A Thirsty State

June was like facing summer all over again,
A leaking water tank giving the illusion of rain.

The farmer's gnarled fingers shade his eyes,  
As he anxiously scans the skies,
His wan face to conceal anxiety, tries,  
How long can he believe the weather bureau's lies?

The only moisture of which there is absolutely no dearth,
Are the farmer's tears, as they drip onto the parched earth.    

His seedlings lie shrivelled,
His wife is no longer bejewelled.
He is buried under a mountain of debt,
But there is no sign of rain...yet.

Rich and poor equally moan the lack of rain,
But only the farmer is driven insane.

The chopping of trees does not cease.
How can the weather Gods then be appeased?
Prayers are being chanted across my State,
But the farmer has already resigned himself to his fate.

Dark clouds hover, but they aren't of rain,
We seem to be facing a drought all over again!

Thirsty cities speak of water harvesting,
But most of the time they are only jesting.
As the first minute drops fall,
All resolutions are chucked across the wall.

There is talk of reducing global warming,
There are discussions of how we are the environment harming.

More trees are hacked to file these paper reports,
And people pledge their undying support.
But at the least hint of rain,
Every proposal is shelved again.

Mother Earth waits in vain,
Asking 'When will humankind be sane again?'