Little drizzles to huge downpours.. everything is a poetic substance...designed to move hearts.
Blore skies always amaze me. Not very rarely does it start to drizzle.. and I am lost. I feel like a poetess devoid of poetry. The child in me wakes up and lulls everything else to sleep. Excitement runs thro my veins..I look at the skies and my heart soars. The grown up in me resists and looks for isolation where the child inside can be set free. My fav song plays on the back of my mind... 'Rain drops and dance..., a strange kind of romance...'
Glass attracts me and I get pulled to the windows, from my mundane desk, and I am already enchanted by what lies beyond..I yearn to breathe the damp air and smell the mud.
Where there should have been a poetess, now stands a loser wondering how she can bring forth the non-existent poetry.. in an effort to capture the ecstasy of the moment in words that last.
Like a student who longs for the evening bell, I wait for that opportune moment when I can safely leave office,.. get on my bike and drench myself in the magic! I don't remember anything else thereafter.
