Once a life, evergreen with happiness,
Was sadly cursed to become arid,
To an extent that a sprout of tiny joyful moment failed to cease,
And then the existence was a barren terrain,
With gusty dust devils of despair.
Irony is, even if there is a happy drizzle of rare desirous rain,
It falls on this dry blistering heart,
Just to touch it and evaporate to nothingness!