66


PITILESS DARTS of fire strike a thirst pang in the heart of the sky.

Nights are sleepless, days long and languorous, scorched with heat.

I hear the tired doves crooning with plaintive notes

from behind the withered boughs,

and I watch the sky for the triumphant storm

to flood with its caress the waiting earth.

Come thirst-quenching water!

Well out in liquid rapture, rending the bosom of the hard!

From the mysterious dark leap out in overflowing streams,

Come, you who are pure!

The sun waits to welcome you, for you are his playmate.

His lyric of light wakens golden songs in your heart.

Come, you who are radiant!

What magic spell has the desert demon cast on you,

and made you captive with his fetter of rocks?

Break your prison walls; come running out with your current,

free and dancing.

Come, you who are strong!

 

 

  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •