India

India

Storyboard Text

  • The skin cracks like a pod.
  • There never is enough water.
  • Imagine the drip of it, the small splash, echoin a tin mug,
  • the voice of a kindly god.
  • Sometimes, the sudden rushof fortune.
  • The municipal pipe bursts, silver crashes to the groundand the flow has founda roar of tongues.From the huts,
  • a congregation: every man woman child for streets aroundbutts in, with pots,brass, copper, aluminium,plastic buckets,frantic hands,and naked childrenscreaming in the liquid sun,
  • their highlights polished to perfection, flashing light,as the blessing singsover their small bones.
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