A Drenched June Morn!

An arid June morn was trotting on camel's back

The sky was overwhelming with the shards of parched clouds,

I waddled along the path with splinters of Monday blues for company.

Half a dozen elderly women, 

Strangely all looking trite and haggard.

I thought after all growing old is not all about being wise.

I tried to pace up, "since you are at it, at least kill some odd calories." I mumbled.

And then I passed by a man, 

A man in his seventies.

Peppered hair with a lot of salt...

A hunch, a slow but steady walk.

He smelled of rain.

He smelled of rain and he smelled of hope.

As I walked past, I thought it to be rude to look back at him.

So I almost ran and covered a lot of distance before I looked back.

He had a glorious nose and a drooping mouth at both ends.

"Must have been quite good looking in his days" I mumbled again.

And just then he looked up,

For a moment his eyes met mine...

Crowed at the ends, with a twinkle,

They almost squinched as he gave a faint smile.

I latently smiled back 

And then paced up, 

To avoid any judgements.

But I know his animated eyes had stories, 

He carries rain in his years.

"Years are all but a whiff of petrichor,

You can always remain drenched." 

I happily thought.

And then I heard mynahs and cuckoos calling out.