No Tears are Shed
Every day ragged
white lightening
slices through dark clouds
followed by fierce rumbling
sudden crashes –
bellowing thunder.
Is the sky on fire
with Earth’s rage?
No tears are shed.
The three drops
of moisture
reflect a deadly pattern –
of withholding
– a pitiful token
of Nature’s grief.
She is snared by indifference,
unable to weep.
No tears are shed.
The relentless west wind
rips branches from trunks
cottonwood arms crash
to the ground
torn leaves follow
in utter confusion.
Parched desert scrub crackles
under my feet.
Sage green turns dull gray
Plants and bushes withered
almost beyond recognition…
Are the Cloud People dead?
No tears are shed.
Once again betrayed
by the willful force of
– human stupidity –
the trees bow low
in sorrow and resignation.
Knowing .
Having no choice
their thirst will
drive them
to certain extinction.
The relentless
ever present torturous sun
is turning blue – green to ash.
And still no tears are shed.
Over The Edge and Beyond: Journal of a Naturalist 
If I were Indra, the God of Rain, I would send you some rain after negotiating with Mother Nature and asking the Sun to be kind on the region…
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Oh this land thanks you Sunith.
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