On their way, some like the Brahmaputra
Lash their fury every passing year
Without a miss.
Some rivers make nations
As they shape their paths.
Some rivers dry up.
But is that the end of the journey?
The river exists everywhere:
In the mountains, in the hills, in the plains,
Combing through fertile fields, and
Lazing through plateaus.
And in the sea, all at the same time.
So isn't it the same me everywhere?
My past, my future strung like beads in a string?
