Up in the lonely woods there is a dreary creek, where not a bird would ever sing, between the mountains oh so high and mighty, crashing on the heartless rocks, tumbling on a road to nowhere is me, just a small little brook.
I am a spectacle for some, trying to capture a moment in their lives and squeezing me between their cheery smiles, for them I care not, cause many shall come and gaze from afar and be so joyous just to see me twist and turn, shout in pain at the thrashing rocks and then just flow on.
But who am I? An endless beginning, to a vagabond journey. Why is it that I flow so, the mountains stand still and mock at me, the trees they never move an inch, but me I am just tumbling on. Why this endless churn, what is it I am trying to chase, where is it I want to go, whose shadow is it I try to catch only to find it another step ahead.
Once I met a wise old fish, she said oh little brook, why cant you see, you are just meant to flow. While parting she whispered about a thing she said she hate, it was called fate. Next day I slowed to catch my breath and there I met this drooping tree, while he joked how he trashed me dirty with his rotting leaves. I asked him what is fate, the tree grimaced and said to me it’s the chimera we conjure to give solace for what we can not accept. So I learnt that day that fate was all a lie, a falsehood that could never explain, why I had to flow on so. Some say I flow because the mountains are high and the valleys low and its called science. Well I say to hell with them, why should I flow because of them.
So you see, me little brook I know, destiny or science they don’t make me flow.
I flow for a reason, a reason I got to know.
Some time back I fell down a rather steep cliff, all in shock and spinning head, I felt a strange nothingness. Nausea of irrepressible churn burst through my heart, like that wolf I saw, dive on the hapless rabbit under the bush. Hate, love, pain and longing I never felt them all at once before, but ever since the sudden treachery of that pristine meadow made me fall, I lost the trust I had in the earth below. Well I know, most would say have trust in sky above, but me I see no one in the sky, this earth I feel and touch day & night, I had a trust in it but now it is gone.
All frothing and spewing I emerged from this fall and for once I saw the treachery of it all. I flow because I am made to flow, oh how I loved that mountain top, I would have stayed for ever more, but for this endless flow. I thought the mountain knew I had to flow and it would come along with me. But one thing I learned being a brook in this world, alone and alone is how you always move.
Once I thought, what are the maladies that trouble me so, interminable movement, restless soul and a brainless heart! Of them all, I know the worst, is the brainless heart.
I wish my brooky heart had a brain; which would put some sense, in now so gloomy and now a spring in the step, this meandering heart of mine. Oh stone hearted mountain and the misty meadow, how I long to be with you, but me I am just a brook, a fleeting someone, one moment I shine and then I am all gone. Will you even remember the small brook, who so touched and caressed you all, while you slammed and twisted and threw me around.
Strange are the ways of this world and stranger still that I got to flow, endless, endless, endless I flow. I know there is a reason for me, will I ever find that key, and will I ever see through the dark , when my soul will rest at last.
Ah no more of this ranting brook, for here it comes, it seems she beckons me with open arms, oh my valley gorgeous, if only you will let the small brook stay.
