Beneath the boiling sky he came,
A flame that knew no shore.
He drank the clouds, he cracked the stones,
And begged the sea for more.
His voice was thunder turned to fire,
His breath, the drought’s cruel hand.
The rivers fled, the lakes withdrew,
No drop could quench the land.
We wept in tides that could not rise,
Our prayers turned into steam.
The coral broke, the reefs grew blind,
And silence drowned the dream.
But not by blade, nor tide alone,
Was fire’s hunger stayed—
The sea withdrew, the wind grew still,
And earth refused to aid.
Then from the deep, the Mother rose,
Where molten fury sank—
She did not curse, nor cast away,
But took the ash and drank.
She bore him far from star and flame,
To cradle him in foam—
A soul reborn where waves are cold,
And fire walks alone.
We sing not praise, nor shame his name,
But mourn the world he cost.
Let water teach the heat to weep,
And know what it has lost.