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!