Sobek rises where the river remembers itself,
green-brown and breathing,
scaled with the patience of ancient suns.
He is the pulse beneath the reeds,
the weight of life moving slow and certain.

He loves the Nile when it swells without apology,
when mud kisses seed and hunger learns hope.
He loves the work of jaws and muscle—
the honest labor of survival,
blood warmed by purpose, not cruelty.

Sobek loves strength that protects what is fertile.
The warrior who stands knee-deep in water,
shield rusting, resolve unbroken.
The mother who births life from pain,
and does not look away from the cost.

He loves gold flashing on the backs of crocodiles,
sunlight caught in living armor.
He loves fear when it teaches respect,
and courage when it enters the current anyway.

Sobek drinks deeply from chaos
and returns it as order.
He loves balance earned through force,
creation sharpened by teeth,
life defended by the will to endure.

When he rests, the river breathes easier.
When he moves, the world remembers:
that love is not always gentle,
but it is always alive.