We were watching over the window,
For the rain was still dripping and oozing
Everything, outside the hut was rain socked
For that was the end of the dry season
Heralding a new beginning
For we had waited in anticipation for eternity
For the precious
Drops
Come, come, come the children sang,
Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain
Only if they knew, these songs were slowly but,
Painfully subdued by the echoes of the rains,
We had no food,
We had slept on empty stomachs,
We were now tired of begging,
To our neighbours,
Our hut was leaking,
Not only from the roof,
But even from sideways,
We thought father should have repaired it,
We had no paraffin to light a lamp,
We had ran out of matchsticks
To light the fire
Yet, we felt cold
But we were in our father’s house
Poverty was written all over
We wished we were born,
To a different father
In our father’s house