The wasteland is yet to turn green

The wasteland is yet to turn green

I wait
Not for the untamed tempest to hold back
Not for the imperial sun to shine
Not for the barren desolate region to smile

Desperate was the valley to shed its foliage
Mocking at me
At my state of anguished loneliness
Laughing at my precarious existence

Why is the flourishing blossom dried?
Why are the lively leaves blistered?
Why is the grass golden and
Why the populous mountain desolate.

How could the nature look so unusual?
I contemplated on my wretched state
My thoughts are now an alien
Hovering like a scavenger on my feelings

Turning me into a living dead
How can I depart?
For I have lost my heart
To a soul so heartless

They say every cloud has a silver lining
But my clouded heart sees no silver
For the painted strokes are all colorless
The wasteland is yet to turn green