The sky is overcast,
Grayish dark clouds
Ebriatedly stoop over,
Perhaps, rain will come,
And the birds anticipatedly fly,
Like the children turned all urchins;
Roaming across the streets,
Shouting with every thunder above.
The breeze comes cool,
To cool down the eagerness,
It whispers, wait, wait ye fellows,
Listen to that thunder,
God is certainly preparing water,
Listen to His bowl.
The trees wait with their wisdom;
Oh, the patience of decades, years!
While, the chirpy leaves, branches;
Childhood with its swinging moods,
Seems it as if an infant
Kicks grandpa’s lap gone serene.
Only God knows when it will come,
When the dreams will reality become?
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