The Sunset

The drizzle. The petrichor.
The cold breeze. The mild sneeze.
The birds chirping back home.
The hue in the horizon.
The balcony. The panoramic view.
The hot tea. Cooling in no time.
Nature at its tranquil best.
My father's sunset.

The drizzle.
But no sand around for petrichor. Only cement.
Circumambient concrete stiffling the breeze.
Birds' chirps drowned in traffic din.
Horizon, defunct.
The balcony, facing another balcony.
The hot tea. Hot forever.
Nature pulverized.
Man in his mortal quest.
My Son's sunset.