of a mountain
with a glottal roar of wonder
that is as honest and real
as Time.
It descends into the arms
of a temporary lover;
a green plateau of stagnation-
but the river is too wild and wily
for such tepid simplicity.
Its next descent can be called
an ascension, actually,
to a throne of stability and fertility.
It flows like a mother's prayer
casting its nurturing glow
across the fields and settlements
that thrive from its lifeblood.
Everything it touches with
its feminine wetness
grows Life
until Death shows up.
The ocean waves fat arms
of an ancient invitation,
it is a cycle birthed from
air, water and wisps of something
we don't yet have a name for.
The river leaves, reluctantly and slowly,
joining forces with the sea,
bidding a tearful farewell
to the plains and to its children
leaving sediments of this pain
that will spark memories
and grow cities
for so many centuries-
Civilizations shall sing its praises
until they begin to fade-
when this mother's death
shall be blamed for its own decline.
Such is the circle of life, isn't it?
Everything is water,
water is everything.
