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Why is it that all our fondest memories and the best of games were wet?
That generous puddle after the rain accommodating dirty little feet.
That water tank always overflowing, ready to douse any trace of the summer heat.
The stones that skimmed the water and bounced away to never land.
That industrious sprinkler, infusing the night sky with dew while eyes were shut and resting.
These memories are now fading as fast as our lakes and seas.
Very soon there will be no innocent games no dreams.
Every time I relax under the hot pin pricks of the shower, I look at my feet and imagine the thousands that have burst into sores and rendered useless in search of water.
Each time the tap is running, I have to shut my ears to the phantom screams of people hurting each other for a bucket of water.
Every time I see a lazy leaking pipe around me, I imagine a set of parched lips somewhere , that have drawn their last breath in their vain search for that one small drop of life.
Mothers, fathers, the silver heads and babies, through my callousness I have murdered them all.
What do they say about pain being a distant relative till it comes knocking on your door?
Sit up, listen, change, act before it’s too late.
When the earth is parched,there will be no paradise to run to, no where to hide.
Just the carcass of your loved ones, just like the thirsty thousands you casually drive by.

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