At the river’s bend—

noises that could have been music

on a ten-stringed instrument

as we step on stones

sculpted with the symmetry

of our youth.  We gather them closer

into our hearts, they throb with life

each one of us remembers.  

We throw them one by one

creating ripples, then slap our backs

with pride, the currents slowly


until at last we resurface

from the lure of those full-blown memories

almost with reluctance.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

As some of you already knows, I have this affinity with a river in my grandfather’s place. Spent a portion of my childhood there and everytime I come back, I would run to check on that river to remember and cry in sentimental journey.

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