My throat dried the years,
the years with the water..
And now I see the days who wound themselves with the drought and the pain..
gasping for the cool fluidity,
my hands are parted from the purification..
My broken lips,
initiation of this dry world..
My throat cracks itself again,
thinking of the forgotten flood of the pure water.
Waiting for a taste of thousand lips,
hands, and thousand bodies,
swirling in the silence,
just like the names we cry for help,
–they shatter in the rest..
I pray for a purification of the water,
thirst quencher in our hearts again…