Water in a Third World Country

They came like  a long lost relative relative

That come to invite you  to their daughters wedding.

You speak with  them only once in 3 or 4 years,

So it’s awkward when they hand you a card, or call you to give you the dates.

But you keep up the relationship and accept the invitation.

In a drought, when the clouds drizzle and die, I feel like that relative.

 

Awkward, like a foreign entity has encroached my home,

We don’t realize that my blood is also made of water.

We share the same ancestors, maybe the same mother,

Yet we look at each other with blank expressions, exchange polite words,

Wish a better future for their daughter,

Eat, drink the rain, and not see each other for another 3 or 4 years,

Enduring another drought,

Till 3 years later,

This time,  in our own daughters wedding,

We knock on their doors

And they look at us with the same expression we looked at them.

 

                                                                  ~ Anuj Guruacharya

                                                                 Charlottesville, Virginia, USA

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