the river

it used to gush, to bubble
to gurgle and spin in rapids
twist and snake, spread and shrink
turning the miles from the mountains
to the marshlands into a jocular maze
decades ago the seasons spoke
of its changelessness
its abundance, its generosity
it nourished the lands for generations
and its springs were inexhaustible

unattending to other needs, man built a barrage
desiring water elsewhere to coax communities
into effervescence
and it started to flow peacefully
quietly meandering along the grassy banks
and trickle in the summer
occasionally freezing in the winter
at that time the spring melts
rarely brought a rambunctious overflowing
then one day its broad shoulders began to stoop
its life flow dwindled and it began to cough
rough sand blew with the Indian summer winds
and man discovered precious rocks in its traces
and started drilling wells to quench his thirst
leaving the river to bring less infinite riches
as the gold and turquoise soon became extinct...

the river too is dead now
gone are the days when it rushed here and there
when it babbled stories of fish and wild animals
today’s youth knows nothing of its past glory
seeing only an dry dusty bed rambling
from between the barren rocky banks
disappearing into the wastelands
where houses still have never found a sure footing


the river
[2007.21.3…a]