What thereafter?

For even if ‘twas afterall,
An eternal sufferer of intellectual and moral draught,
A desert so desolate;
‘Tis here that our blinds of comfort fall,
Yet ‘tis here that our thoughts resonate.

But the clouds are roaring;
Into our consciousness,
Their warnings of rain are boring.
The sane have wished for the same
In their weariness:
Of the mind that with itself
Continues warring.

So sweetly does it moisturise these sands,
The dust of doubt rises, 
And the shrubs of hope dance.
The mind is soothed,
It rests, and leaves what happens thereafter,
To destiny, to chance:
For they too seem to have the mind’s own stance.

The showers howl with their impact,
The soil erodes as the storm's wrath expands.
The rains are here,
And there goes the quiet
Of the desolate desert.
The mind longed for it,
For so long did it wait.
Henceforth, the desert vanishes;
What thereafter?