All for water ?

Three quarters swishing blue,
we crowd the fourth,
stuffing with concrete,
suffocating the green,
till the clouds
and the winds,
conspire to stop
crying
over the fields.




The farmer
weeps wordlessly
in his
lifeless land,
head in his hand,
waiting for the truant rain...

No groundwater,
Dry borewells,
A famine of power
within and without.

And so they
bore
the biggest hole
in a land where nothing grows;
desperate problems
desperate measures
and yet
they bomb the moon,
instead of
digging the earth.

...And
the waves
of the
three quarters swishing blue
tsunamically rise
and give up,
washing out tears
over the
parched land.