Is happiness a common resource?
A river that flows through every household?
Nourishing the one’s basking by the bank.
Allowing everyone to have their share.
Bringing with it, vegetation.
Freshwater fishes, energy.
If it is a common resource,
and if the glaciers treat every household the same.
Why does it bend? At my end?
My canal lays barren.
A little stretch of land, a canal forged by my own hands.
Right in the middle of my modest mud hut.
Cracks, dust, and seldom humid.
The state of affairs aren’t too gloomy (yet),
Every day, I lay in the middle.
Of my darned, cursed canal.
Wishing to be washed away.
Wishing for the cold, clear water,
to finally pay a visit.
For all the toil,
pain and dismay. Clog the wheels,
of this mechanised will.
A little bit of water to wet the lips.
A little bit to refill the tear ducts, for they too are barren.
A little bit to share, A little bit to protect. To preserve, to cherish.
Come in plenty, be bountiful.
Give me my share of the cake.
Flood this hut, for I deserve it.
Drown me, absolve me of this grueling wait.
Every day, I lay, in the middle.
The domain of dust, the king of stray particles.
Pay me a visit. With some water to bathe myself.
To wet this parched soul.
To clean myself, to look presentable.
For the next day,
in which I lay, waiting, yet again, for the flood that never came.
Mohammed Faaiz Dastagir is a 22-year-old engineer who’s also an aspiring writer.
Featured image credit: Pixabay