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Poem

Words of a poet,

flowing through a winding valley,
are like the waters of the river,
straight from the source.
clear, from the start, crystal clear;
clean, devoid of any filth.
The words of a poet.

They flow from the source,
never to come back.
through silent cracks, 
foaming over rocks,
Getting dirty with each mile.
Like the Nile so great, they divide,
some red, some blue, others muddy.

Peasants find their pleasure in the waters,
together with their faithful flocks.
they quench their thirst in the dirt,
the dirt from the same waters 
once so clean and worshipped.


The words reach their end of journey,
the mouth of a speaker,
To the ears of the hearers.

Naked of the cleanliness it wore,
but the poet never tires,
he spits and spits.
the words of the poet; the unending waters.

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