Home » Poetry » On the banks of the river

On the banks of the river


On the river bank,
Perched high on a tree,
Sits a crow,
That’s all I see,
From atop this tower,

Locked away from sweet daylight,
I peek through the cracks on the wall,
wondering what others, might
have escaped my call,

I’m taken out when the masters come,
As an exhibit
But no sum,
Do I ask? It’s forbid,

My eyes embrace light
and life
after a gentle twitch,

I watch the procession,
On the banks of the river,
Under the bright blue sky,
Under a canopy of emerald trees,

I listen to the free breeze,
Its message, sharp and clear,
I listen to the songs of the birds,
As they hop to the tune of fear,
And over the fence,
I watch the oarsman guide his boat,
Disturbing the ripple of the river,
I see the green hills rising from afar,
I picture the valleys, the fields, lying at its feet,
I watch the trees, waltzing to the beat of the wind,
And bend my head, ashamed of my sin,

I hear them say,
My journey is like the winding road that leads to this tower
I vaguely remember that journey now,
Along that road, deterred not by the setting sun,
The trees yellow that night
Playing tricks with my eyes,
The river, a little rough,
I heard no birds cry,
But I did hear a sob or two,
Of my companions,
As we reached a grey wall,
I remember how I glanced back one last time,
Clinging to the tainted grill –
The only thing blocking my view of the free world.


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