Rounded and rolling,
like a pebble under the effect
of millennia-long smoothing,
slow but incessant—
I slide away in the current,
docile and faithful
down the fluid riverbed.
Waiting for my turn,
a final gush to push me to the mouth,
just enough to reach the seam,
to then linger there,
gently rocking to and fro
at the mercy of opposite motions,
the flow’s and the waves’,
on an eternal sway.
And after such a journey,
forever oblivious of my womb,
some stony ravine up a glacial valley—
may I enjoy my destiny,
till I’m reduced to floury sand,
a billion grains
dispersed among infinitudes.
May no mighty flood or furious tide
ever abduct me from my sighed-for cradle.