O beaut of perennial ages; as thou stream down tors,
I behold thou sail; enthralled by thy roar,
As to time thy arms sway and fume as an ivory horse,
Gushing down in serendipity to reach the final shore.
For, thou choosest each road that no man has e'er taken,
And createst thou new lands to inhabitable floors.
Thy begotten brooks a million ebony mounts have broken,
O beaut of perennial ages; as thou stream down tors.
Thither afar the peaks shine; aureate shades gleam bright,
Thou too as a begotten child; scurry to make new shores.
O for miles thou stream and stream for days thru' nights,
I behold thou sail; enthralled by thy roar.
Thou in charms sail forth; bewitching men around,
For, thy beaut must thrive long thru' as thou course.
Feedest thou thirsty souls and those starving hounds,
As to time thy arms sway and fume as an ivory horse.
The trenches art too deep; thou deluge as a gleeful stream,
And a thousand eyes thy splendidness adore.
For few moments lone; I behold thou as a dream,
Gushing down in serendipity to reach the final shore.
© Dipanjan Bhattacharjee
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