The Bartered Echo

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They sought to trade the river’s soul,

The secrets whispered by the rain.

The sun’s bright coin, the wind’s command—

All marked for sale by unseen hand.


The mountain’s hush, the forest’s hymn,

Each grain of dust, a profit grim.

The fire of night, the sound of dawn—

"Progress!" they cried, and pressed it on.


“Come, builders of the grand design!

Cut through the blue, the verdant line.

Bind the frost, the breath of stone,

And sell what once was ours alone.”


With gleaming smiles and laundered hands,

They carved and fenced the sacred lands.

They priced the silence, packed the light,

And split the sky to sell the night.


“Divide it all!” the order came—

Each echo wrapped in legal name.

But from the wound, a spark would grow—

A fire no blade or law can know.


And if a fragment still remains,

It holds the truth within its veins.

A silent power, fierce and old,

Whose worth defies what can be sold.


Who sees the story, veiled and wide?

Who stands, not sold, but at its side?

When scorched and scattered roots take hold—

Who dares to rise, brave and bold?

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