I hear my reverberating call,
Far off in the mountain.
Hope that it will break the wall,
Taking out the fountain.
For years the valley
echoed,
Miles and miles running
alone.
Banging every flower pod,
But no one heard its
moan.
Silently it died along,
Washed off through a
creek.
None came to look
furlong,
Its cry was so
meek.
Years later a sound came,
Calling for the gone.
Nothing was left there,
Not even the name.
13 comments:
what a sad piece - nice work setting the tone
Sad and lovely. Your poems surprise me with its life and emotions. The name of the blog is surely justified by your poetry. Keep at it. God bless. :)
not even a name....powerful...as there is much symbolism in our names...and you know, where were they when you called...before you were gone...
I love how it ends.. it lingers in the mind.
A very moving and profound piece.
so poignant... hard to take in such deep sorrow... and yet your writing is beautiful.
Painfully beautiful piece.
Such a melancholy but gorgeous poem
A lonely and rather eery piece - well penned.
Beautiful last verse.
Wow this is so sad!Everyone and everything should have a name!Twirling
For years the valley echoed,
Miles and miles running alone.
Banging every flower pod,
But no one heard its moan
One often fights alone responding to cries for help. Sadly others don't give a hand. Still one must strive on. Great thoughts Vandana!
Hank
Whats is a name but often and well, always quite a lot rests in it
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