Blue Waters

Time,
is like a river
with strong currents,
and I am a rock
between it.

I wonder if
I will find
pieces of myself
eroded away
through these years
scattered unto
streams and lakes
and finally the ocean.

How will I
ever remember if
a part of me
reaches the
blue waters?

How will I know if
my memory
floats unto the surface
splashed by the
passing ships?

And a piece of me
still remains
where it began,
right at the rivers
waiting to be
carried away time and again.

Visiting the Ducks | Poetry

A body of water
and a family of ducks,
it is home to them
what for us
is momentary exile.

A body of water
and a family of ducks,
I wait for them to swim
as they first fill themselves up;
two are caged,
three roam free.

A body of water
and a family of ducks.


I wasn’t very keen on visiting the ducks. I pass them quite often, but as they say in popular culture, there was a gust of wind and I was drawn. What was waiting did not confine to a body of water and a family of ducks, a poem was hiding near by. Visiting the ducks. 

In the photo above, you can see three ducks having perhaps their evening meal which mostly seemed like bread.