PARCHED LAND
R.
RABINDRANATH MENON
Parched
land where sun and sand
reflect each other and the
wind
howls for water partly wizened
by the dust and driven to wit’s end.
Reassuring
come the sound
of raindrops pummeling
the gravel outside far away.
Speechless
we remain spell-bound,
jumpy like a compressed spring
and heart hollering like a hound.
Rear
is unguarded, the front
a mere pretence, the sides won’t
stem the rising tide.
The
heat and hunger of the wait
build up the story of our bait.
The
tiled (titled) roof is leaky too
and before long the crafty rain
may find or force its way in
promising to wash off all sin.
Holes
in the roof, the threatening rain,
winds howling in vain
Oh!
nothing happens on the dust-dry
land where none dares to try.