Sunday, August 10, 2014

While Visiting an Old Stream that Loved Me





A single pebble holds the memories of all the ancient rivers that flowed over it, ingraining their essence in its smooth roundness. It has witnessed so much! Seen seeds turning into forests, a clutch of eggs turning into pirouetting shoals, a million lunar-cycles, cloudy sunsets. It lay there warmed by dawns, cooled by stars for ages - an elemental, pristine being. ah! Why don’t you see! I picked up the pebble you left behind; something of you remained in it as your hand, like those primordial rivers, caressed its surface, transferring a bit of yours into it. The pebble was warm. 

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