On the mighty plains, under the setting sun,
There flowed a mighty river

On its silty banks, there sat a lost man,
Much did he cry and quiver.

Through snuffles and shivers, he
gathered his voice, a few words he spun

To mother river, thus spoke, a beaten farmer son.

In utter grief, he partook in a dip, and the river knew of his tears

To allay her son of all his fears, the river whispered in his ears.

When met with rocks of refusal, my child,
Do not stop, and submit to surrender
Like a gushing river in monsoon swell,
With a lovely grace, charge and meander.

But mother, when will it end, this dreadful season of sorrow?
Without a rain, why should I sow, hope for tomorrow?

Trust the gradient of life, flow, do not ask for a reason why
Believe and be true to your spirit, surely shall you thrive
And even if the farmland is parched, desolate, run dry
The clouds are riding on the wind, wait as they arrive.

How long could I wait for, it has been too long a while
When the hand that feeds the world sleeps hungry, life seems all too futile.

To deem life futile is but futile my son, do not submit to a passive revolt
Ever wondered why I drain my fresh water in an ocean full of salt?
My end may seem tragic, but my life is magic, despite tides high or low
For the meaning of life is not in the end, but in all the life I create as I flow.

So, arm yourself with a sickle, and set out on your challenging quest
When fortune finds you working hard, shall you reap a bountiful harvest

Gather all your courage my son, despite darkness however deep
Arise, awake and march on, there is no time for you to weep
You have a world to feed after all, and promises plenty to keep
Set out in the field and make a change, even a little step is a giant leap.

The clouds heard their conversation, and together did they ply
To congregate and condense, to become a river in the sky

And thus the elements conspired with nature at the helm
As the first drop of rain and the last teardrop of the farmer, fell in tandem

And amid the drizzle, in ecstasy, the farmer ran to his farm
And the wise old river, blessed her child, and flowed on with a loving charm…

 

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