The Barren Landscape

Where steel titans glower, casting endless shade, Rain's memory fades, and a parched land is displayed. Bangalore simmers, a cauldron in the sun, Life withers silent, its thirsty battle done. Borewells, like caverns, echo hollow groans, Whispers of water on parched and thirsty stones. The earth, a canvas fractured, pale and white, Cracks its silent scream beneath a sky of burning light. A woman watches, eyes reflecting the city's pain, Empty vessels mock her, a downpour's sweet refrain. Then, a subtle tremor, a current unseen, A promise of healing, a verdant, hopeful sheen. No whispered incantations, no magical display, Science hums a lullaby, chasing the heat away. Electric fingers stir the stagnant, lifeless air, Condensing vapor, a silent, healing prayer. The wind awakens, a restless, surging tide, Charged particles dance, where storm clouds cannot hide. Fat, heavy teardrops, a promise on the breeze, The city gasps, hope trembling through the thirsty trees. Relief descends, a cleansing, gentle sigh, The sky weeps softly, a balm to the parched cry. A silent weaver, a guardian veiled and wise, In concrete canyons, a seed of hope now lies. But a deeper wisdom dawns, a lesson etched in scars, Steel and stone may rise, but leave behind barren stars. Bhutan's emerald cloak, a testament to the sun, Whispers secrets of balance, a battle to be won. Let concrete soften, yield to parks where branches sway, Let rooftop gardens chase the city's heat away. For in nature's embrace, where life forever clings, The concrete jungle's heart with verdant hope will sing.