So much, So loud

Maybe if someone presses their face against
a glassy sky and screams, so much, so loud,

the glass will shatter and all that is hidden
behind the absolute blue will rush out, deluge

after deluge, sweeping me with it, no longer
sky, no longer glass, no longer night or day,

just a unified mass, a weeping singularity that
cannot stand the pain, so much, so loud. We

were not supposed to be like this. How does
one heart hold a sky full of grief? Where will it

go when it breaks, that sky full of grief? I watch
another cloud mass move in. It has been raining

for eleven days straight. The monsoon is a lover
who will not be denied. How many hearts, how

many skies, how much of crying makes a deluge?
How many rainy days makes a sky full of grief?

14 thoughts on “So much, So loud

  1. “How does one heart hold a sky full of grief?” That is a question I ponder often. You are right – we were not supposed to be like this. I saw there has been flooding in India – are the floods near you, Rajani? Stay safe.


    1. Thank you, Sherry. The flooding is way up in the North East of the country, I am in the south. Climate change has meant more of extreme weather and a lot of places are obviously not geared up for this. Collective global action is the only real hope for people in climate-vulnerable regions…


  2. This line jumps out for me:
    “How does
    one heart hold a sky full of grief?”
    It is a daily miracle it does, I think. I feel such sorrow in your words, Rajani.


  3. India is not located well for our rapidly heating climate — first all that heat, now all that rain. If the land becomes more and more perilous for human habitation, what then for the heart? Its poetry? How much impregate sky can we withstand? What is the language for that? What monsoon poetry?


      1. We can barely keep up with how fast the climate is changing, an it is a terror as it is our mother air and water. More terrifying to witness how little humankind is acting in the face of this — how much hunkering down and making do as the bubbles in the pot increase. Where the poetry in that?


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