City

The breeze comes tangled through my hair,
carrying rain’s onset in the air.
I watch the city slide past the car,
and think of one that’s still so far.

I travel on a whim, without a goal,
chasing different cities and their soul,
each one unfolds behind the glass,
alike as skin, though moments pass.

Houses lean along the traffic’s flow,
posters torn, their colors starting to go,
a playground, an office, a hall of stone,
each city humming its own undertone.

Is it the tongue that shapes the place,
or the evening light on every face?
But then, the rain began to streak the pane,
and petrichor rose, born of the rain.

That once far off city rose in my mind,
the one almost forgotten and left far behind.
Reminding me of something long ago,
a memory that grows, then lets it go.

It was not the city, but a person in my past,
anchored to a memory starting to blur so fast,
as the moment fades out, leaving only phantom pains,
I realize, every city turns the same, once it rains.