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,
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.