By Brind Mittal
It’s raining, once again
It is that time of the year
The skies darken, and pour
The dripping glistening beads of water
The allure of the mist-
And yet the sight of muddy puddles
Plaguing the city, each and every street
Filled with brown water and infested with flies
Still the damp smell in the air, relaxes the nose
As a way of mother nature showing an obvious-
Yet overlooked reality of life
The perfection of imperfection
The yin and yang of everything
That is or is to be
All through an overlooked muddy puddle on the side of the road
By Brind Mittal
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