If It Rains

It was perhaps a Thursday sky,

Cloudy and dark, a kite flying high.

Her wings tired, circling round;

Not a drop did touch the ground.

My little daughter waiting for the bus,

I ponder if I could discuss.

Of how another girl of her age,

Fouled by monsters she could not gauge.

What stench can vile the human mind?

But stories unfold of its kind.

Farmers die while leaders jibe,

The rich and powerful offer bribe.

Looking up I wish the clouds could fill,

And drench the world with its thrill,

In joy and hope like Kalam's fire,

Will it rain the kite's desire?

Hate and crime together marry,

Impatience and falsehood speak in glory.

Uneven road the journey ahead,

Would my little one be prepared?

Lost in thoughts about my country today,

I hear not what my daughter has to say.

She whispers low ,a voice in strain,

"Look Daddy! its beginning to rain!!"