THE RIVER.

A WOMAN REMEMBERS HER LOST BROTHER.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That day Abhay
Was talking of
His fishing in
The river. He

 

Promised to take
You but never
Did. It is not
For girls, he said,

 

Turning his head
To smile at his
Friends. Maybe, he
Was saying in

 

His high mocking
Manner, when you
Are older and
Less a young child.

 

His friends laughed and
Off they went to
The river. You
Watched them go,

 

That walk of swank,
That male thing in
The manner of
Their boyish stride.

 

Today you lay
Flowers by the
River where he
Drowned; the petals

 

Are you recall
His favourite
Colour; the scent
Sufficient to

 

Impart your love
And deep sorrow.
He slipped, his friends
Said, heads lowered,

 

Voices hollow.
Each time you bring
Him flowers you
Expect him to

 

Return with fish
By the morrow. 

Reviews

[just rose.]

Transcendent. The penultimate lines are sublime. Absolutely takes all the bloom of youth and swagger, and puts it in a funeral bouquet. The juxtaposition is fascinating, almost providing a moral to the story. Makes me also think of "To An Athlete Dying Young" by AE Housman.

[Samuel Dickens]

A poignant snapshot of memory. Funny how we recall certain things about people after they're gone, and even forget that they are gone. Excellent writing, as always, Terry.