The Bridge

At Cross Roads,
at every freeway sign
We saw the same post
every time
from the time we started looking
for the road that led out of the
endless cities...

where people dreamt as their
flesh decayed and bones
shone in the sun.....

The signs all led to the Bridge....

The Bridge had gardens,
the trees bore fruits
and sheltered birds that sang.

The Bridge had fountains
where the waters sparkeled
and the streams had fishes...

The Bridge had taverns
where the bards played their songs
and the story tellers told their tales....

The Bridge had views of far off
mountains & valleys
and clouds that reflected glorius
lights at every rising & setting
of the sun...
and at night the clear skies sparkled
with the lights of a billion stars....

And there were songs & Merriment,

And no one left.....

No one left the Bridge.
They all came and stayed
and build houses
and died....

And again they went the round of
the cities...
until they saw the sign and

came again to the Bridge,
to stay and die again.....

The River Remains The Same

Moments...
gathering through ages
like water drops, into a
mountain stream,
like a child skipping along
garden paths...

Then into a strapping young lad,
turbulent, foaming, racing

into a adulthood full of passions,
dreams, urgent, raging,
carrying along the dead debris
of ages past,

into placid plains, where floods
of emotions give birth to
fertile fields, deep forests
where animals growl 
and birds of endless hues 
take flight....

and then the fragmenting into a
thousand streams and the
final meeting in to the
endless ocean,
where all rivers meet
and the divers dive deep
in search of priceless pearls....

All these have been me
and will be
and now is
all
my only presence.