The flowing River
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This poem centres on the theme of storytelling, most closely linked to my grandmother, a wonderful storyteller.

It attempts to convey the magical realms she brought home to my own imagination, a world of fables and myths, of sneaky characters and magical lands. Her stories will stay with me forever.

My grandmother told me stories
Of saints and seers
Witches and werewolves
To make me shiver with fear.
Knights in shining armour
who saved fair maidens
Arbors that were laden,
Infants in cradles.
Of this land of ours
Where rivers did flow
Of honey and milk
And the sun did leave
its own afterglow.

My eyes round with wonder
I would listen all rapt
Huddled in my bed
My head on her lap.
And as she talked,
My mother would peep in,
Her eyes soft and misty.
This world she had seen.
As a little girl as well.
For her granny had too
Told her tales she had heard,
And the ones she knew.
And some were fables,
And some were true.
Each night my eyes closed
I dreamt so much,
This gift granny gave me
With her gentle touch.

How stories do weave
A path for us forever
Like a river that flows
Changing course as it goes,
But meanders along
Weaving generations together.
Flowing on and anew-
From granny to me
And from me to you.
Down the mountains of ages
And the slopes of time
A river of stories
Of reason and rhyme.


My collection of poems “Yearnings” may be ordered online, here

© ABHA IYENGAR - Nov 6, 2007