OLD MEN IN A DESERT
A bunch of old men in a desert
Spoke of setting it all straight
“The situation is of utmost urgency”
“Yes, indeed” they nodded over tea
And biscuits, in their big room
No real doom or gloom
Just old men in fancy suits
Eating at the fruits
Of mother nature’s pain
‘Climate finance’ on the agenda
The poor states begging themselves insane:
“Our country will be underwater
Please we need some scraps
To move to higher ground”
“The drought cracks
The earth with an eerie sound
Please we need the resources
Before we all starve”
A response was out of thin air quickly carved:
Well you see times are hard and scarce,
“And what can be done?”
It’s not like they had a solution
Staring them in the face
Glaring at them; a hidden ace
“My wife Bethany
Invests in an oil company
We are struggling too,
You know.”
“And I am skeptical
Climate change exists at all.”
“I, on the other hand, don’t really care,
I won’t be reelected anyway.”
Days of negotiations and deliberation,
Endless rounds of contestation
And finally it came:
“We have made a historic breakthrough”
With not a single ounce of shame
“We have solemnly agreed to
(Perhaps, maybe, conceivably,
Possibly, presumably,
When-pigs-can-fly and
My granny rises from her grave)
Review this revolutionary moment
And (perhaps, maybe, conceivably,
Possibly, presumably-but-not-really)
Act on all our pledges”
And so it was
To the sound of cheering and applause
The old men shook each other’s hands
And left the boundless sand.
Optimistic but empty words,
And no solutions.
But that was not the end
These words did not finish the trend:
Droughts and floods worsened
Skies were painted red
Islands faced a watery grave,
Animals perished in droves,
People became refugees,
Then became ill with disease.
As the old men sat in their towers
Of paper, ink and ivory
Not a single one did suffer:
Sat there, smoking blissfully.
By Emmanuel Kemball
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