This Drop Come Home

This drop on the sill,
a distant cloud come home
on wings of heaviness,
or grief as I know.

One more sulking
tide at the shoulder of the bay,
limbless in the evening
like a loam of yesterday.

Panting fronds scribble
an invisible rune in the gust,
come back once more if you could,
those moments torn away.

It’s less than a hundred meters
from the rumbling within,
the rail tracks where the trains pass
like a whispered sin.

Nights glisten on leaves
of trees transfixed like snails,
knowing their way through the darkness
of one more soul impaled.


  1. Uma, this was like a tolling distant bell; melancholic and beautiful. Each stanza was a chime of a different aspect. It was utterly evocative.

  2. I’m not a poet, so I don’t have the proper words to respond to your beautiful poem. But I loved how it expressed your emotions so eloquently, and how each stanza went a little bit deeper into the feelings of sadness and isolation. I may not be able to say it right, but I can promise you that I felt this one very much!

  3. If you squeezed these lines, they would gush tears.
    I have held in much of my grief of late, and trying to read this aloud, all the tears came.
    I find your writing unbearably honest. Some hold back because it is too painful. But you leave in all the pain, like a chef with habaneros, dropping them in, one after another

    1. That is a stunning, unforgettable compliment! The metaphor of the cook with habaneros left me with a deep smile. And yet again, I have found that lingering exquisiteness of a poem lies as much in the sensibility of the reader as that of the poet.

      I wish I had words to thank you enough.

  4. Dear Uma, I haven’t been around for a long time. I am not my former self yet, I am trying hard to conceal this fact when I write my blogs, but I fail when it comes to writing a comment. This poem touched me deeply. The grief concealed. The longing. Whatever strength is left in me, I am sharing it with you. Be good, my friend.

    1. Even when I don’t see your words here, I know you are out there somewhere mustering enough energy to overcome the trails of Comeragh mountains, always thinking what you can bring home to us. Nature in its infinite wisdom may have decided to withhold fresh sparks of energy from us, but it cannot dampen our desire to keep going. Thank you, for being my friend.

Won't you say something, old friend?

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

You are commenting using your 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

%d bloggers like this: