Musings of a Delhi Boy

It stood out,

It stood alone,

A blur of white & black,

Merged in parched grass.

Hungry & thirsty,

Searching for leaves & moisture,

Green and tender,

Which were not there.

In previous years,

The desert bird,

I called Hope,

Presaged rains.

But now, Hope is there,

But there is no rain,

Only hot, savage winds,

In the drylands of Rajasthan,

Scalding everything that comes in their way,

Including Hope,

Which perished that day……