Petrichor!

Everything around lay dead, a standstill,
as I rest upon my chair, that creaks in dead beat.
While my chin rests on the window sill,
the orchard writhes at the scorching heat.

Stretching my arms, to shut the window
as the sight reeked of a dreary famine.
But the clouds assembled, shaping a grin
and as they met, there was a sudden glow.
I beheld the land losing its chagrin
and far beyond the valley,a stream began to flow.

“Rain! Rain! Rain!” , I heard a kid shout,
and he made sense, without doubt.
I rushed outside, to the front yard.
And to my delight, it was raining hard.

It didn’t rain forever though,
and the clouds moved apart.
Appealing, the sight of the meadow,
and dead air began to depart.

A narcotic fragrance, the petrichor
seemingly sprouted from the wet soil.
And above it, lay a clear sky
devoid of obscure figures and haze!

Ah! The Petrichor rooted in me
some fresh, deep ecstasy
filling each cell and nerve
filling me with a celestial verve:

“Oh Nature, your wondrous metaphor
now strikes to me, in all its vigour!
When people are gone,
those that once rained in your meadow,
their fragrant essence is born,
trailing your memories, like a shadow.
The rain left, but the petrichor prevailed
people left and their memories trailed!”

As the metaphor dawned on me
soon after the shower,
I gazed at the sky,
it was clearer than ever!

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