‘I am tired’, thought he, as he poured
‘Where has it all gone, the sweet waters
That glinted silver in the morning sun
That glistened in the pale moon light
That I carried from afar and gave
So that men and beasts and plants
And the dry crumbling earth may thrive
So that life may spark in them
So that Thy creations shall not grieve!’
Wiping sweat off his brow
He paused as he heard a voice.
He raised his head, looked up
As he saw a vision.
Clouds parted before him –
Above, in the sky,
The clouds drew a painting.
Men, the Aquarian saw
Had fouled the waters with filth.
Poisons spread, laying waste the fish
Wetlands were filled with soil
Seas turned red in oil
Trees were felled
Rivers were dammed
Ponds were killed
Birds were dead
Beasts, bloated, floated dead
In the sweet and clear water
That now turned an angry black.
Clouds closed up the sky –
Then a wind blew, howling
And it rained black, red blood.
Beside him kneeled the last child of earth
Huddling, hugging the last green plant.
************* Balachandran V,
This is a 'commissioned' poem. I was asked to give a poem for a magazine's special issue on water. The poem may undergo deletion/alterations , though I submitted it since the deadline had arrived. It is kind of 'contrived' - I don't like it much, myself!