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
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