A nature poem about waiting, rain, and the quiet joy of a thirsty land finally drinking.
Uploaded MP3 — monsoon-recitation.mp3
The sky holds its breath above the dust,
and every leaf becomes a prayer.
We count the hours by the cracked clay cup,
then cheer the first brave drops in the air.
The desert does not ask for much—
only justice from a passing cloud.
When water finds us, we remember touch,
and every voice returns, allowed.
Written after an evening storm broke a long dry spell over the Aravalli foothills.
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