I Was Once a River

Once, in the mirror, there used to be a face —

a whole identity that answered to my name.

What has happened to me now?

What was I, before I became this?

Today I stand before everyone

like a thirsty man beneath a burning sky.

Dry. Cracked. Waiting.

Who would ever believe

that I was once a river?

That I carried depth in my silence,

current in my voice,

and entire skies reflected within me?

There was a time

when I overflowed with meaning,

when my presence quenched more than my own thirst.

Now I search the mirror again —

but the reflection feels distant, unfamiliar.

As if the river has forgotten its source

and the desert has learned my name.

I stand here, diminished yet remembering —

a dry figure among crowds —

while somewhere inside me

the echo of water still moves.