The Rain

The street lay dead
with a white sheet of dust over its parched face
It longed for the inspiration of Life
the man peering out of his square little
balcony thought much the same
...he bore the street's countenance
and looked at the Heavens for a sign.

Tonight, he heard a faint murmur
A flash of Hope against that blackness,
cut in a straight line by the ledge
...It came, did Life,
in large abundant drops
It washed the sheet off
and let the street breathe again
...and the man on his square little balcony,
rushed in and shut himself out.
By--
Sarit