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The Feather In The Stream

Updated: Feb 21

By Manoj Vaz Ramchandran

Bobbing, weaving through the turbulent gush,

Navigating rocks towards an empty dream.

At times slow and sometimes in a rush,

The feather swam randomly in the stream.

The luminaries high in the cloudless night,

The illusion reflected on the water warm.

The haven, always close but never in sight,

The next time promised to be the charm.

It waded, waiting, wishing to be found,

A craftsman who could carve out a pen.

A material future of meaning profound,

A successful slave to a coterie of men.

Alas! How could I have been so blind?

Realization finally cut into me like a knife.

My fruitless existence flashed in my mind,

The feather was I and the stream, life.

By Manoj Vaz Ramchandran

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