Waste Land

april is the blessed month, germinating sleepy seeds out of the lucid dreams ,sprouting green vines from the promised land climbing hibernating creatures under the white blanket glancing melodious channel-billed cuckoos happy roots dancing nostalgia lovers on the naked bridge kissing opening rain on the wasteland ripples in our tormented souls ,we are rejoicing memories of your succulent aura aroma of the new rain ,nascent mud surfacing wants, waves are rising