The river breathes in cycles, slow and deep,
While secrets in its muddy belly sleep.
The tide comes rushing with a silver pride,
With nowhere for the weary silt to hide.
Like human hearts that swell with sudden hope,
We learn to climb the river's rising slope.
We feel the fullness of the moon's command,
As water reaches for the thirsty land.
But then the ebb begins its quiet retreat,
And leaves the jagged rocks beneath our feet.
The void is wide, the shore is stripped and bare,
Like moments when we face our own despair.
Yet in the low, there is a hidden strength,
A journey measured by the river's length.
The ships may drift when waters start to fail,
But every sailor knows how to prevail.
For life is not a steady, stagnant pond,
But reaching for the oceans far beyond.
High or low, the Karnaphuli flows,
And where it ends, the restless spirit knows.