The Last Drop

O Water! Thou crystal spirit of divine hue,

Whose silence sings more than the tongue of dew.

Born before time, in Eden's golden jar,

Thou danced in the Nile, and wept in the Tsar.

You carved the canyons, kised the mossy stone,

Fed roots of giants, then vanished unknown.

You were there when the stars sang in cold delight,

When atoms first trembled in embryonic night.

The breath of prophets, the wash of sins,

The cradle of seas, where all life begins.

Yet man, the master of fleeting fame,

Forgot your worth—and played a foolish game.

You rose with rivers, calm or fierce in will,

You cooled the forehead, and turned the mill.

You lifted seeds through dirt-stained dreams,

Fed wheat and corn and murmuring streams.

You carried ships, ambitions bold and wide,

Gave birth to trade, to kings and pride.

You dweled in tears of a mother’s face,

In her lulabies, your gentle grace.

You whispered to poets, filled the moon,

You made the rosebud sweetly swoon.

You softened steel, you stilled the fire,

You quenched the thirst of saint and liar.

But now—the tap runs dry, the well is bare,

A child's cracked lips mumble a prayer.

Springs have vanished, fields are dust,

The sky forgets the rain it must.

And man, with his machines and greed,

Drowned your song with wanton speed.

Where went the river, the lake, the stream?

Where fled the whisper of your gleam?

You fled the pipes of careless hands,

Escaped the thirst of poisoned lands.

You fled the marble taps and drains,

And took with you the forest’s veins.

In restaurants they poured you without thought,

In factories you boiled, abused, then forgot.

In lawns too green for desert soil,

You died in silence, spilled in spoil.

They sold you bottled in plastic gold,

A sacred element, now bought and sold.

What irony! The oceans vast and proud,

Yet none to drink beneath the cloud.

The salt divides what we can't touch,

The taste of life—too much, too much.

And still we build, we pave, we burn,

And wonder why the rains don’t turn.

O Water! You were holy in the Vedas,

The purifier in the tales of Mecca.

You parted seas for tribes to flee,

You fed the fish that walked with He.

In temples, tombs, and sacred wells,

You lived in myths and ancient spells.

A boy once splashed in your crystal pool,

Now holds a glass like a dying fool.

A father once bathed in a mountain spring,

Now chokes on dust that winds do bring.

A mother once cooked on fires of hope,

Now scrubs with tears and prayer and soap.

And still, O man! You call yourself wise?

You mine the sky and scar the skies.

You trap the wind, split the sun,

But forget the truth: we and water are one.

You mourn the forests, cry for bees,

But dry their roots and scorch their knees.

Look to the camel, look to the crow,

Ask the elephant, the deer, the doe.

They drink and leave with humble gait,

But man returns, a God of fate.

He damns the river, dries the marsh,

Then writes a law, poetic and harsh.

You love the wine, the tea, the brew,

Yet kill the cup that pours for you.

You bathe in foam, you wash with pride,

But leave behind a salted tide.

The trees no longer hum your song,

The fish forgot your lullaby long.

Yet still within a dying stream,

There flickers a tiny, trembling dream.

That man might turn from greed to grace,

And kiss again your gentle face.

That seeds once choked in cracked earth’s womb,

Might bloom again, dispel the gloom.

Let schools teach more than math and sound,

Let them teach where water’s found.

Let leaders speak with mouths not dry,

And mothers no more helpless cry.

Let songs be sung of wells restored,

And hearts that open, not ignored.

Let clouds be praised with grateful hymns,

Not poisoned with the factory’s whims.

Let showers fall like sacred rain,

Not floods of guilt or storms of pain.

Let every drop be seen as soul,

Not mere resource or numbered goal.

Let science build what greed forgot,

And farmers reap from rain God brought.

Let deserts bloom through care, not chance,

And birds once lost, again shall dance.

Let cities drink with humble pride,

And rivers flow with truth as guide.

O children of the water's womb!

Before we meet a dusty tomb,

Let’s rise to guard what life began,

This sacred gift, this secret plan.

Let enginers, and artists too,

Join hands with those who till and hew.

Let temples open doors for streams,

Let mosques be washed with water dreams.

Let fountains fill in public square,

And every soul be taught to care.

Let water cease to be a slave,

But honored like the life it gave.

Let satire burn the careless king,

Who drenched his lawn but dried the spring.

Let criticism echo loud and bold,

Till plastic hearts are bought and sold.

Let irony weep in pages read,

Where thirsty men drink tweets instead.

Let spirits rise and preach again,

That water is more than drop or rain.

It is the breath, the pulse, the grace,

That paints a smile on every face.

It is the robe of Earth’s own skin,

The prayer, the promise deep within.

So when you see a leaking pipe,

Don’t shrug it off or type a gripe.

When water drips in silent plea,

Remember—it once flowed in thee.

Be not a kiler, slow and sly,

Let not the world of water die.

Sing for the rivers, dance for the well,

Build not a mansion, but stories to tell.

That once mankind, proud and free,

Found truth again in water’s plea.

And from the depths of death and loss,

He bore the burden and paid the cost.

Then oceans smiled and clouds returned,

The fires cooled, the deserts learned.

A new world rose with blue and green,

Where water danced, pure and serene.

And man, now humble, wise, and kind,

Found Heaven in a drop—refined.