Drought

.

The dry earth coughs up dust storms

While cattle scratch at the brownness,

Their tongues having forgotten

The sweetness of green grass.

 

But the sky is closed up like

a heart that has borne much pain,

And the clouds hold back the rain

As though in just retribution.

 

Would it be that the mewling of

slaughtered beasts and the gasps

of dying fish rose up from the earth

in pangs of collective wailing?

 

 

It could be that the heavens have

a thousand ears and a million eyes?

Maybe Nature communes with itself

In a language we have stopped hearing.

 

~~~

Australia has been experiencing drought for 6 years in a row. Cattle are dying and farmers are committing suicide.

 

An Old Woman

by Arun Kolatkar

An old woman grabs
hold of your sleeve
and tags along.

She wants a fifty paise coin.
She says she will take you
to the horseshoe shrine.

You’ve seen it already.
She hobbles along anyway
and tightens her grip on your shirt.

She won’t let you go.
You know how old women are.
They stick to you like a burr.

You turn around and face her
with an air of finality.
You want to end the farce.

When you hear her say,
‘What else can an old woman do
on hills as wretched as these?’

You look right at the sky.
Clear through the bullet holes
she has for her eyes.

And as you look on
the cracks that begin around her eyes
spread beyond her skin.

And the hills crack.
And the temples crack.
And the sky falls

with a plateglass clatter
around the shatter proof crone
who stands alone.

And you are reduced
to so much small change
in her hand.

~~~

3 o’clock

 

3 o’clock
empty cafe
just me staring at a guy
staring into space

his thoughts crackle
into the summer air
nervous
hopeless
jobless
debts mounting
coffee going cold
no cash for a bun

while pastries shine
behind the glass
beckoning

I think of Jean Valjean
and his stolen loaf

and hope floats in
on a stray sunbeam

maybe just maybe
this man will meet
his Bishop

(written for the Bentlily prompt – go to a cafe and write about a person there)