Owning the water and land for yourselves, millions of beings reside in its realm unforeseen, minute to the colossal; those living elements as part of nature don’t wish to be enslaved for the needs of one family for monetary gain; they think water and land haven’t lived aspects of itself. 

Family dynasties are built on land, of its remnants, the ruins of mansions once of proliferation, land changes, the family last member, family territories in any definition is the water momentarily then its gone, earth unchained in the union of the mass suicide of the natural that remained.

 Waters flow in whispers, its quiet elements return, its outburst quelled, in servitude to land edging it onto the earth’s deserts again, ruins engulfed under rivers and oceans entombed by the overlord of mountains that now flourish. 

A trickle behind the stones covered in ferns sounds of a stream unseen, free not yet coveted by desires, its essence in the mountains, since times origin never observed, in that same mountain ruined machines of a landlord searched out the tiny streams to own, thwarted as streams cease their conversations. 

Cities abandoned, streams into the river and the sea whisper, their toned down voices of a former age of water robber barons, once now fireflies gyrate on evening excursions, the waters reverberations subtle in destinations to the sea, the warmth of eternal ferns. 

Vigilant as the waters are, the groping hands of domination are always there to rise in inept minds to crush the water’s sovereignty; more streams emerged, and their whispers became more inaudible and flowed beyond the perception of greed.