But Skin Is Different

There are indentations in the blue
porcelain like impressions on soft
wax where it was held softly, when

the tea was warm, for a while, and it
would not stop raining. We leave marks
on things that least expect it, on a passing

wing, on yellow afternoons, on the serrated
silhouette of leaves against a midnight
moon, on time standing on one leg, back

against the far wall, waiting. Truth is a
collage of careless fingerprints, the rain can
draw your picture from the way your hand

caressed the clouds, but skin is different,
naked skin can be cleansed, memory carries
the deliberate guilt of sieved pain. This tea is

cold, a level certainty in an imperfect cup, it
is only mid-June, the sun flattens like an
unleavened candle, and it will not stop raining.

42 thoughts on “But Skin Is Different

  1. The use of enjambment in this poem is so effective, Rajani, and takes my thoughts wandering with yours. I love the image you paint of the blue porcelain, the tea and rain. It is nostalgic and wistful. I especailly love the lines, which are so true:
    ‘… We leave marks
    on things that least expect it, on a passing

    wing, on yellow afternoons…’;

    ‘…Truth is a
    collage of careless fingerprints, the rain can
    draw your picture from the way your hand

    caressed the clouds…’

    and
    ‘naked skin can be cleansed, memory carries
    the deliberate guilt of sieved pain’.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. kaykuala

    the rain can,draw your picture
    from the way your hand
    caressed the clouds,

    Divine help can come from unusual sources but it has to be asked for in the first place!

    Hank

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I love how you took the fine details of monsoon season to create this image rich piece of a love gone cold. Some tea is salvageable when cold, but others, well, just it down the drain and start with a fresh cup.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. A brilliant write, Rajani – Really stunning – there is so much reflective depth in this piece and so beautifully written too, with a whole series of telling images… Terrific!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. The persistence and the power of the rain moves like a quiet electric jolt through the stanzas. It doesn’t completely shake the flesh and bones, but it’s always there… always.

    Like

  6. Leaving our mark on everything we touch .. however lightly, can’t be denied. I love how the rain can trace our movements by our stoking shadows. The contrast to cleansed skin and sieved pain is a great twist.

    Like

  7. A most heart-stirring write, Rajani 💖 Especially love “Truth is a collage of careless fingerprints.” 💖

    Like

    1. The muse has abandoned ship.. if you see said muse wandering your city streets, please do the needful!!! 🙂 But then there’s the baarish… which is part substitute muse, and part permanent devil!! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  8. “There are indentations in the blue
    porcelain like impressions on soft
    wax where it was held softly”
    Beautiful I can almost feel the indentations.
    So true how we leave marks everywhere and how fingerprints are
    left as truth.
    The sun flattens like an unleavened candle. One of many great images

    Like

Share your thoughts:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.