the trees withered and no leaves
grass aplenty as a bald man's hair
the ground for water grieves
On a farmland appointed date approaches
and yet no relief in sight
the ox-cart is ready, the tiller too
but chances of rain seem not so bright
In gardens marigolds and roses barely hold on
as roots find no succour
hedges have lost all their sheen
here only pale shades of yellow occur
taps start to run dry
the heat can no longer be borne
all and everything in a daze
look to the sky forlorn
hope now turns into a prayer
across caste language religion class
for once there is no divide
among the teeming Indian mass
But has the sky just turned grey
or is it just the addled imagination
and what is that spattering?
perhaps droplets of salvation
oh yes!
for those are no mere droplets
the sky almost a hue of black
unleashes a torrent like jets
And in the darkness and rumblings above
there is a stirring all over
a sweet fragrance wafts over the ground
while things living freely rove
Oh glorious uncertainties of nature!
how I wish certainty could prevail
but would then life hold any charm
when all is ordained and there's none to assail?
