Dust coats the tongue, a bitter taste, Each breath a fight, a hurried waste. The sun beats down, a fiery gaze, Through endless, scorching, hazy days. A hollow ache where hunger dwells, A whispered prayer the silence quells. The well runs dry, the earth cracks deep, While weary eyes refuse to sleep. Each step is heavy, slow, and grim, Hope's fragile flame, about to dim. Yet something stirs, a stubborn spark, A will to push beyond the dark. For even in the barren land, A root still seeks to make a stand. And though the odds may fiercely sway, We fight to see another day.