TO THE RAINDROPS ON GLASS,
In a subtle brushstroke of the creator, just how the mild
sunshine complements the rainbow, you were tailor-made
for glass. On hot summer evenings, when petrichor fills the
earth to its brim, I never fail to notice the droplets on the
window. They take me to parched lands, where the dark
clouds had finally given some hope to the many rippled
foreheads that waited. You slowly engulf the glass, drop by
drop, until the greenery outside melts in a distant blur.
On those mornings that ache in the burden of routine,
while in the office cab, I see the driver wipe off the
romanticism from the road ahead. It reminds me of the
name I had scribbled on the glass, slowly succumbing to
leaving it foggy in the imprint of my palm. I have seen a few
others draw broken hearts since.