The earth so thirsty,
Like the burning in your throat.
Dead leaves no longer crunch,
But slide from underfoot.
Dust has turned to powder
Radiating from the scorched earth.
Trees standing motionless,
Branches extended in plea.
A whirl-wind whorls in the distance,
Devouring all in it's path,
With not a question asked.
Devastation.
Roofs uplifted and fallen,
Cries of anguish at the sky.
Why?
Despair turning to anger.
A crack,
A rattle,
A rumble.
And the heavens answer in a loud mumble.
Hope?
Anticipation?
Possibility, or
Relief?
And then ...
Plop, plop - a raindrop
The sound so profound,
That all prospect is drowned.
The storm comes to a head,
Deafening anger pours from heaven.
This is what you want?
Take it - a demand, not a request.
Will you ever be satisfied?
The dehydrated ground,
Drinking it's fill. Till it no longer can.
Each drop, a promise of life,
Where earth has narrowly avoided strife.
The darkness lifts,
The sky now a lighter hue,
Where the sun peeks through
Shining yet another never-ending promise.
Steam rising,
Yes - hope uplifting.
The lingering sweet smell of rain
Dampening your skin.
Satisfied?
The rains in Africa
