In the land of the Guru,
People sell off their wetlands for money,
If he were to live again, how angry he'd be!
Dawn approaches - a herder drives
His flock to pastures (green?) even as
The two click a shrinking lake.
Have we forgotten lessons
Of yore, to save and conserve, ponds
And lakes for dry times?
But a golden greed does
Drive away, eyes, from shrinking lakes
And rearing concrete structures!
Ugly concrete blocks,
Stand, dark, empty; haunted with souls
Of displaced trees and birds.
And each day he wakes,
And finds less water, to drink! Alas,
He sold the pond for shekels!