If the river could move in the other direction,
And fanciful yearnings become prospect,
Then I would go for a swim.
As it is, I stand now listless lifeless and still
Watching the ebbs of the river outdo
The dying ebbs of my river flowing inside.
It is not fair that we get but one chance
Whereupon right and wrong are equally likely,
The sage or the seer unable to win at a game of die.
And how then a blind man
Whose life was never more than an expectancy
Of good fortune outweighing the other?
Yes, I would go for a swim
And revisit the mouth of the river, the source of the sorrow,
And be witness to the depths of time.