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.

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