A Taste of Perpetual Sorrow

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.
Plentiful, Bountiful.
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.
Lays barren.

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