The river hums a song of life,
soft ripples cradling footsteps near.
Buckets sway, hands reaching for cool,
while shadows ripple beneath the surface.
Here, danger wears a wide-lipped grin,
all thick skin and submerged silence.
The hippopotamus, tender in its bulk,
hides violence beneath the waterline.
Its teeth are tombstones, sharp, waiting,
its patience a predator’s sharpest skill.
A fisherman’s paddle breaks the glass,
a woman bends to draw her morning.
They never see the beast arrive,
just hear the churn, the chaos.
The river remembers each name it takes,
bodies sinking back into its flow.
And yet, they must return tomorrow
to meet both life and death again.
The water is not theirs alone,
and still, they kneel, they drink, they pray.