So near I have come

So near I have come

Yet so far I now am

Fruitless seeds

Dead before they were planted

Though alive when them, they received.

Our many efforts

Like treated water flowing into the drains

Like water falling on the back of a duck

Remain my story

To either bear or tell

Clear indications I can see

Clear speechless acts

I can understand and expect

But difficult to let go

What is not working, your dream.

I lighted this darkness

Even with the faintest light

I sounded its bells in the market

Yet no one bought them

My dead seeds remain in the soil

On the heated tarmac and desert

Where no water is

But the winds

Away their nutrients blow

To distill the only oases, our survival

Rendering us infertile, our land

Oh that this vine will grow

Its wine to smear our chest

Our appetite to cure and men to make

Oh that we’ll not be

Like this land this desolation, our story.