Searching for Leadership

We are cracked earth, parched lips,  

waiting for more than empty promises.  

We are the hollow ache of longing,  

the dry wind carrying whispers of hope.  

Somewhere, a stream dreams of reaching  

its people, carving rivers where none existed,  

turning dust into dawn, despair to bloom.  

A leader isn’t the roar of thunder,  

but the soft persistence of rain.  

They are the shadow cast by a towering  

rock, steady and unyielding, resting  

bones weary from running.  

We need someone who kneels before  

the altar of humanity, who bends to  

carry the weight others cannot.  

A leader whose strength is quiet  

but never brittle, whose hands work  

not for applause, but for the kind  

of change that heals, that stays,  

that feeds the roots beneath the soil.