The tale of a weary summer

Note: This is a poem i wrote long back. Many people did not like it but still i am putting it here. Actually that is the fun of having your own blog. Write any god damn stuff.
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In a land not so far,
There came a traveler,
Driven out from everywhere,
For he brought bad luck,
To wherever he went.
Some said he was an evil spirit,
Some thought he was a demon,
Some merely thought he was a bad dream,
But nobody knew who he was.
His beard, as white as snow,
Was long but without a glow,
His clothes were old and worn,
For he had traveled too long.
He knocked at an inn,
The old innkeeper opened,
His mouth fell open with the sight,
Of an old man so overcome by fright.
He welcomed the old man into his inn.
The old man sat down with a heavy sigh,
Thinking of all the places that were dry.
He went there to bring an end
To the dry spell that was there.
For he was the one who will set the rain
Autumn will follow with the rains
Then will come the winter
Followed by the spring,
When the flowers will bloom,
New leaves will take shape,
Butterflies will fly
Birds will sing
The old man of the forest will dance,
But alas! They never gave him the chance.
For they drove him away,
For he was the one
Who had scorched their lands,
Dried up their wells,
Forgot to set the rains,
Or did he forget??
Or it was the will of God??
For he did what He told him,
Thinking thus he fell from his stool,
On the dusty floor, for he was weary and old.
The inn keeper helped him to a bed.
For the old man was his guest.
A week’s time the old man was fit,
A scorching summer set on the village.
People knew now he was the one,
Who was driven from far away lands,
For he brought bad luck.
But they kept quiet
For he was their guest.
He stayed for weeks,
May be ten may be twelve,
The village soil burned and baked.
Then one day autumn came
Without the sight of rain
The people became restless
For two years in row
They had no rains for their crops to sow.
They started whispering words

For the old man with the white beards.
Then one day the old man disappeared
To reappear with a young man,
As handsome as the Gods of heaven,
He was his son Jora.
With Jora came the rains,
For he was Jora* -the autumn rain,
The rains fell for weeks,
Driving the dry that was for everyone to speak.
On a clear morn,
The old man and Jora long gone,
The inn keeper lay still on his bed,
By the last step of night he was dead.
The winter set in followed by spring,
The old man of the forest danced again,
The flowers showed their full bloom,
The butterflies flapped their colored wings,
The birds sang their little song,
For sorrow of the land was long gone
And here ends the tale of the old man – the weary summer.



*Jora – means autumn rain in Hebrew