Father, you offered a handful of water to the flowing river. The river seemed enraged, wounded by pain and shame, cascading over me. Stunned and silent, I pondered—was this the river’s rebellion fueled by thirst against the forests emitting hot gases that the earth cannot absorb? Or was it a desire within the river’s womb to embrace me? When I was in my mother’s womb, submerged in water, how warm and safe that water felt! How beautiful and soothing was my splash within it. Yet, the river’s womb is far more harsh than a mother’s; it thrashes me wildly, hurtling me toward distant destinies, crashing against cruel stones and towering riverbanks.
I endure the punishment for a fault I never committed—in this river of life, hope, and joy. But now, mixing with muddy water, I struggle and gasp, flowing farther away from you—how far must I come at such times? Thoughts and rebellions should not surge violently within the mind. The flood of questions should not overwhelm the heart, nor should I ever have to ask the river, “What fault did I have that you take revenge on me?” But how can I not ask? Why do you thrust a dagger into my innocent father’s heart, piercing his very life? A tempest rages within me.
From eyes blurred by tears amidst this muddy water, sparks of anger ignite. The greedy minds that emit heat enough to make mountains crumble, the ruthless hands that silence the river’s voice, the proud chests that drag nations into war—I pray endlessly, “Give me another birth, oh Mother!” In that life, may there be no heat to melt the mountains, no hands to poison the rivers, no smoke to shroud the skies, and no hunger for power that surpasses the value of human life.
