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  • Writer's pictureSonal


Updated: Aug 6, 2021

I find it absolutely misleading, And pathetically diabolical On the part of people creating movies Who romanticize the rains to Unsuspecting viewers such as myself, When in reality, there is nothing Even slightly romantic of the sorts, Not at least when it's ten at night, And you are stuck in the rain, With not a bus in sight to take you back home; So you stand under the half-broken Bus shed whose flickering light Creeps you just enough to bring back The haunted scenes of the three hundred Horror movies that you have binge watched, Accompanied by the equally creepy Original soundtrack by the hidden frogs Who might as well have been Disney princes, Waiting for their spoilt princesses To kiss them back to life, And by the crickets who seemed to be Very positively training themselves for opera, And as if that wasn't enough, A filthy brat drives a Benz past you, Showering you with the stinking water That floods the...well, what used To be the main road before Zeus Decided he needed to have some fun; You wonder how long it would take To get back to the comfort of home so you can Stop being the personification of rancidity; The owl hooting on the tree nearby Brings back memories of when Your grandmother would tell you stories About how owls symbolize death, You wonder if the superstition holds true, But you laugh off the thought, And after what feels like an eternity, When a rickety bus screeches to a halt, And you drag your soaked, self-pitying self, Finding a seat in the farthest end of the bus, You take out your phone from the Deep cocoon that your backpack is And switch it on to check what ungodly hour it is, You realize that the owl wasn't wrong after all - Your Friday just died a gruesome, rainy death.

//NaPoWriMo, Day 23

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