PETRICHOR

Miserably 'flu'ed with the awful prospect of hospital food for breakfast, lunch and dinner for how many days God knows, I decided to console myself writing about 'Comfort Foods'.

But thanks to my own sheer carelessness with a little help from poor network service, I've lost  a work of nearly five hundred words, all typed laboriously through the morning with one poor little overworked index finger.

Arrrrrrrrgh!!!!

Too exhausted to even think of retyping the whole damned 'Foods that Comfort' all over again, I was looking for some form of entertainment to while away the day. The two options easily available were one, sizing up the pretty nurses and two, keeping an inventory of who came to ask my haal chaal. And who didn't.

I got bored of both soon and so decided to write something short, like a poem.

So here it is.

Do comment, if only to make a poor old bimaar sneezy, sniffely baccha feel better....

;-)

PETRICHOR

Raindrops slip,
And slither down
Over the scratched window pane;
Petrichor:
Earth-smell, after the rain.

I breathe in:
Woodsmoke and wet-
And memories churn up again.
Petrichor:
Earth-smell, after the rain.

It comes slow,
A faint musk waft.
Then, so quickly does it wane.......
Petrichor:
Earth-smell, after the rain.

The birds, the bees..
The grass and the leaves..
Are they just the ones that gain?
Petrichor:
Earth-smell, after the rain.

You're Renewal.
And only for you, all nigh
Waiting for the rain, I've lain.
Petrichor:
Earth-smell, after the rain!