it’s only the winding wind
that follows the Sindh*
like weaving twine
all through the pind*
looking for its
mighty kin,
its
tributary twin.
where their
paths align
and interwine
rough and wavy
trickling and thin
knowing
that wherein
there is din
there are certainly
water-needing den-i-zens
running along its
splashing shoreline
beguiled by its ripples benign
it returns to where
the crashing waves
begin, began and rush ever towards time.
Sindh – The Sindh River aka The Indus River, India
Pind – ancestral village
intotheindigo 
heheh me too
Is it strange that I wish I had an ancestral village (or knew something about it if I do)?