CVR (03-03-1954 / chembra)

By The River Nila We Sat Down And Dreamed

Once this was our dear river,
where we sat down and dreamed
on the wet sands,
various people come and go.

some reached very early
and gone very late
saying nothing.
and not seen thereafter.
some came there very late
and gone very early,
as if it's too late.
poor worms!
not at all conscious
of a time or a place
or what to do at what time.
they knew not
what follows what,
what gives rise to what,
like the we laymen.
some waited like us,
in vain,
they haven't seen anything change,
as they were blind.
some with a rapture,
like the birds who heralded the ages
with their melodious chirps,
over the brain of men
who lay in ambush to
spare a single cartridge,
on the sharp chirps,
as they thought they have freedom,
not knowing it's not indulgence.
some came as advents on the sands
heaped a dune and two and more and more
and bundled off.
thus one by one and in gangs
raped and raped her.
yet no culture came.
yet my dear river
as if ignorant,
drops and drops her tears,
as if it was serene,
for us to quench our thirst,
and many die there and many here,
quenching thirst,
and taken soon to grave mountains,
where the flames lick the blues above
honest unfailingly,
and mocking at us:
'oh! you quench our hunger too.'

once this was my dear river,
where we sat down and dreamed
on the wet sands,
various people come and go.

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