When Life Slowly Dries Up Like a Dying River

When Life Slowly Dries Up Like a Dying River

The beauty and majesty of the river –
The eternal beauty of the river, the ever-changing stream of life, is not unknown to any of us.
Over the ages, there have been countless poems, songs, and poems written about the enchanting beauty of the river.
How many artists have reflected their enchanting thoughts and feelings in various ways through the imagination. In other words, it may be impossible to write a complete poem about the greatness of the river.
The silent pain of a dead river –
However, the extreme reality is that we blame this great river for the terrible crime of breaking the family and severely condemn it.
Even in the face of its great deeds or unconditional gift, the crime of breaking the bank is considered unforgivable. We forget for a moment,
how the beloved river used to rush rhythmically and joyfully in search of its estuary, swaying in the waves.
How it plays a generous role in revealing the excellence of the clan in the fresh beauty of the green of the crops with its gentle flow of affection.
How it sacrifices its life for the sake of the other while walking tirelessly behind the existence of the silver waves.
Although this continuous running for the sake of the other can be said to be the innate nature of the river, it is seen that sometimes some rivers lose their
ever beautiful form. Then we all call them dead rivers.
The similarity between rivers and human life –
We easily forget, the glorious history of its excellence. The dead river, like a helpless one, silently suffers the sorrow of failure and slowly decays in the silent cry of hopelessness, desirelessness, and pain.
The eternally beautiful greatness ends very painfully.
The river becomes another scene devoid of its ever-familiar form.
Then, for whatever reason or reason, whoever wants to draw a mark on his chest, draws a mark on his chest. The heart of the river is wounded. He lives in the desire to get lost in the unseen blood flow.
Just like a river, sometimes a great similarity can be found in the diversity of the lives of some people. In reality, the flow of life of those people is just like a river.
Despite the great pomp and show, a terrible end comes to their lives. The black shadow of great disappointment and failure swallows the eternal charm of life. The terrible black shadow of a life cursed by name.
A life without hope, without dreams, dies a cruel death of expectations. The once glorious life becomes an illusion of a mirage of illusory desires of nightmares.

• A life surrendered to the hands of helplessness, eats away at the beautiful life of real existence.
• In silence, in silence, slowly, the precious life decays.
• No one understands. No one sees. Maybe no one knows. This is the poetry of some lives.