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Virginia Aug 2018
How to explain the pain
Of feeling nothing
To a world made of broken hearts and bones?

How to justify
a shivering body
To a world that is hell and is burning?

How can one call for help
For one's drowning
To a world brought to its knees by draught?

I can only bow my head at their suffering
And dare to say that
Though my heart and bones are intact
I am broken as a whole

I can only bow my head at their suffering
And meekly mutter with a moist mouth
That though their tongues are dry and skin is cracking
Cold too is a thirst for warmth

I can only bow my head at their suffering
And whisper that as I drown
Surrounded by clear icy water
My lungs burn like the tallest fire.
though strictly Fermi, and oh...(en Rico) plus sun
dre other parvenues, a rapture
     surges thru me,
     when audibly communicating, enunciating,
     and speaking English words

as if hi ken run
a marathon, or zip to the moon,
     (take as cheesy tong in cheek)
     from this pun
gent, who relishes reading for my eyes and ears
     asper myself, which purported nun

sense ink reese sees learn'n
     den earn an award,
especially wash'n black board
den breathing intelligent dust
     from eraser head could awk cord,

I utter Hieronymus Bosch, bing enamored,
and aye actually confess
     tubby a model United Nations chimp
pan zee, and/or other
     type of survey monkey hook can huff ford

Old Rotten Gotham horde
sliding down into the behavioral sink...
     exclaiming "oh me jack lord"
and getting rescued then getting less on,

     sans get'n taut how (muss elf George Eliot)
     tubby comb moored
     flossed, milled, and taut
     tubby trained for Operation Ready Date

     by a coop pull oof oot standing chap,
     named Adam West, who poured
salty epithets (reminding me, as they roared
that life iz brutal, short and nasty),

     part tickly ne'r the end
     wharf hew scored
and majority got de toured
until emotionally, physically,
     and spiritually enlightened
     By Rabindranath Tagore and Burt Ward.
For 21 days I saw changes wrought
by the freedom of 22 years  
Secrets of razor wire straight and taut
Speak of those who continue to fear

I saw nature’s beauty in land and face
As black heel continues to rise
Via school, ambition they prep for the race
Even as secretly despised

What’s changed in Soweto? I did not live
But photos and newsreels survive
Pictures of shanties bulldozed to give
Whites room to extend their hives

Now malls; monuments to white retail
Built on Mandiba’s words
Polished chrome and marble hail
“Happy” workers in a black-faced world

Monuments ringed with vendors tribal
Carved goods for sale and cheap
The rands they make do not rival
What multi-nationals’ continue to reap

Happiness is shallow until sundown
When the curtain of decorum lifts
Showing reality’s new shanty-town
Where space and plumbing are gifts

I wonder if He would be okay
Seeing his people so used
As pawns for labor with little say
As black is seldom excused
The young know the time is now
As old hatred’s in shallow graves
To be unearthed by book and plow
Keeping dreams from stunting and fade
It may not seem as such, but I had a terrific if not educational time in South Africa. The Kruger animal photo opts, the Swaziland kindergarten where half of the five and six-year-olds are orphaned due to the aides epidemic. The glassmaking co-op where exquisite glass figurines are all hand blown from recycled glass. I witnessed the resilience of a proud people even as I was saddened at the extreme draught nature has visited upon man and beast alike.
Baby cries for food

draught ruined the rice crop

dry land and no monsoon
Monsoon Gets Annoyed (Haiku Poem)
Sourodeep Apr 2016
The sun spits angry flares
when even stones turn to ashes
I stay inside and do not dare.

Mother earth soaks up every drop
dries up the river and tree's bark
will the next rain help growing crops

Of things I did not worry before
have evolved now, taken ugly shapes
and now I face problems turned sore

Its for water we run around these days
store for adversity, prepare for the worst
this summer will change us in so many ways.
This year the heat is terrific, highest in this city since many years. Drought has been declared, there is very less water. It is just beginning of summer and I am afraid what will happen in the month of may.
The scavenger waits
End of a life
So as to feast
On a dead child’s meat
If at all the silly bird knew
It was just a sheet of skin
Wrapped on a cage of bones
For the meat was already devoured
In his struggle to survive.
                 © Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 14 Nov. 2015. All Rights Reserved.
Please Note that the poem is copyrighted by law.
You have been cruel to your fellow race,
you smeared blood all over your land,
and here you are now,
your soils hunger and thirst for green pastures,
and there are no where to be found.

Oh poor South Africa,
could you be another Eygpt
with God's plegues reigning all over you?
You showed no harmony,
you desired no peace,
you cared less about unity,

you left your own race to die,
with those large stones,
those weapons,
the sticks and the whips.
That fire that burnt the people  alive,

their tears fell to the ground
and they have dried up your land,
it is no shortage of water that you face,
but with unquestionable daughts,
you are facing terrible draughts.

Now that your fellow citizens fight against one another,
the blood is being shed amongst themselves,
and those stones now crush their own skulls,
it is nolonger faces without races that cry,
but your own race nolonger knows how to share.

this is all because you do not have
enough water to secure them anymore.
Their needs can not be reached
not even by the noble group that monitors from their royal seats.

Oh poor South Africa cry for mecry!
For your soils are running solid,
they shall nolonger be able to bear food.

The Lord covers your land with dark clouds,
yet there is never a seed of rain that falls and touch your platue.
Oh poor South Africa cry for mercy!
for your people are dying.
And yet you sit still in silence.
The shortage of water in South Africa is nothing but a burden, a young girls has died, while trying to defend there homestead river stream.

— The End —