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.