Drizzle on the Desert

Drizzle on the Desert

A shy drizzle falls on ancient sand,
Soft as a whisper, light as breath,
The desert pauses, grain by grain,
As if remembering water’s name.

Clouds unravel their silver threads,
Stitching sky to thirsty ground,
Each drop a promise barely kept,
Each sound a muted miracle.

The dunes do not rejoice aloud,
They listen, patient and still,
For they have learned restraint from time,
And hope from waiting endlessly.

Rain does not conquer this land,
It negotiates, gently, humbly,
Kissing the dust, then pulling back,
Afraid to overstay its grace.

Footprints blur before they fade,
Stories soften in the sand,
Even memory loosens its grip,
Under the drizzle’s fragile hand.

A cactus lifts its guarded spine,
Uncertain how to greet this guest,
Is this mercy passing through,
Or just a dream that wets the ground?

The air smells new, almost green,
A scent the desert barely knows,
As if life rehearses quietly,
Behind the curtain of dry years.

The sun watches, half-amused,
Peeking through a torn gray veil,
Jealous of this brief tenderness,
Yet certain of its final reign.

Somewhere deep, a seed awakens,
Not daring yet to break the crust,
But counting drops like sacred beads,
Learning faith from falling rain.

The drizzle writes no grand epics,
No floods, no rivers, no escape,
Only a poem on open sand,
Erased the moment it is read.

Camels blink in slow surprise,
Nomads tilt their faces up,
As if heaven briefly forgot,
That this is land of thirst and fire.

Then silence returns, almost unchanged,
The clouds retreat without applause,
Leaving behind a softer desert,
And questions damp within the dust.

Yet long after the sky is clear,
The sand remembers how it felt,
To be touched without being taken,
By a drizzle in the desert.