A stretch of land, barren and parched,
Beholding a spectre of dark
Seeks soothage from the sweet scent
Which promises of rain does hark.
Years of use has made it bereft
Of all juice, life and will.
Whispering wishes of a wet whet
The barren land awaits its first till.
A breeze blows, gentle and cool
Carrying with it promises of rain
Recourse of relief ran through the land
On prospect of freedom from the dry pain.
Ah! An answer to the prayers,
The droughty mind of mine is drenched.
The drops of Divine blessings descend,
The cloud of Almighty showered, the earth of my soul is quenched.
-Shivam
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