Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2011

Wasted Water

by Szymon Z. Jagiello

Often, during summertime mornings,
I watch my neighbors cleaning their cars.
I see their hands stroking the body
And the windows of their automobiles.
Often, I also gaze water flowing from
Their pipes. I glimpse how they don’t
Pay attention to this liquid
Continuously streaming next to their feet.
And then, I have always the same reflection:
How can we throw away so easily this precious
 Element without scruple and remorse?
How can we waste this rare treasure?
While, somewhere around the world,
A mother accompanied by her daughter
Walks along on sterile soil where
Stones have replaced a fertile ground.
For some drops that enable her to
Insure the basic need of her family, she crosses
A harassing road where the desert seems
To have dried out hope, life, and children’s smiles.

Added: 30.04.2011

Judges' comments on this poem


The italics were a distraction.