A verse continued..

So the other day i was reading up on my background research for my project in the library. Trying to understand the intricacies of the MPLS architecture(!) and seeking to improve it in my project which needless to say was not achieved. But then, that is research! So hitting a mental block with my project i looked up and saw these lines carved into the desk..

The sun that never sets burns on

new light is the river's dawn.

The blood that runs through me

is not my own

I thought about the guy who wrote it and what he had in his mind when he wrote it and what caused him to digress from his own work. But whatever the reason i decided to honour the verse in the only best way i could, write a few lines of my own. So i wrote..

Look at the way the wind has blown

of all the things gone down.

Why doesn't your blood boil,

How do we repay our ancestors' toil?

I dont know if they make sense together, but the beauty of it to whoever comes upon this desk is that it remains anonymous. Sometimes I hope I return years later, to the same desk to see more verses after mine and a poem still unfinished and still unnamed.