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
Rain…. The sky crying.
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Oh sweet tears of joy
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The best kind!
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