Reds and oranges, purples and blues

All melt into dull greens, mustards and yellows

Bleak and dispirited, the skies as well

Resound with anguish and despair

So profound

That their sorrow

Trickles down as tears

Upon the ground

Fine pearls around mother’s neck

That seem to peck upon the earth

And flow into parched rivulets

That kiss the seeds and seedlings alike

Anew with a fresh breath of life

The skies grow happier; their tears wiped

The sun returns; as does the silver line

And a smile once again graces upon the morrow

Yet portending another tomorrow

 – Akanksha Gupta