The dust bit my cheeks
as the scorching heat pricked
needles into my skin,
a car zoomed past
summoning a coat of warm air
to engulf me from behind
as I walked through the oven
in Delhi, one summer.
An hour passed
and the weather changed
a strong wind appeared
growing stronger every minute.
I saw clouds afar, dark clouds
inching closer as the day dimmed
and then there was,
the showstopper – a dust storm.
Shops gutted down their shutters
as I struggled to find a nook
to shield myself, stuck atop a pavement
covering my eyes, fighting the dust.
Amidst that, I felt some droplets;
and then it rained. I got drenched
but that freshness made me feel lighter
as if my sins were being washed away
but then the dust subsided
and the air cleared
shops opened, streets crowded,
and the show went on,                                   
like nothing happened.

© Barnadhya Rwitam