I am capybara, resting by the stream,
Watching you unravel the world's dream.
You build your towers of steel and stone,
While forgetting you're not alone.
You dig the earth, you burn the trees,
You choke the sky with your dis-ease.
You pave the soil, you dam the flow,
But forget what all beings owe.
You call it progress, call it growth,
But all you cultivate is woe.
A virus walking, dressed in suits,
Uprooting nature's deepest roots.
You poison waters where I swim,
Your selfishness grows ever grim.
You hunt for sport, you kill for gain,
And wonder why the world feels pain.
You take and take, and never give,
Making the living world unlive.
I am capybara, simple, slow—
Yet I see what you refuse to know:
True strength is sharing weight,
Not conquering, but learning to wait.
The river flows without command,
Yet shapes the stone with gentle hand.
As Lao Tzu taught long ago:
"The softest thing overcomes the hardest."
You could learn from my quiet way—
To live with others, night and day.
On Capybaraism and Coexistence:
This lament echoes the Capybaraism manifesto's call for being-with rather than dominating. The capybara embodies Taoist principles of wu wei (effortless action) and natural harmony—floating with the current rather than fighting it.
In a world obsessed with control and extraction, the capybara's way offers an alternative: coexistence without ownership, presence without possession, and strength through softness.