A Poem to Water

Of all the four ancient elements of nature,
Fire; wind; water; earth
You resemble mostly of water
Free-flowing without fixed shape
That you could fit in
With everything.

A humble coconut shell
A fractured one would do
A filthy, rusty drum
It can be cleaned anyways
A glass
A cracked glass won’t matter still
Or even the inferior of all inferiors;
A dam in the mountains
That you did accepted quite
Positively no matter
How people cursed that damn

But then you seem
To be so calm
Sleeping at most
Still vibrant listening accepting
Faults; cracks; curses.

Even on the ocean floors
You still keep tranquility
Reflecting the blue colors of the sky;
A sort of connection
Of how happy you are;
I mean how happy we are.

For when the rain comes
And the sky turned dark and angry
You fight, turning into
That same insane color
A rebellion to
fire; earth; wind
Never letting go
Reflecting and connecting
Any sort of color of the sky.

And there I am
The humble coconut shell;
Filthy rusty drum;
That cracked glass;
An old pugnacious debatable dam;
And that insane sky that
Any of those remaining elements
Of nature couldn’t stand.

You simply are running
Off my unsaturated life form
Touching my life
To create rills and gullies
Filling my small rocky stream bed
With a lot of spirit
Guiding my days
Like a young river
Emerging gradually as a porous steam bank
For when I dry out
You still appear to be
Like small streams
Still obliged to return water
In my capillary spaces in my soil
Giving up to make me exist
Joining gullies
Rushing down mountainsides
Streaming across the hills
Until I realized
I am beginning to gather
And assume the promise of my mighty identity.

With the infinite river.