In times like these, rain washes its hands clean.

Troubles stay darkened as the sun only peeps through a narrow cloudy aperture.

The feeble winds air-lift scraps of paper.

Big greens have no shade to offer, only muddy lines of dust.

Rain drops become heavy and seem to weigh you down.

In times like these, you search for a face you know.

People turn and walk away exposing you to the strong harsh rain.

The drops so hard now, hurt, only adding to your misery.

Its a lonely rainy phase we all go through.

It’s a heightened case of misery.

Static electricity turns the scene of positivity.

That bolt of lightning does  no good.

It stands opposite to the universal meaning of light,

it infact negates life and everything that one danced in the rain.

It’s a season you know will pass.

However times to come will be cold.

You need to wait a whole other year,

till you feel the trickling of a sweat bead.

A season you will curse then but crave now.

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