Rivers on the plains

The rivers on the plains

are the bloodline of the plains

They feed the grasses of the plains

crops, trees, birds, animals, and fowls

and the people who live here

They, with difficulty, crawl

Twisting and turning like snakes

Poems and distant lands are too far away

They, what they can see

Only the land beneath their feet

They spend their lives on the move

They can't tell where they'll end up

If they are lucky, they will join another river

If they are unlucky, they are on the road

They disappear

They are like the shoemakers on the street corners of the town

Those shoemakers, every day

Doing the same thing

While cutting up the whole land

while sewing up broken hearts