Where Do We Go From Here? Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

Ponds were there in my villages, towns and cities,
The Kings who were kind enough to dig and plant,
The tamarind trees along the walking path,
The bullock carts met with accidents a lot.

The resting stone on the sides, people,
Left their head weights to open and peel,
The fast food of curd rice, lemon rice,
Tamarind rice and the bananas they carried.

The water in the ponds quenched their thirst,
The water in the ponds washed their face and bodies,
The water in the ponds ran to the rice fields,
The water in the ponds always there, except May.

Gone are those ponds and even a few lakes,
That were flattened to be dumpster and then to develop,
The reclaimed lands were sold: blessed are the cronies,
The houses are erected and the children are being borne.

Our memory is too short, lasts for a few months,
When it rains, we live as buffaloes, not thinking of summer,
When it shines we live as crows, not thinking of rain and gain,
In summer we can dig our land to collect the water during rain.

Our memories are too short and fragile,
Any stone can break it into pieces to avail,
Crores call themselves as civilized and intellectuals,
We live as animals that can't differentiate the troubles.