A river lay lost for many a day,
Sleeping on pebbles, stones, and clay.
No dreams of fruits, no seeds to sow?
For she had forgotten what to grow.
Then the sun blazed down with might,
Scorching the earth with burning light.
Streams dried up, each drop in pain,
And trees stood parched, yearning for rain.
The sea’s warm waters began to steam,
As if cursed by a fiery dream.
The vapor rose to touch the skies,
To form dark clouds, where hope lies.
The cloud wept tears at Earth’s despair,
Pouring rain with tender care.
Drops danced down on wounded ground,
As thunder roared with a mighty sound.
The river woke from her long, deep sleep,
Surprised by rains that ran so deep.
But whom should she thank for her revival?
The sun scorched but caused rain’s arrival?
Nature, at times, seems to play a trick,
Hurting the kind then healing them quick.
Yet, forever, it remains unclear,
what decides the fate, who is the fate-healer.