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