I am crying in the dessert-
Crying out loud,
There’s nobody who hears me,
There’s no one who replies.

I’m a shaman, dancing a rain-dance-
in the Saharra dessert.
Wishing for it to rain,
Wishing for her ritual be heard. –
By the gods?
By some system thought out by the American Army ?-
Something or someone that can make it truly RAIN.

-My purposes are honest. And reliable.-

Let the flowers come up,
Let the Saharra dessert be covered in
a blanket made out off rare,
fully blooming – dessert flowers.
Listen to my Ideas, Act out on my dreams.
I’m not shouting out off nothing.
I am not a nobody.
I’m a fully trained Shaman,
filled with skills and knowledge.
I, Also have heard about the secrets-
From the very Universe itself.

And here I am, trying to act out off my intuïtion.
My ritual is perfectly performed-
My dance, my cauldron, the purple brotheling potion.
It’s not me.

Those lazy gods up there- don’t even take their time to listen.