Poetry
The Sudden Fury of a Desert Storm
Shouldn’t we stand in grateful awe of such rare moments?
Big raindrops in frenzied bursts hit
the hot dry desert ground
and a layer of dust charges up
in a hasty welcome embrace
only to be pounded back to the land
by a deluge driven by the stormy wind,
the frightened earth gasps; its lips laid
slightly open in long nursed desire
for the assuaging baptism. You feel
her heave then exhale as the torrents
muffle the moans for some minutes
then cease and they lapse into silence
of exhaustion of pent up passions
drained from overwrought veins
and the engaging parties relieved
of that burning pressure as they retreat —
freed to build up again for a future bout
of reinvigoration blasts and cue to sprouts.
And water flows carving paths into holes
and crevices, with worms, ants, and flies
calling for a census of survivors in guarded
celebratory howls — the leaves of the sparse
throng of shrubs and stunted trees smirk
of the joy, humans miss with loss of awe
for nature’s parades in glory and grandeur
that should evoke gratitude for the life
that’s been freely given, even to the undeserving.
OU022021
