Squall Upon Us

You refuse to shower down us anymore.

You choose not to drench us in your freshness.

You toy with us, by clouding our mornings.

Then you clear out, releasing a sweat.

How long will you test our patience?

How long will it take for you to bless us again?

We are parched in your absence,

Eagerly waiting for you squall upon us.

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Embrace the seasons

I haven’t awaited your arrival eagerly this year.

Yet you are here.

I counted no minutes or seconds to your advent.

Yet your presence is a pleasant welcome.

Every year I have been detesting the heat that precedes you.

Every year, I curse it’s existence.

But this year, I, unknowingly embraced it.

I seemed to have made peace with the sweat.

Your emergence has brought no excitement.

But it’s not spreading melancholy either.

Looks like I have grown as a person.

I seem to embrace all the seasons.

Hoping for blossoms

My throat is dry

I cannot see anything.

I wish for a drop of water,

That’s all I seek.

 

My farms have dried up,

So have my wells.

My hen’s can’t walk anymore,

They haven’t left their pens.

 

There is no joy in my village

The chirping birds have faded.

The gushing river is now a rocky terrain

Empty land surviving hopelessly.

 

Every pot in every house lies bare

Not one house has seen a decent meal.

Everyone has been praying for a miracle.

The masses await for rain.

 

A minister came by our village yesterday

In a fancy car, with his fancy ways.

He quenched his thirst with

Baseless promises and bottles of cold water.

 

Year after year we see this pain.

We survive this struggle again and again.

Comfort has never been our friend,

Ease is not in our fate.

 

I hope things will change someday,

Our village will be merry once again.

When the rivers will gush

And the birds will chirp anew.

 

I may not be fortunate enough

To behold that day,

But I desire

That my children don’t have to face the same fate.

The End

A loud crash,

A thump and a screech.

I rushed to my window to check out the scene.
A gory mess.

There was blood everywhere.
A whimper, painful,

Made that day gloomy;

Looming with despairity.
She licked its forehead, consoling it.

Offering some solace.

Helplessly she waited.
As death crept upon the young one.

The agony was an unbearable sight.
The matriarch yearned to see the conclusion; desperately.

There was no aid; no concern whatsoever.

Only hers.

The little one’s cries died down,

And a maternal howl filled the air.
I had been rooted to my sill,

A powerless onlooker of the event.
Support was what I should have offered.

But gape was all I could part with.

Love is a gesture

Love is a gesture
Its not made of bouquets of flowers

Or petals showering.
Its not in boxes of chocolates

Or in gifts.
Its the time you take out for them.

The food you order so they don’t sleep hungry.
The song that brings a smile.

The warmth felt on an icy night.
Its sharing the cup of coffee

And an umbrella in torrential downpour that drenches you completely.
Its holding out the door

And sharing the load.
Its the simple things that make it special.

Make it worth struggling forever.