Monsoon past,
I land home;
A decaying smell of the once pure Petrichor,
greets me by the door;

I step out,
on vacant shores,
and dive into the dry stench,
of once wet virgin lands;

An uneventful car ride home,
this dark October night,
no slush on the streets,
to splash the midnight-alcoholic on the sidewalk;

I missed the rains,
away I was;
And I miss them now;
A misfit wanderer;

Back home;
Awaiting rains of tomorrow.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar