
The flowers they bloom, and their fragrance, it lingers
The river, it flows and it flows
As he sits

The sparse clouds, they traverse the wide expanse
The sky, it darkens and changes colour
The diamantine moon, it rises and it illuminates
The stars, they glimmer
The ripples in the water, they shimmer
As does a distant light on a mountain far away
And the river, it flows
Still he sits

And the hymns they chant, they chant
The bells, they chime and echo and die
And the thoughts they come and go
And the Truth momentarily dawns but quickly fades away
(for he is human, distracted in myriad ways)
And the river, it flows
Yet he sits

And the lamps, they flicker and glow
And the cool breeze, it refreshingly blows
While the ancient river, it continues its flow
And he sits
And he writes

And he sits
And he writes
Ending with a promise to be back

 

The last of a mini-series of 5 pieces penned in Rishikesh in November ’18.
Links to the earlier 4: