Heat is a blazing inferno of fury
A fool's gold hung up in the sky
to mock creation with scintillating laughter.
A flash of dentures snapping
into a silvery shine
Striking the subdued earth like myriads
of sharp-bladed spears from attacking impis
Down below on unyielding velds and lands,
folks stoop low as if from the burdensome
heat are forced to bend,
Scratching and scraping the stubborn soil
Only to reap weeds from the sweat of their toil.
An old woman ambles up slowly with a strain
looks up at the brilliant bare sky, her eyes in pain
And summons the benevolent gods of the cloudless
skies,
When is it ever going to rain?