Waking up on a sultry foggy smoggy morning, I looked around urgently, expecting it to be different from my nightmare, But smoke from the burning fires, ash from the bursting volcanoes, and the dirt from the dried land cracking in the drought showed the same desolation writ large on the horizon there seemed to be a cloud hanging like a pal but with no rain in sight, as the weather report had said bluntly. My eyes were a bit sore with the dry heat and the dirt all around But my sadness didn’t melt into tears, which could’ve washed up the grit rubbing against the insides, a residue of the devastation everywhere, as it needs emotion to cry too! It was and it remained, all grey, all dry, all day, till I went back to sleep, finding some solace in the idea that Maybe, it was just a dream! Till I woke up again the next morning..... (Written during the 2020 Australia's Bush fire Crisis)