The Farmer's Hope

So, as here we stand On a fire-baked land, We look towards the horizon In hope of a cloud A cloud of hope The bringer of life As the parched earth Glints like a knife In the rapid stab Of poverty’s grab Looking upon the horizon, Looking up with hope As the brown thirsty grasses And grey bushes In search of moisture Deeply rooted would grope And the dust-devils stand Like pillars in this land Like chimneys red and hot On lands that have not Not a drop of water Not a glimmer of hope As the heat mirage shimmers And the baked clay glimmers There is always hope