When the water runs out

When the water runs out,
Barely a drip from the tap,
I will not be pushed into the deserts.

When the dry taste in my mouth has settled,
Like the last days of Summer,
I will not reminisce the water fountains,

When the chalk chatters on the board,
Some students bored,
Regurgitating the same names,
Only noted to warn us,
That our power to fight back can be erased,
I will not think of historical dates.

When the pen runs free,
Quarreling with its writer,
And audience,
I will sit, a pupil sliding a note to my friend,
With my foot.

When the streetlights glow,
A dim overcast on the parked cars,
I’ll jump over fences,
Asking who robbed my heart,
And wished it so.

When the words aren’t quite right,
And a swift jab to the stomach,
A stomp on the hand,
Could say it all…
I will not say that our whole lives could have been different.

When the water runs out,
My tongue will salivate for freedom.
One by one,
The bored children will know.
And the blackboards,
Will be stark and blank.
That, history drove me to the desert,
Against my wish,
The berating sun shone and I did squint,
That this has happened before,
But somehow we all want more.

When the water runs out…
Folks will do what they must to live.


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