Raindrops

I sit in cabs, drinking in

The raindrops that slide

On the windowpanes—

Unable to touch, the cold

Blocked by glass.

.

The last time I went home

Winds sang and branches shook

And I quivered and laughed

Water dripping from every pore.

.

My mother shouts at me,

‘Get in! What will the neighbours think?’

Too soon, my body is warm.

.

A week later, away from home

My phone beeps.

It’s a photo of a woman in the rain.

My mother—that wicked woman—

Thoughtless about neigbours now,

Her smile mocking my warmth.

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The First Rains of Monsoon

When the first rains of monsoons

Stir up the sand this year

I will smile, and remember you.

.

Do you smile now

When you see the plantain and jack fruit

You planted, shining under the blue grey sky?

.

You were a man of love.

I almost forgot how rare

Kindness is in this world,

How easily boys can break hearts,

When you smiled.

.

The land is dry now

A month later, the rains will arrive,

And I will be home.

A home without you.

 

Grave

Hi!

I’ve been feeling that persistent itch to write regularly again, but regular inspiration is hard to come by.  Riding on the optimistic wave that decided to remain with me for a while, I’ve decided to seek inspiration from prompts. WordPress has amazing courses to engage you to write, and I’ve enrolled in the Intro to Poetry course. Hopefully, I’ll complete all ten days.

Prompt: Water

Form: Haiku

I’ve used both optional prompts. As usual, I brought about the most depressing interpretation ever. Always been a morbid person. Will you believe it if I’d told you I’m a happy person, outside of what I write? I contain my sadness in my words.

Anyway, here goes:

 

wilted flowers sag

unable to lift raindrops

falling on granite

Silent Raindrops

Crowded corridors, its darkness disturbed

By noisy footsteps and colourful jackets.

Loud chatter, disrupting the sacred silence,

Clashing with the grim, dark sky.

 

Walking amidst the noise, amidst the colour,

I long for a minute of quiet and a hint of grey

But the people around almost mute out

The perfect silence of the day.

 

But suddenly, as if heeding

The quiet cries locked up in me,

The sky broke apart to let it rain,

The pattering of the rain blending perfectly

With the silence of the sky.

 

I watched the raindrop fall gently down

Sliding shyly to kiss the grass,

And I realized that it was alright 

To feel lonely in a crowd,

To cry without tears.

 

I will find you one day,

Amidst the crowd and the colours,

We’ll meet in silence, invisible, 

Like raindrops drenching the earth.

See

See

Those days when I wake up feeling

As if my spirit had fled my body

Leaving behind a hollow corpse,

The days when teeth bite my insides

Every time my lips stretch into a smile

When my eyes become cloudy suddenly

And tears trickle slowly, like a barren monsoon

 

Those days when all I am is reduced to being a hypocrite

When faking comes so easily that I feel that it defines me

Frantic laughter, senseless words, desperate smiles

Cover up my frailty in front of myopic eyes.

 

On such days, I hesitate to meet your gaze

And realize, in the depths of your discerning eyes

My hypocrisy, my cover, my protection fall away

And I’m left trembling in my vulnerability.

 

When I look at you on those days, 

I cannot figure out which emotion engulfs me:

Is it my scorching need that you see me this way?

Or is it cold hatred for you because you see so easily

What others can never see, what I hide so well?

Today it Rained

Today it Rained

For many of us the seasons are changing, bouncing unpredictably between cold and warm. Are you glad to be moving into a new season, or wishing for one more week of the old?

 

I woke up to the sound of pouring rain

And thunder, announcing news I’d been

Anticipating for weeks now: winter’s here.

 

I sip a cup of hot coffee, and look outside

The rain slowly stops. I watch as the last 

Raindrop slide reluctantly off a leaf, and

The whole earth stands fresh, waiting. 

 

Winter’s coming, days of ruthless heat

Are finally over. Soon, pretty flowers will

Shyly peek out, a cloudy fog will set in,

And Delhi will be clothed in the garments

That suits it the best. 

 

I watch the change with a smile

Winter has a way of warming my heart

In a way that the summer sun never can.

Before the Train Comes

Before the Train Comes

Sipping a burning cup of coffee,

I watch as the rain lazily drips

From the roof on to the tracks.

People stay huddled together

In the platform, waiting to leave

But still, dreading to move.

As the next train reaches the platform,

The mad rush to climb in

Tears me away from my thoughts.

 

But the time which stretches proudly

After a train leaves and before another comes

Seems endless, and dauntingly full of possibilities.

As I wait, watching the hurry people are in,

Scampering with luggage and children,

Frustration marring their faces, 

I wonder why they were in such a hurry

That they missed out the thrill of waiting;

When you’re suspended between two worlds:

The one you will leave behind when your train comes.

 

I sit and wait, knowing my train was never going to arrive

And yet, sensing the tracks vibrating in anticipation of the next train,

I look up, desperately hoping it would take me away from this place.