Barren Poem by Mahathi Mydavolu

I know, I am tilling a barren land.
But this was once a desert, where serpents
wiggled for rats below the dancing sand
and cactuses survived by life's penchant.

I never saw a nimbus cloud in sky
or sweet oasis anywhere around.
I toiled and cried till tears wetted the dry
barrens and sweat rilled down on thirsty ground.

There rain, more rain on lush alluvium
and rivers smooching through the silvan nudes.
But here the same sandstorms' rowdy humdrum,
with haunting eerie silent interludes.

They need caring monsoons; both souls and soils
to imbibe moist hope to sprout the seeds
of love. But wealthy Gods are counterfoils
of filthy rich...why care my arid fields?