Perspective

Dust swirls in Mwakirunge, a village of red,

A child kneels, cupped hands catching what's shed

From a cracked clay pot. A precious, cool kiss,

Water, a treasure, a fleeting kind bliss.

Little fingers dam the flow on the ground,

A fleeting river, a world to be found.

Boats of green leaves sail a muddy sea,

Hopeful thoughts whispered, a symphony.

An elder approaches, eyes crinkled and wise,

Sees the child's world in those tear-filled eyes.

"Small one," he murmurs, voice warm as the sun,

"The world you see, child, is already begun."

"Change how you think, let joy be your guide,

And the world you create will change by your side."

The child ponders, a smile breaks the frown,

For water, though scarce, can still paint a bright town.

He shares his muddy river, laughter takes flight,

Mwakirunge transforms, bathed in hopeful light.

Thoughts turn to rain, to clouds full and vast,

The village transformed, a future surpassed.

For the world we build starts within, don't you see?

Hope is the water, flowing eternally.