Waterless rain

Waterless rain
Waterless rain

Five years down the line

Not even to show is there grain

Have these lazy moons died really?

Now kneeling has become the best trade

And with dusty dry baskets people parade.

Water.

Brown dust paints the roadsides

As the occasional rusty head teacher’s junk passes

Jiggers decorate the dirty dry toes of the aged

Bellied children with sunken eyes

With stubborn flies

And rats

And shallow sandy graves replicate.

Thirst.

He bellows from his outstretched pot belly

Collect water, collect the water!

Where?

Fighting for us for five fine years

Fierce fears of the famine clog our hearts

Fighting for our fair share of the rain

Says it is raining now

Blood and vapour from our sweat?

No one can prove the fight

Checking whether the limo is as scarred as our skins

For men with acres of chests and sacks for arms

In dark clothes and hidden eyes

Speaking some tongue foreign to the ear

Protect the machine from our poor eyes

The one I hear is so shiny it reflects

Our wealth of life and rain.

The rain is dry

Lest he mocks the torrents from our eyes

The thunder and lightning

Make our containers even drier

But tomorrow

Heavy cheers and ululations shall kill the deaf

His welcome to speak

Give me again

To bring more rain

New banknotes shall exchange hands

A ticket for five more years.