The dry lands,
All caked up,
Bare patches,
Brittle and barren,
Their unbroken askant gaze,
Unrewarded,
Yellow skies unrelenting,
The clouds come and pass,
The grey tinge,
Deliberately playing
Hide and seek,
Parched throat,
Croaking hoarsely,
Not until
next week.
Prayers rise.
That's a terrible condition, nature may do this to the whole world if we ignore the signs already given..
ReplyDeleteYeah, that's one terrible condition. No one is heading the signs. Thankfully the dreaded drought is overcome in most of the India now. Thanks for visiting.
DeleteSo good! I send up those same prayers.
ReplyDeleteWe all were doing this till a few days back. We have had some relief now. Thank you for visiting.
DeleteSuch great visuals to paint this bleak--but not hopeless--picture.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much Jennifer for your kind words
DeleteI can feel the hot, dry air in this. Makes me think of Oklahoma. Evocative.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much. I am glad the aridness comes across.
DeletePeople should really use the word askant more often. Your piece reminds me of a dream I had where I was lost in the desert.
ReplyDeleteI am sorry you can relate to the dryness. Even i like the word askant - gives a sort of classic feel. Thank you so much.
DeleteSuch tension in this brief poem -- I can feel the narrator's struggle.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much Estheria for reaching the core of narrative
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