Poisoned Oasis

So polluted, this oasis
in this vast desert, and so parched—
poisoned with the unseen traces
of what slakes us during our march;
traces of poison created
for convenience of our thirst
thinking ourselves wise, and sated,
to drink from bottles that are cursed,
using death-essence that has staled
from creatures of other ages
to fuel the comforts which hailed
progress in its doubtful stages
till our death march comes to an end
and we sink deep into the wastes
to conclude, soon, this thirsty trend
to fuel other species’ tastes.