The River

The River

I am the river, my language is a flow that narrates tales, weaving them with transparent letters into the veins of existence. Every drop of me is time streaming through the arteries of the earth. I was born from the womb of clouds, carrying the pulse of rain, descending to carve my path between stones, teaching them that hardness yields to the tenderness of water. I whisper to the grass to grow, to the flowers to bloom.

On my banks, the trees sit, listening to my song, extending their roots like fingers writing me into the depths of the soil. Birds soar above me, their wings casting shadows that ripple across my chest. I whisper to them of the unseen depths, the secrets I hide among the rocks, the dreams I carry as I journey to the sea. My waves chant hymns of absence, leaving the trees to flutter their branches, sharing stories of winds that bear the clouds’ tales, of the horizon that travels through their limbs, and of the sun caressing their leaves, leaving them to glimmer like light poured upon a mirror.

I am the beloved of birds, who tell me of the skies and their mysteries. I chase the horizon, retreating ahead of me like a mother reading her child the dream of eternity. I am the memory of the earth and the first whisper of water, writing poems of brilliance upon the surface of my face.

I rest when the winds kiss me, and I dance when the stars embrace me. Every drop of me reflects a sun that never fades. I am the thread of dawn winding around darkness to craft a new sun. At night, the banks ask me the secret of my flow, and I answer with a melody resembling weeping. I run to carry your love to the sea.

~Firas Alwaily

Michigan

1/23/2025