Thirst

The sun scorches white from a cloudless sky
beats on the backs of dogs,
they don’t even move.
Orange clay cracks and cries
But the earth-tears are dry.

The waters of our world are on the rise
seas will drown cities
We’ll all wash away.
Only the flowers will survive,
but already, the daisy dies.

High mansion dwellers, immune from the drought,
gaze down over valleys and hills and
bask in the African sun.
They open their taps, whenever they wish
But now – only dust comes out.

Narrow cows forage, with bulbous eye
on grassless meadows,
with nothing to eat.
Farmers work to keep them alive,
But – the cattle die.

Planted for wheat, it will never mature
It must be cut early for hay.
At least they can make hay.
At least we can feed the cattle then
But how will the people endure?

Cumulous clouds weigh down the  day
the air is heavy and close
The light is almost gone.
People pray for the rain to fall,
but the clouds drift away.

Gray bath water,  scooped from short showers,
splashed over gardens
flushed down the loos.
We must rescue the dwindling dams,
But it’s not within our powers.

World headlines tell of the terrible plight
of the dust bowls of Cape Town,
its down to the wire.
Visions of water-queues all round our mountain
But we never will give up the fight.

neal       2018