Many have spoken of you, cloaked in satire.
You are renowned in the literary world.
I long to see your colour—
to watch the crocodile shed its tears.
How long do they flow, and where do they fall?
Perhaps into the mouth itself.
Why should a crocodile weep at all?
Who has seen it cry—and how often?
Does it wail? What sparks the tears?
Might a bask cry together, all at once,
in gathering?
In water, tears may pass unseen.
They mingle with the sea,
perhaps poisoning aquatic life,
or enriching it—
nutrient tears, fattening fish to maturity.
Or the crocodile weeps upon the shore,
lamenting polluted waters,
the suffocating, unbreathable flow.
Crocodile tears may be a sweet harvest,
reaped after a dry spell without food.
Then tears of joy overwhelm it—
sincere at last.
Or the hippopotamus lies sick,
too frail to see another day,
and the crocodile spies a meal next door.
Tears for a feast, foreseen.
-Shem Onderi