Oh! Where’s it for our crops?
We need the river water drops.
Where’s it for our thirst to clear?
Where are the tears, are they near?
Oh no! It doesn’t fit,
Our little river has become a pit.
Oh! We would lose our corn
Then what would we do just mourn?
Why did she dry?
To make us cry?
She ended hence,
But it doesn’t make sense.
Why did she turn to marsh?
She’s treating us harsh,
She’s playing with our lives,
She’s hurting us sharp as knives.
She made us happy by giving us health.
But by breaking our hearts she suddenly melt
Oh! Feeling is too severe
But is this threatening fair of her?
But what should we do, to accept all these?
No but us, we can’t, come back the drops, please.
How dreadful where’s our hope?
Now we are buried in hell from bottom to top.
© Copyright Aiswarya T Anish, Kerala, India
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.