when a peasant comes to drink
he drinks with care
fighting the erg of the dare
to gulp it down as if it wasn't rare

like the scar that fights the erg to sting
he knows he cant stop his wanting

the drop of water that dropped from the pesents mouth
burned throw him like the traveler in the desert who goes south

eyes that filled up with stupidity
it saw how thirst can be witty

a tong that dried up by the sight
fingers digging at the floor hopping for some light

the smug of water compelled him all night
he stayed guarding it for he had no right

thoughts that flooded him with sigh
thoughts that caused a grown man to cry

thoughts that moved in him
what if that drop was in him

would he have lived for one more day
because today he is a dead man who has nothing to say