Across the bridge

She waits for her man
by the estuary,
in the scarlet hue of dusk,
bouncing off the crimson waters.

She sits by the old tree
in the shade of the setting sun,
throwing pebbles in the stream,
waiting for his return.

She talks to the trees,
the birds returning from the sea,
the fawn that makes its way to the edge.
She feeds them the fruits she gathers during her days of loneliness.

She waits for her man.

Across the river,
he gathers wood.
Working till his body breaks.
To build the bridge that will get him to her.

He works through the hunger and the pain,
through the drought and the rain,
through the night and the day,
he builds to make his way. Back into her arms.

The wolves that keep him company,
protect him in the dark,
while he breaks his bones in the forest,
to build this lowly arch.

He waits for his woman.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar

Pen it... or aaa type it. u know what i mean.

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