The Barren Land

The Storm came. Uprooted all. Left me barren. The Sun came. Scorched me.

And I waited. The seeds in me too waited. Someday a droplet will verify. Am I still alive?

Or dead like the graves around me. A downpour couldn’t blow life in them. Am I the same now?

The wind came. It was from the desert. No moisture in it. Blew away most of my seeds. Instead of reincarnating me.

I saw a pool. I went near. It was a mirage. Lost vitality. Got no nector.

Then I got the glimpse. They were the clouds. Blowing eastwards. They passed me. No Downpour. My thirst unquenched. The seeds hopeless. Accepted that they won’t germinate. Proving me barren. I am a grave like the next. Not a droplet to save me.

But Then. One Day. A Dove came. It had lost its friend. The best gift it had. Friend without whom it was barren like me. It shared it story with me. I became its friend. With head on my shoulder it cried. Tears flew down its beak. It flooded me. The seeds in me soaked. The hope lit up. They germinated. I was not dead. It was still there. The life had not gone. It came back. It didn’t seem real. I was green again. But is it a dream? Am I alive?