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.
Reblogged this on THOTPURGE and commented:
This poem was published today on Autumn Sky Poetry.
Many thanks to the editor, Christine Klocek-Lim.
LikeLike
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’.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much Kim.
LikeLiked by 2 people
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
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sounds about right! Thanks Hank!
LikeLiked by 1 person
the rain can
draw your picture from the way your hand
caressed the clouds….. wow this is beautiful. It really spoke to me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Ayala.
LikeLiked by 1 person
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.
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s good advice Rommy, thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
My senses were alive as I read this feeling the monsoon’s relentless rain.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Donna…
LikeLiked by 1 person
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!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much Scott.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Truth is a collage of careless fingerprints. That imagery is going to stay in my mind for the longest time. This is so good I can’t even!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks a ton, Suyash. Glad you liked it!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I really love the image of fingerprints… and it got me thinking it that’s what makes an imperfect cup… love how the rain feeds your muse.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks Bjorn! The rain will go on for a while, hope the muse doesn’t tire of it!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I want to just read & reread this–it is like watching the rain, always another facet to catch.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your imagery is breathtaking. You took me right there and it was wonderful.
LikeLike
Thank you Sherry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
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.
LikeLike
Thanks Magaly!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You have really captured the monsoon season. I can feel the relentless beat of the rain.
LikeLike
Thanks Mary.
LikeLike
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.
LikeLike
Thanks so much Vivian.
LikeLike
A most heart-stirring write, Rajani 💖 Especially love “Truth is a collage of careless fingerprints.” 💖
LikeLike
Thanks Sanaa 🙂
LikeLike
I love the way you weave all the specific details together to create mood, and then universality from the particular.
LikeLike
Thanks Rosemary.
LikeLike
Love your monsoon poems Rajani. And the image of time waiting made me smile. Rimjhim gire sawan…Sunshine is not soon happening it seems? Same here.
LikeLike
Thanks Sumana…no sun at all…it’s cool and grey and rains when it pleases!!! That is one of my favourite sawan numbers! An all time classic!
LikeLike
These words have a strange soothing comfort on a cloudy afternoon in Mexico.
LikeLike
Thanks so much!
LikeLike
Ah, monsoon season for you, Rajani. I especially love “…time standing on one leg / back against the far wall waiting…” Just wonderful, as usual.
LikeLike
Yes the monsoon… as chaotic as ever… well and truly set in now..so everything is grey! Thanks Sarah!
LikeLike
This is the sort of poem you can just see the muse patting herself on the back.
LikeLike
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!! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
After patting herself on the back, she probably felt her job was done here. Keep an eye out then for the fledgling musii, gleefully distracted for the time being by the chhum chhum.
LikeLiked by 1 person
“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
LikeLike
Thanks so much Marja. Glad you liked it.
LikeLike