PARIS :: by the Seine

The river shimmers,
Reflects the sky,
The boats rumble on
Steadily
Lined by trees and
Dwarfed by bridges,
Watching ants crawl along
The shore.

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Soft white marshmallows
Frame blue skies,
Sunlight dappled by
Summer leaves.
Along the banks of the river Seine
Philosophers sat and
Pondered their lives away,
Artists’ brushes blurred.

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People march–with friends
Or alone
Or plant themselves on
Wooden benches
A drink, a laugh,
A water view
Is enough to shake away
All the worldly troubles.

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And poets?
Poets are still–a pen
In hand, rough scribbles
Over tattered pages,
Every few seconds looking up
At the view of a thousand dreams
Pausing, eyes glazed,
Over half-finished lines.

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It is we who reach
Down into the depths to
Describe the indescribable soul
Of an evolving city,
Centuries unchanged.
It is we who capture
Every breath of air,
Every rustling leaf.

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For amidst the chatter
And rumbling motors
And lapping water
And pitter-patter footsteps,
Those who have come before
And those who will yet come after
Will see the same view,
The same river,

The same rising sun.

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[Written 29/8/16 by the river Seine]

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