Last week while I was out with friends, hitting the roads of Islamabad, cold of ongoing winter seemed to be at its peak. A capture of rain drops falling on back mirror of the car urged me to transform this hangout in some words which go as:
Languorous glances of the Capital
Through all my dreams..
Hidden under the lingering..
Shadows of the upcoming rainbow..
Covering and dominating the sky..
While me from the back seat of the car..
Capturing the scenes on my phone..
Raindrops tipping on back mirror..
And I couldn’t stop my eyes..
Gazing at the sky and the roads..
As the blood ran through my veins.
The harder it falls, the less nice it seemed..
Featuring the pop music playing..
The art of rain sounded provocative..
The rain has an art that I may not get..
Except to feel it sweep along my skin..
In an invisible ocean of exultation..