The dry land

Jersey is in a time of drought, but there are other kinds of drought than the merely material. This poem explores drought across the world, both physical, and spiritual.

The dry land

Bare bones, a valley of the dead:
Famine, no breaking of the bread;
The wind came from south, so dry:
Clear skies above, no cloud to spy;
This is a dry land, the land of dust:
The migrant begging for a crust;
The sky is clear, blue, bright, cold:
Rich pickings for the wealth, gold
To plunder, everything has a price:
Geography is a lottery, throw of dice,
And some are lucky, having plenty,
Others starve, their bellies empty;

Dry earth: and there is no dew fall,

And no one hears the stranger's call;
Crops fail, famine across the lands:
Time trickles like wind-blown sands;
Palaces, riches, walls to keep out,
Build of arrogance, with no doubt;
The eleventh hour, almost too late:
The stranger calling at the gate:
Turned away, by folly, avarice, greed,
Hoarding of food in hour of need;
The sun is high: it is nearly midday
The people come, are turned away:
The starving children, farmers toil,
At failing crops, the empty soil,
While gluttons feast, the city strong,
Walls keep out all who do not belong;

Enough is enough! Shalom the way!
Take what is needed for the day,
And leave the gleanings in the field,
That poor might eat, world be healed;
Greed rules, fields ploughed, destroy,
No left over scraps for poor to enjoy;
Sun so bright, bones bleached white,
Dying in a world of plenty, their plight
Ignored, a deaf world, and blind eye:
The economy ruling all: that’s the lie!
Compassion needed more than ever:
Not cut off, like limbs to sever;
Military leaders, medals and sashes:
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes;
This is a last chance, a final endeavour:
Famine stalks the land, a grim spectre,
Reaching out, touching: a connector;
A choice to be made: we are all one:
All creatures beneath the rising sun;
Bleached bones: dig our own grave,
In economic domination: to enslave;
The dry land, drought, cracked soil:
Furrows of the dying, empty toil;
We need to pray for rain to come,
Join the dance, and beat the drum;
All hold hands, clasp palm in peace,
Pray that wars will someday cease;
Share the food, drink deep of wine,
Open the gates, let the light shine,
Down dark alleys, narrow streets
Let all come share, all come to eats
The hour is close, time draws near:
Reach out a hand, not draw back in fear;
The dry land, possess all you will:
Starvation looms, and it will kill;
The angel of death, across the sea:
No hiding place, no place to flee,
Time to mourn, sackcloth and ashes:
Take off the medals, burn the sashes
Lay down the weapons, kneel at pray:
Deliverance from drought: the rainy day;
Call for rain, a small cloud in distance,
Water, the necessity for existence:
And living water flows in streams,
I have a dream - no - many dreams,
Of walking together hand in hand,
Across the desert, bone-white sand;
The dry lands: wilderness, desert:
Warm air, dust blowing, dust, dirt;
The wind is coming from the east,
And welcomes beggars to the feast;
And when the wind turns to the west,
The rains shall come, all shall be blest.