PARIS :: by the Seine

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


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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


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