Poetry

Magic

Magic

Far away, deep down the horizon,
lightning strikes and the land
that has been craving for a drop of rain,
in the hope that it’d vanish all the pain,
awaits magic.

The wait kills. The wait grills.
Each moment, the longing gets crushing
to the extent that the land’s heart
rips apart a crack with each lightning.
But the hope remains
and gets firmer with each crack.
The void caused by the crack
gives space to the hope
for it to rope in some breath.

The deferral chokes the hope
by its throat making it faint.
A tear rolls down the cheeks of hope
down to the land’s core.

Out of nowhere, a leaf peeks
from within a crack
and holds its head high
standing tall
defying the pain
that the delay mercilessly caused
and laughing on the face of
the evil lightning
playing with the heart of the hope.

What else would magic be,
but a tear which rolled down
at the longing for life
fueling the life?


Photo Credit: PublicDomainPictures

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