Parched.

Cracked.
Thirsty.
Years of torture had left her with a parched body.
Uprooted, cleared, burnt, destructed.
Her life had been a story of giving everything and receiving pain and hurt in return.
Since ever.

Every day, the scorching sun burnt into her skin, energy slowly ebbing away, every ounce of what she had within, not just for herself. But what she had for her children too.
It had been a pact. An understanding achieved over time.
With the Sun, the Wind, the Water. An existence of harmony that took them all forward.
But as time passed, things changed.
From what had previously been warmth, the Sun’s heat became harsh.
From what had previously been a caress to her soul, the Wind lifted and blew dry, harsh dust into her eyes.
From what had previously been the blood to her veins, the Water refused to come to her.

Things had changed a little too much.

Mothers never blame their children.
Neither did she.
Her children. To whom she’d given everything.
But blessings blinded them. Gifts spoiled them.
What had been their Mother’s generosity,
they mistook for right.

So here she was.
Parched. Tired.

But goodness is found even in the most unlikeliest of places.
Their Mother’s wrath shook some sense into the children. For once, they opened their eyes and looked at their Mother, without a need at hand or a want in mind.
What their Mother had become. What they had done to her.
Slowly, what had been uprooted, was replanted. With love. Tears soothed where she had been scalded.

And the time came.

As she looked up as inky black clouds gathered together.
The Sun smiled down and slowly went away. The wind caressed her tired soul.
And then, it happened.
The drop fell on her cracked skin. And again, and again, and again.
The Water, what had been life to her veins, cascaded down on her.
Pure. Fresh. Unadulterated.
And after years, Rain came.

As she saw her children cry with happiness and dance with glee,
Mother Earth closed her eyes, breathed deeply, shed a tear and smiled.

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