by Akasya Guner
“The water cascades down a hill, rushing through the rocks.
It twists and turns and jumps, performing its dynamic dance
never seen to the eye. It gushes over the grass, the weeds, the daises,
becoming turbulent and uncontrollable with every move.
Through the meadows and the moors it runs on smoothly.
It trickles over the ground, quenching the dry soil which has
been awaiting its arrival. It is now undefeatable, gaining momentum, velocity and power,
becoming a treasured trickle decorated with jewels.
It glitters gold, illuminating the buildings that it passes.
The people point and admire at what it has become;
its presence is gifted and bespoke. It is now proud and joyful and impressive,
becoming an eminent feature of the town.
Over the tarmac it struggles to keep up with the pace of the people.
It falls in the dips of road, being pulled down into the voids underneath
which have been awaiting its arrival. It is now trivial and remembered by no one,
becoming like all those who have succumbed to fame.”
This poem was submitted by Akasya Guner as part of October’s Words in Focus competition.