The Hilly Rivulet

Traversing a long tract from the upper highlands Comes it babbling by, murmuring by the small hilly river, Singing the song of the water, Nature, landscape and vegetation. The solitude as such that there is loneliness all around, Everything but calm and serene, There is none around, Away from human haunt and habitation. The landscape full of ups and downs, highlands and lowlands, Spread over a vast tract of land And the hamlets and thorps scattered around But at a distant far off. In between the hills and its cluster, it passes through Singing the song of life and the world, Man and his coming and going, Life and its cycle of birth and death. The large chunks of rocks lie in on its bed and the water Somewhere falling upon a rock, Somewhere crossing over a high up rock placed over Its way, zigzagged and long. To flow and foat by, to run and sway off with a musical murmur Hear I standing under the wild trees Dotting the banks of the rivulet And the distant hills glistening blue in sunshine. The rivulet will flow for ever till the course of it And the waters will remain the same, Glassy and crystal clear, But the man will not remain the same observing the flow of it. Crossing the highlands and downlands, it has to go, to go Till it mingles with the main river, Crossing the woods, hills and regions unknown Where I cannot be with. Standing on the bank of the river, sitting on a stone block, Hear I music, the music carried by the flowing waters That today I am here marking the flow and music But may not be again to hear it.