By Lilian Negoi

The river contemplated the dam barring its flow.
It was a good dam, the river thought ;
after all, it was able to keep its entire
fluid world of sheen and life
from flooding the marshes of ignorance
laying beyond it;
allowing only a small flow of living water
to escape through its carefully built holes.
The river knew
that the creatures from the marshes
had no idea of what hid
beneath its still mirror-like face,
and sometimes this thought
made its waters bitter with sorrow;
and when that happened
vines woven from the purest darkness
curled and whirled and threatened to push through the dam;
to spice the seconds with
a little bit of salty fear,
and vengeance.
Other times
the river felt lonely
when pine needles
carried by the wind
scratched its tender surface,
coming to die in its arms,
and the river embraced them
and eased their fading
to neverland.
But always
the river longed for the taste of the sea,
for that silky mixture of scents
of bromine, and salt, and algae and shells;
always welcoming its arrival
and blessing its restless strength
with foamy waves.
A good dam indeed; the river thought,
but not for its patience.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s