Somebody called it Ananta-poor

 
Gazing upon acres of red hot earth
A multitude of curvilinear lines
under trudging ox, aging feet and prostate breath
The clear blue sky a reminder of beleaguered times.

Can you feel this?
through a moving square of reality...

Where was I?
Amidst anemic women with deadpan eyes,
with a borewell, no matter how deep, without warning would dry,
where the sun blazes as the last sliver of hope dies.

Can you feel this?
through a moving square of reality...

Soon it will become a ghost of a village
listless kids hangover a neglected fence
the old -brooding and hoary, with every passing minute age
as they wait and the clouds pass with no penitence

Can you feel this ?
through a moving square of reality...