Posthumous Waters by Lightroom Poets

Posthumous Waters by Lightroom Poets

October 15, 2012 Off By Lightroom Poets

Who says silver are the linings,
Of gold it was, in my case
No human, no soul, no ‘living’ for me
Flowing through my wayward ways

Let this story be,
For others to see

How an immortal dies..

Let me tell you my story today. Not like your usual stories. Strange it seems to me, that for you human beings, a story must always have human beings as characters. Not in my story!

Well, I’m Subarna. Subarnarekha. And yes, I’m a river. Not many of you have heard my name before, I take it. That’s why I’m to tell my story.

Set to motion,
Westward ho
Towards the ocean
As they go

Leaving behind, some
Moments to die
That they’ll never come
To buy

I lie here and watch people go by. No. Not ‘go by’. Actually go across! I, so close to the sea, yet so far. I yearn for my ‘someday’. Someday I’ll reach my destination. For now, all I can do is to carry people on my silver back and be the means to their ‘ends’. Boats aren’t there vessels. I am.

Mundane desires
Of unknown waters
To reach the ‘Promised land’

Mundane, uncertain
May well be curtains
Or may be a castle of sands

Overloaded with thoughts, emotions, expectations… and other day-to-day objects of desire, men and women hoard on to their boats and criss-cross across my blue blood
They stop in motion to use my momentum of thoughts. Ain’t my water… but my silver thoughts to carry them home. Or somewhere else, where the heart might be!

Hidden hues
Undercover, under fire
Cross-fire and cease

Paused for few moments
Time never amends
Lives lived on boat rides
And stories

Ah, emotions. Undercurrents of passion. Streaks of ambition to bind both together… and of course, the ‘maajhi’ to wrestle the flow and guide. On a boat ride, you become still and let the river do the talking. Within those few silent and still moments, I see hues of life that are complete little stories in their own rights. I hope, they proceed and reach their desired climax at the end of it all. I hope, one day, I might get infected and finally might get to meet MY end. Till then, I’ll just be the means to theirs !

Boats, people, journey
My wish to meet the sea
People moving dreams
And hoping to be …

So now you know, it’s not the boat. It’s the people in it, who make the journey. It’s not the water, but my ‘wish’ to meet my ‘end’ in sea, that helps the people to move their dreams. And I, along with the boat, keep looking at the people as they go home at the end of it all. Every day. And on nights.

Shunning life,
For its too shallow for you
Gunning for it
To see you through

Changing courses
Realigning, as needed
And taking shortcuts

Just to see get through ?

Sometimes, when I’m in a ‘shallow’ frame of mind, people build bridges to go around and shift the flow of their lives to suit their needs… They cut me right across. They cut me deep. But the show must go on… right ? And of course, their lives. Young and old, everybody needs their dreams, save me.

Can’t take me.
I’m free!

An empty bridge. It symbolises how you need my energy to flow through your lives and to take you home.

An empty bridge, can’t define… can’t enslave a river. Like life, I will always find a way out. But somehow, that theory still doesn’t apply when I try to reach my end. I guess, I’ll need a bridge to reach my end too!

Leaving my mark,
To prove that I lived
More than anyone
Ever believed…

Death, my alchemist
Touchstone, I die
Once a river, now… mist
Tombstones deny

The Golden thread was here
“Subarnarekha” , it reads
Written on the sand banks
With water reeds

And then one day, I’ll die. My blue blood will turn to gold dust. Proud and strong youth of yours, will maneuver through my dying veins.

The ‘blood’ of the ‘vessel’ will leave its mark. Or rather, a scar on your face.

My last stand. My signature…

‘The golden thread was here…. ‘Subarnarekha’.

No epitaph for me. A wasted river who ended it all, as it couldn’t ‘meet’ its end.

Lightroom Poets Creative Team :-

Kinjal Bhattacharyya
Kalipada Sen
Saurabh Som

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