(On Water Scarcity & Droughts)
The riverbed is cracked with thirst,
The sun is cruel, the land is cursed.
The sky holds rain in jealous fists,
Yet never lets the droplets twist.
They walk for miles on swollen feet,
Their tongues like dust, their prayers repeat.
Yet still the clouds refuse to bend,
And death walks slow, yet sure, my friend.
The fields once danced with emerald veins,
Now ghosts of gold in dry remains.
The wells collapse, the livestock wane,
And famine hums its old refrain.
The trees stretch thin with brittle hands,
They beg for drink, they curse the sands.
Yet heaven deafens to their plea,
While earth unravels silently.
The leaders speak in silver tongues,
But promises dry up in lungs.
They build their towers, hoard the tide,
While parched souls fade and thirst confides.
A single drop could turn the fate,
Yet man must choose before too late.
For nature bends, but will not break,
And mercy waits in every lake.
The wells are dry, but faith still flows,
Though silent seeds may never grow.
The rain may come, the flood may rise,
But thirst still lingers in their eyes.
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