The Autobiography

I had emerged into the open from a high crevice
on the foggy slopes of a remote mountain-range.
My mother is a great subterranean river.
Subsequently, I had ambled across diverse paradises,
as content as a toad in a rich pond.
I had been happily content in the knowledge that
my mother was mighty and strong.
 
Then, the memorable day had dawned.
Dark clouds had dominated the sky.  
The drizzle had intensified into
a very heavy shower.
Many newly-formed aggressive streams had begun
flowing into me and soon I had become a
mighty river.
My new and violent waters had compelled me to
become aggressive and I had enjoyed
knocking down the lives of the creatures.
I had spread death and destruction all around and
had felt that I had become omnipotent.
 
Then one day I had sensed a tiny tremor along my bottom.
Subsequently there had been a
loss of strength in my flow and I had felt that
my level had begun dropping, too.
Many small cracks developed in my bottom had been continually
draining off my waters.
Could there have been another river
flowing below me?
My God! My dear average mother had not been
so average after all.
It had seemed that she had decided
to take matters into her flow.
She had been quite determined to
transform me into the tiny tot that I had been.
Had she felt that that was the only way
I could be made harmless?
And that was achieved.
 
Now I can detect contempt for me everywhere.
The mighty river is dead;
the tiny stream is compelled to linger on.
 
I crawl on as silently as I can.