He hangs around the same river, <br />Still tosses a pebble, <br />And looks for the ripples, <br /> <br />Now they die rather quickly. <br /> <br />He has always been a loner, <br />And the river was a friend, <br />But rivers have a habbit, <br />Of moving on and on, <br /> <br />He has been left behind. <br /> <br />He wont take the bridge, <br />He loves his side of the river, <br />They call him from there, <br /> <br />And he calls the river. <br /> <br />There is a twist in the way of river, <br />That lives a twisted trail, <br />It forms a knot, <br /> <br />He is unable to dissolve. <br /> <br />He stares at the river, <br />Indifferent mass of water, <br />That has wickedly changed its color, <br /> <br />No longer transparent. <br /> <br />As the sun kisses the sky, <br />He wakes up again, <br />He turns to the river <br />To see his forgotten face, <br />But river wears a bloody red today, <br />And his reflection is lost. <br /> <br />The agony of being forgotten<br /><br />Ankur Shrivastava<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forgotten-41/
