Let the rivers return to where they came from—not as floods, but as memories. As they return, let them be allowed to tear the skin of the valleys, to glide once more through the unmemorable springs, and to whisper to the rocks that first bore their burdens. Let the lakes dry up like outstretched hands. Let the unfrozen mud pools rise, telling stories buried deep in the sea. Let the rootless peepal trees become distraught. Let drought rewrite the alphabet of salt.

The boats will dry up

in the swamps, 

which will now ascend to the sky.

The rivers that have returned to their source 

never stop.

They will move forward, 

They will forget the sea, 

They will forget the journey of centuries, 

and, move towards the sky.

Now perhaps 

The sky itself will transform