Petrichor

The petrichor reaches my nostrils,

Begs me to walk down the dusty old memory lane,

Perched on the swing on my balcony,

Watching the raindrops lash against my railing,

I reminisce.

Of simpler times,

Of days when we met and it rained

Of days we snuggled inside my dohar,

Singing with lyrics flowing all over and rhyme flying out of the window.

I still croon sometimes to “our” songs,

To relive the moments when we were "us".

But not today.

Of times you made me your special tea,

With a pinch of magic, as you would say, and less milk, that I would complain

Of the first sip, when I decided that’s my permanent,

You were so proud of yourself, like a knight who just won a duel.

I still make my tea like that

On days I want to feel your warmth.

But not today.

Of the day I told you what, I thought, we both felt,

Of your dejected look and my smile slowly waning away,

You told me you weren’t there; that you just care.

Crestfallen I told you “that’s okay”; hugged you and made peace

With the fact that I both, have you and don’t.

That day it rained harder, outside and inside,

And the petrichor filled in the gaps after.

Like today.

The allure of nostalgia hitting hard

A wave of emotions fighting for the throne

The tea slowly getting cold on the side

And I, the bewildered little rat,

Smiling, hurting, laughing, sighing,

Dance to the tunes of the pied piper,

The petrichor playing the part right.