By Ishaan.
on a sunny noon,
by the river Parvati,
I sit. staring-
into the fierce battle that rages within.
most days her waters are a gentle calm –
a shade of breathtaking blue.
but today –
she roars a revengeful brown.
today –
she flows with an anxious fury,
of a faltered lover’s frown. crashing,
into every rock, as if –
all her despairs,
she’s set out to drown.
some say it’s just the rain,
but beneath her spiteful wrath,
I see the pain.
the vengeful vexation,
of a woman scorn’d.
but to wrestle against,
the majestic mountains,
was harder done,
than thought.
she knew-
persistence was the virtue,
impulse was not. thus,
relentlessly, she trickled on.
through crevices and cracks,
carving out dogged tracks,
until there was a brook.
time rolled long,
until that’s where the brook always belonged.
yet, she refused to cease,
as she flowed on, and-
on the face of her persistence,
even the mountains surrendered,
and split for her,
to recast herself into a river.
oh, i can’t help but wonder,
what if the brook thought?
‘there is no way I can cut through these rocks.’
but she chose not to let adversity,
wear her down.
seeping through every nook,
and corner,
through the unyielding peaks,
she recast her own ground,
until she was –
the pious Parvati.
she knows her end is certain:
a traceless convergence into oceanic coexistence.
is it tragic?
I know not.
maybe, nor does Parvati,
yet, relentlessly, she flows on.
as by the river Parvati,
I sit – in awe.
on the face of such odds,
what if Parvati thought,
she cannot?
Libëranté. 