• Hafsa Jamel

In the middle of a babbling brook

I listen to the water,

I hear it flow,

I see it swell and foam

Over the edges of rocks below.

Paths eroded mountains,

Down the valley, there it goes,

Rushing past not mattering if it were to return,

Return all the way to its source.

Even water can render anything weak,


A bit of water can bring down a cliff,

no matter how steep.

I force myself to write about the water surrounding me

And this is all I get,

As I close my eyes and take in this moment,

In case I forget.