Petrichor

Here she comes
tiptoeing on the dry land
leaving the warm comfort
of dark clouds
engulfing all other odors
filling the air
with its sweet muddy scent.
The clouds roar
in pain of separation.
Striking lightning
and thunder on nature.
The soaked earth
bears their wrath
without a flinch.
Welcoming,
tiny big droplets
in its bosom.
She looks up
at her sad lover,
with a wry smile,
on her moon face.
As if,
concealing some
last secret,
to him.
The earth consoles her,
with a warm hug,
and wise words,
Sometimes to reach
the zenith
you need to pass
through the hell.

PS: The city has been showered with its first rain of the season, subsiding the scorching heat of the summer. And I couldn’t resist my temptation to roll down my words on the piece of parchment.

18 thoughts on “Petrichor

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