Sixty-six years have flown by,
Scorched, barren and ever dry.
The staggering truth hits us hard,
With care we must lay our cards.
Buried in the sands of time,
Endangered by the hate and crime.
Our ideology gathers dust,
And most are unjust.
The trees of hope burn everyday,
For the best; we all pray.
The thirsty ground; the pleading eyes,
All of them search the skies.
For a cloud; a hope; a shade from the sun,
Any sign from the Divine one.
The cracked ground, the parched lips,
The winds which feel like leather whips.
Everyday a dismal start,
It breaks a man and his heart.
Even desert plants cease to grow,
Can’t even reap what you sow.
A famine seems evident now,
When nothing ever seems to wow.
Everytime; we fear the worse,
We seem to be under some kind of curse.
Waiting for the rain, we lose hope,
Nothing left; so cry and mope.
A searching gaze, a look of daze,
Trying to find our way through haze.
An oasis; not visible far or near,
And thirst becomes difficult to bear.