Every morning we rushed to the sink
To brush our teeth and wash our face
And as we turned on the tap
There was no water
To even wet our finger tips
But Ma stood there and smiled as she said,
“Let’s make water from water,
So we don’t fall short,
When the taps run dry.”

She’d rinse off the plates in a tub half full
And then serve that water to parched plants
There, she made water from water!
And after she’d wash the clothes
She’d pour the soapy water in toilet tanks
There again, she made water from water!

And the water flowed
From one tub to another
Not a drop unused
Not a drop abused

In the eve from five to six
The only hour when there was water
She’d gather all pots and pails
And rush down to the city tap
Where she’d fill them up
Some big, some small
And carry them up to the house
A pot on her waist and a pail in a hand

And when the day was over
As she’d sing us a lullaby
I’d feel the cracks on her warm hands
Dry from water;
From carrying water; pail after pail

I’d feel pain
Until one day when I saw a rope
Lying by the door
I tied one end to the pail
And dropped it down the terrace rail

Ma, she filled my tiny pail
As I pulled it up, emptied it in vessels
Sharing her cracks and pain
Before dropping it down
As she’d fill it again
Through long queues of other Mas

The water flowed from one pail to another
As we toiled the hour together
To fill water,
To make some more water.