Farmer has killed himself and what are we doing about it?

Perched atop a tree,
the crow has designs,
over a jug of water.

Few rocks here and there,
dropped inside; water rises
to satiate the black thirst.

And the crow went back atop,
looking smug over the bodies
of farmers on the barren lands.

Trust and Distrust

My open palms
push the water,
watching the ripples

move further
and further away,
disappearing

into the horizon,
and then I stand
upon the shore

and wait,
for the ripples
to come back

and give me
a second chance
to hold them.