Cracked

Our village sky is cracked like an old woman.
Its smile crinkles like the old actress no more.
There is no water left in clouds for our thirst.

We have walked miles from villages for water.
Our mud walls are as cracked as our rice fields.
The walls hardly hold rice straw on our heads.

(Ghatkopar(Mumbai) has become home to hundreds of farmers and their families who have flocked from the drought-hit Marathwada region of the Indian state of Maharashtra. They have travelled hundreds of kilometres to this temporary settlement in search of work and water)

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