My River
-by Amanita Sen
–Reading Time – 1 min Approx
There are days when they
feel washed away, never to
be clawing at my throat-
those pebbly clots of doubts.
And I can see your mirror-eyes
holding me like a boat held by
the waters, safely rowing with
a childlike trust as the oar.
Unmarred by clouds of fear of an
impending strife, for you refuse to
reflect them on your rippling self,
I gently call you, “My own river!”
-by Amanita Sen
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