segunda-feira, 8 de dezembro de 2014

The water pump

They had nothing
Paddocks and rice paddies
a small orchard
No technology

Tell me where we are going said the unsure animal
How are we going to get water to run this thing
Give me light and sustenance, give me electricity
That water pump clinks and clunks not a drop of mud pops out

Just the strain of the pull
The heat of the valley reddening and moistening well intentioned brows
We sit down in the shade, dehydrated and exhausted empty cramped hands
Far thirst and near hunger swapping places as we sit in the shade

Senses shouting at us, guilty of all things
No dogma, no guru, beautiful souls, beautiful abandoned dogs

The suction of the water pump was strong yet something was blocking the water's ascension
Did we offend the world? Did the best parts of us take leave,
with only a puddle of our selfishness to remain
Oh that puddle is drying in this heat may that little puddle drain into the earth
be filtered through the soil and rock until those men in the shade have access to enough water
to keep their faith alive one more day

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