The Returning Rains

Outside, it feels like rains.
The spring in the steps of upturned clods,
The rise of the forgotten 'mitti di khusboo'
And a sephia that sets in from a million years ago.
Inside, it feels like rains.

Little shoulders walk awestruck,
Curious of the fresh load,
Astonished by how it all still looks the same,
The first day of school arrives every year,
A new lesson with a similar name.

Outside, it feels like rains.
The kind that makes you forget the kind you awaited all year round,
A dampened sky that feels a little too familiar,
Moist oxygen that your lungs have taken in far too many times.
Inside, it feels like rains.

It's like year after year, this day brings me back to the same spot.
The same weird stiffness of the limbs,
The same chill in your thoughts,
The same fear in the half-stoned mind.
I'm going back. I'm going back.
Everything I ever do, adds up to this day,
I'm going back.
Inside, it feels like rains.