Poezja

Marathwada the land of saints
Scanty rains and it's children faint.
Hunger and thurst made them lame
No use on any one to put it's blame.

Fatigue  resisting some more toil
Dejection captivating their souls.
With lips parched as the soil
In nomads 've turned sons of the soil.

With empty stomach n empty pitchers
Are roaming in vain for miles together
Men, women and their children
To combat onslaught of the drought.

Poor and weak are the suffferers worst
Ecological imbalance to them hits first.
Sympathy for them is need of the hour
Let us flock to give them from  it respite.

-Ratnakar D Mandlik