My throat is dry
I cannot see anything.
I wish for a drop of water,
That’s all I seek.
My farms have dried up,
So have my wells.
My hen’s can’t walk anymore,
They haven’t left their pens.
There is no joy in my village
The chirping birds have faded.
The gushing river is now a rocky terrain
Empty land surviving hopelessly.
Every pot in every house lies bare
Not one house has seen a decent meal.
Everyone has been praying for a miracle.
The masses await for rain.
A minister came by our village yesterday
In a fancy car, with his fancy ways.
He quenched his thirst with
Baseless promises and bottles of cold water.
Year after year we see this pain.
We survive this struggle again and again.
Comfort has never been our friend,
Ease is not in our fate.
I hope things will change someday,
Our village will be merry once again.
When the rivers will gush
And the birds will chirp anew.
I may not be fortunate enough
To behold that day,
But I desire
That my children don’t have to face the same fate.