Bridge Conversation

Quite early one morning I was crossing on foot the bridge on river Ganges. There was noone save a lady coming from the opposite direction. As we got closer, I could sense she was shooting repetitive glances my way. When we were about to pass each other by, she waved her hand as if to say hello and said: “Your face rings a bell. Although these days I have memory lapses, didn’t I meet you at this very place many years ago?”

Her words hit home. I fixed her with a stare and said: “Are you still obsessed with rushing water under bridge?”

“Ah”, she said, “I’m still under its spell, and do you remember you did a poem on me. I still preserve it!”

“Did it take you by surprise, the poem?”

“Well, it certainly did. I wish I could read some of your other poems.”

“I’ve stopped writing poetry altogether. Maybe I don’t feel sufficiently inspired anymore. But I continue to read poems…“

“Poets you like?’

“Charles Simic, Billy Collins, R S Thomas …”

“Have you read ‘The Suggestion Box’ by Billy Collins, where the narrator is flooded with ideas for poems, given without being asked for by every Tom Dick & Harry?”

“Well, Billy’s poems are commonly uncommon. They run deep.”

“Come along; let’s see if I could suggest a few writing prompts for you over a good strong cuppa!”

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