Suddenly
The spout had run dry.
‘Do not shed tears
They would not wet
The ground I stand on, '
Said the acacia tree
Sharpening its thorns
Branches rubbing another;
A rare rush of wind
Had brushed its sides
It can wait for the rains
To fall on the arid soil.
A drop and then two
Have fallen from above
The rains are here;
The grass and plants
Will sprout new leaves
Nature will smile with us;
There will be music and
Love in the air again,
Forgotten will be
The harsh weather
The bitter stares
And angry looks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem