The thunder clapped angrily
Sending streaks of lightening after the fearful,
Causing even the brave to quake in their shoes
As it brought forth its long awaited message.
The swollen sky looked humorless enough.
Its dark brooding self spreading quickly like wild fire –
Hell bent of letting loose
Years of pent-up rage.
It had been their prayers all along,
To see the rain again.
To hear the scorched earth sizzle with pleasure,
As the very first drops hit the soil.
Despite their longing,
They held their breath as they waited in anticipation
Lest the rumbling clouds abscond with the rains again
And slash their hope to shreds.
As they stood still with time, so did the wind.
The air so rife with tension, even leaves did not stir.
No movement was seen, no other sound heard,
Not even as in a mighty roar, their living fantasy was fulfilled.1