Of River, Hills and Shyamalee...

The river takes hundred turns here
to negotiate with the hills.
In every turn there is a mark
of memory,
a tiny flower,
small grasses,
a few stones
and a good old tree.

Only the tiny steps are missing
and
some heartfelt laughter,
little of undecipherable sounds
and
some distinct ones
she would have made otherwise.

The missing marks slowly vanish
as the river takes one more turn.

This time, the river
refuses to negotiate
with the hills... ... ...



This poem is an outcome of days when my son was not with me for a few days. I remodified the poem a bit to get a universal feeling