Petrichor

The leaves rustle

clapping in joy

like the school children

in blue, hopping back home.

The air is cool,carelessly pinching

my skin not covered by

a claustrophobic cardigan

life moves on

as I see buses and cars

disappearing with the wink of an eye.

Two sparrows bathe in

puddled potholes 

brushing their water wet wings

The clouds shaping

to sob

call the

the February rain home

six years later,

As a silent spectator

I have seen life pass by

and the rains.