The Story Of A River

Here’s what I see when I think of a river,

pure and pristine, as it originates,

running down the mountains with vigor,

from the melting snow to the luscious green hills,

through the flowery valleys,

and slowly descending to the foothills.

As it flows further down,

and bigger realities get unfurled,

it discovers itself in a dirty plain,

and struggles against the cruel world,

that leaves no stone unturned

to transform it into a drain.

And so it finally gives up

and merges itself into the vast sea,

losing its existence,

exhausted after the strife…

I wonder if I narrated the tale of a river,

or a random human’s life?