My dry meadows wait patiently
for days together,
As I know that, about
its aridity, my sky bothers.
If she is not still parting
water now for my need,
It’s just because her
pot of cloud has exhausted,
And she is busy
somewhere gathering the nectar,
For my misery and
discomfort, I cannot blame her.
My surface waits
amidst the torment of darkness,
Without a complaint
of negligence for your absence,
Because I trust, my
moon tries sincerely to appear,
On my sky with the
splendor of her glowing sphere,
But an ominous cloud
is blocking her alluring light,
And I cannot raise a
question about her conduct.
My garden waits for
days for the spring to emerge,
In its dry and dying condition,
with its hopeful foliage,
As it trusts the
queen of the seasons and her nature,
To be honest in vows;
timely and explicit in her tour,
The delay in her arrival is due to a prolonged
winter,
And this I cannot
count as her neglectful behavior.
Such is my love for
her and believe in her personality,
Serene and unmoved by
any situation or eventuality.
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