I hate this oppressive, scorching heat
Stifling lungs and searing feet.
I hate this dead, lifeless air;
No wind to cool or tossle hair.
The desert is a harsh and cruel place
Leeching all moisture from hands and face.
Even its plants offer no shelter or shade;
No flowers to bloom and gently fade.
A cloudless and clear azure sky,
Even the birds too parched to fly.
Summer monsoons tease a promise of rain;
Yet bring no relief from scorching pain.
How I long for the approach of winter's cooling balm;
When the air begins to move and is no longer calm.
This storm soul finds no joy in whirlvish or dust devil,
I need howling winds and pouring rain in which to revel.