In the bustle of a hurricane
I dared not pray for rain
For fear of the screams
Of a thousand blades of grass
Shrieks reaching the heavens
To keep them from drowning
In the desert plains
There is a place
Where only the wind is free
All life awaits rain
The wind hugs each grain of sand
Embracing it,
Churning it into mud, as it travels
From this corner of endless land and heat
To that
Arise monsoon, arise!
Come visit this corner
Water pours from the spoon in the sky
But the dust remains brown
As all else greens in the desert
In envy of tropical lands. |