Parched and Whored.

Does the parched land feel slighted

When a grey, obscene cloud

Heavy and big with a promise of rain

Ventures about

Does the rain taste like acid

As it pours down her throat

Where for thousands of years, only wind and worms rose

Does she feel whored

When the rains soaks her wet

When for thousands of years, not a drop her lips met

But for the whim of the cloud

For the need of her womb

Which was meant for life, and not for doom

Has she been whored?

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