Indus

This river begins from the mouth

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.