To the river gods

We were told scary tales of your sacrosanctity

Of how you swallowed thieves brought to your bare

And coughed their cursed bodies up out of your bellies

We were told to not invoke your names randomly

And not to swear by you, not even playfully, for the gods mean business

and the ancestors do not bend the rules even for a child’s playful ignorance.

We were told to stay miles away from your bellies during menses

We were told to not stain the holiness of your banks with sandals

We were told to not catch your fish on Tuesdays and special days

And to warn strangers about your dreary, vengeful sting

Whatever became of your sting

But here we, idle time servers, watch some strangers ransack your bellies in search of gold

With no iota of dignity, no ounce of reverence, they rip your forests naked

With bulldozers and turn your rivers brown and black and pregnant with chemicals

But you, you just sit quietly and do not nothing. And say nothing.

Whatever became of your vengeance, of your wrath?