Waiting For The Rain Poem by neha sharma

Dry, cracked land,
Awaiting the arrival of its final redemption.
His brow wet with sweat,
He wipes every now and then,
The shimmering transparent drops,
That flow down his cheeks.
The pleasant looks at the sky so high,
The little iota of hope he has,
May be answered.
The birds chirp endlessly,
Seek the reason of this dryness,
Baby sparrow complain to the mother,
Against the utter desolation they are left into.
I go here, I go there,
A little dropp of water I may share,
Can I find it somewhere?
The labourers wear out their ankles,
The children drag their feet coming out of the school,
The turbaned rickshaw pullers,
Draw their rickshaws on and on,
The crowds thronged at the charged water carts,
In the scorching sun.
Prayers have failed,
Prayers have exhausted,
I wait,
I wait desperately for the rain,
To get drenched
In the first rain of this season,
To play with my brother,
To splash water at his face,
To stop the outlet of the water,
To collect water on our roof,
To ride my bicycle,
To jump into potholes,
To watch the topless children,
Running through the street,
To make paper boats,
To get a relief from watering the plants,
To watch the bush green trees,
As if newly born,
To look at the sky,
To let the raindrops wipe the sweat,
To have an excuse for not going to school,
To have an excuse for the wet uniform,
To have no burning sun,
To have a warm sunshine at times,
Coming by piercing through the black clouds,
To feel the cool breeze playing with my hair.
To……….
To……….
To……….
To satisfy my thirst,
To feel the dropp of water,
In this parched sun,
Please answer my prayers,
Please fulfill my wishes.
Here I sit at the window,
I wait for the rain,
I wait for my friends,
How long has it been,
Since we played together?