Longing Poem by Aimanu B. Ali

Sitting under this old tree
I am not daydreaming of love
but waiting for rain.
This late winter,
the light breeze
and the gust of wind
that comes suddenly
tossing my hair as it passes
or playing with my clothes,
the leafless trees
and the bright blue sky,
scent of burnt leaves
floating in the air,
I am their lover
drawn to their crude beauty.
They seem a reflection
of the restlessness
and the longing
inhabiting my soul
lying in wait
to imbue with moisture
restive no more.
The earth is in wait too
Eagerly
for the torrent
the sweet smell of rain
falling like ethereal boon
on the dry dust laden soil
I am thirsty as the earth
languishing for the nectar of life.
Rain please come again
I do not mind the mud.