A Cascading Voyage... (Original Poetry)

A pink sunset, offset by the orange city lights,

The blue fading away to inky darkness,

Like a paintbrush blending black in,

Sprinkling sparkling silver stars.

Ploughing in between muddy brown fields,

A long winding gravelly bitumen road.

By the border of the ersatz path,

Sand, tar and stones collude.

Brooks converge and flow down the hill,

Some crystal clear, some sludgy too,

One standing out from all the rest:

Fast flowing and tinged crimson.

The confluent stream flows by a village.

It carries with it silt from the land,

Then flows by the little town,

Picking up its pace a tad.

It passes over spilt vermilion kumkum,

A broken bottle seeping red alta dye,

Tracing striking henna patterns 

For the blushing borough bride.

The stream waits not for the ceremony.

It picks up its pace, reaches the city,

Its babble dwindles as it approaches, 

Then cuts right through the middle.

Like a television rat fleeing from a cat,

The water gushes down the city, 

From where the merlot flows

To the plinth of ichor flux,

Right by where they painted all the city red,

(But fear not, only through rose glasses!)

Over the serpentine sinuous red carpet,

Slinking under hordes of red tape.

It paused at the overlooked red traffic light,

Then ambled down to the shoreline,

Where the blood splatters abated

And the crustaceans abounded.

It carried the essence of all it passed through,

Yet became one with the rollicking ocean.

It was but a drop and yet a profusion,

Concocted by piecemeal accretion.

It proliferated through the terra from the hills,

Giving and taking, but retaining memoirs

From all of the land it flowed through,

Into the collective global experience.