Petrichor & Deja Vu

The dusty window is washed down by the downpour.

I watch the water droplets running race.

What’s so new about the water drops race.

This is human life, this is what quarantine did.

The one who wins this race first survives the wrath of Earth.

You need a blow to get the droplets down.

Similarly, you need a push to survive this year.

I waited for a blow, but I surrendered and searing the pain at every moment.

Rain touches my country once a year like a guest. But this year I wouldn’t welcome the guest. I can’t let the raindrops watch away my wounds,

When water running down me and I feel like mother earth is taking me into it

And, I might heal. No, this year we can’t go out. I can only watch the droplets race.

Wondering what the future holds.

Chilly wind touched my face, blushing with the smell of petrichor.

Every breeze is different.