Plight Of The North Eastern States

I dream my way to the North Eastern States,
To pay a visit to the parching sun,
And the ribby earth they inhabit.
Scorching rocks kisses my feet,
As the sun rays lay blows on my head.
It feels like my brain is under siege of melt.

The parched ground cries in cracks,
As the desired tears drop in the waterbed,
Leaving the animates in undying thirst,
While they wander in the shadows of ultimate hunger.

All plants evaporated,
Except the stubborn cacti and the obstinate thorns,
That smiles to the capitulated flocks and herds,
But with no meal to bestow.

Cows stagger and fall,
As they kiss goodbye to the roasting sun.
Carcasses lay beside the ungoverned possessors,
Who shouts voicelessly for aid,
But the polity's ears are immersed in despotic comfort,
Unable to hear the plight of the States.

Growth is transposed,
'Cause the big grows too small,
And the small gets diminished.
Their skins hidden beneath bones,
Eyes buried deep in the sockets,
Stomachs disdainfully protruded,
And the skully hair carrying the falling hair.
Their souls are whisked off by unsatiety.

Attestation to the states invokes solicitude,
And trigger tears of pity from my eyes,
As my voice wanes like theirs,
And my hands tied behind my back.
It's why I put trust in my pen,
For its outcry may stretch to the unheeding polity.

©chris