The River

In the mountain you were born,
Little, almost helpless,
But never alone.
The cloud, she is your mother,
She feeds you with the milk of life,
Making you stronger every day.
Running down the mountain's slopes,
You play with the Kingfishers,
Coloring their feathers blue.
Little fish dance in your cool depths,
Their small bodies, silver and gold.
The deer, they come to you at dawn.
And the illusive tigress,
She catches one, her jaws gripped firm around its neck,
The deer's blood now mixed with your own.
The tigress bows to you, and laps at your edges,
She is thankful,
You have fed her cubs.
You gush over rocks, smoothing their jagged edges.
You have fed seeds and saplings, and transformed them into mighty trees.
On your journey, you meet your brother.
He is bursting with life, just like you.
With a warm embrace, you'll make your way down to the plain.
Together, you'll are stronger.
You are One.
On the plains, throngs of peoples have gathered.
They sing you songs, they offer you flowers.
But you have no time to waste here.
You are eager you meet your sister, she lives not far from here.
I know you've matured along the way.
Your youthful bashfulness replaced with calm and serenity.
But I am wary.
For I know that your calm exterior belies your power.
Your elder sister is in the distance,
Her arms are open to embrace you.
Running forth to her,
You sink in her bosom.
Born of a cloud in the mountain,
You've finally reached.
Home.