Every verse ever written,

Every rhyme recited

Tales and chronicles ever heard

Odes and sonnets chanted.

 

Every piece of literature,

Is but a stream of sparkling water

Flowing through the realms of men

Giving life thereafter.

 

Each wave in the water of words

Is a figurative expression,

Every ripple and every bubble

A metaphor and an idiom.

 

Civilizations are born and flourish

On the banks of rivers as these,

Quenching the fathomless thirst

Of the readers who get appeased.

 

Weary souls, bothered from life

Drink the water of words,

And become fresh anew

To carry on their strife.

 

Men and women take a dip

And comeback for another,

They take a sip, they take a gulp

And relish the sweet water.

 

Yet, the rivers flow eternally

No matter how many mouths,

The water of words never diminishes

Even in the times of droughts.

 

All praise to great sources

The Springs of Creation,

Poets, playwrights and novelists

The pioneers of their generation.

 

Springs, both great and humble

Give rise to many streams,

Some brooks with gentle flow

And rivers with menacing screams.

 

Chaucer, Eliot, Milton, Frost,

Are all springs greatly renowned,

Even those whose names are lost

Their works still demand reverence profound.

 

Countless streams emanate from them

With water as sweet as honey,

Satiating the thirst of hordes of men

Yet increasing the thirst of many.

 

As long as springs like these

Dwell amongst us,

Rivers of prose and poetry

Will stay remarkable and wondrous.

One thought on “The Springs of Creation

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