The River
The gush water in early spring
From the rivers that run down the valley of mine.
I shall call she, because she is like mother to me.
It flows down the mountain top,
And reaches the town.
The river is a goddess to all,
Where she flows with pride.
She is calm and composed,
Like Ceto, the goddess.
Down and down it flows through the villages, blessing
people with water and food.
She is like a crystal, pure and untouched till now.
I came to see her, one day, it has been long till I saw her.
What now i see is a different picture of her, which is ravished.
The river which I worshipped, is impure.
It is been despoiled.
I do not hear the mystical sound now,
But cry of her helplessness.
The magic is disappeared, I cannot feel her.
Her integrity is lost,
She is left with endless sorrow.
What do i do now,
Nothing!
But remember her in memory.
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