The Road Not Taken By My Shoes

The river flow and falls. Sings a psalm Initially behaves like a notorious baby and then like a philosopher deep and calm Beginning fast and at end slow but heavy On the ocean: the cemetery of rivers. We also keep the same attitude like river We dream or weave the dream like weaver In spite of being deep we try to be rich On rush road we become a rampaging witch On the grave: the cemetery of human kind What hope we have, there is any hope! What technique we have, there is any technique! Date of death is fixed, this simple thought, we lost. If we realized, then. Why this ugly hara-kiri, man? Road of blind philosophy I will never choose I walk on the road not taken by my shoes