Sagar Timalsina
It is ‘ nothing’ – you hear the mizzle.
It is ‘not nothing’ – I hear the drizzle.
A white noise – white noise in pitter-patter.
My heart and brain scatter, scatter.
My soma gets droplets a tempo in a beat.
My heart gets rhythm, pulsation in a feet.
The sky juice sends a lass for a while.
Murky ambiance ever makes me melophile.
Oh! Gosh, petrichor runs into the vein.
The white noise of mizzle calls me again.
(Author Timalsina hails from Nijgadh-6, Bara.)
