The waters are traveling across fields
Under the telephone wires with birds.
The latter go up and down with train.
The waters talk to the high end of rim.
Their talk spills to brown paddy fields
And reaches the distant dry mountain.
At the wayside station they shall stop
Because they are thirsty by the throat
Of a talk beyond spilling wagon rims.
(A train carrying water for the drought-hit Latur has left Miraj on a 345 Kms journey across parched lands)