Does the water demand where to flow?
Should I turn here, there, or onward go?
It asks not why, how fast or how slow
For its path it knows it does not know
It dreams it’s a leaf or melting snow
Or clear sky with clouds on its tableaux
Or silence on a highland plateau
Or a waning moon or dusk’s soft glow
Its wants, its will — all it must forego
A self naught but a sun-filled shadow
In whatever shines of joy and woe
For then, not far, only a stone’s throw
Lush gardens under which rivers flow
Each course made one, by One, long ago
Written By: A. S. Muatha