But how can a storm be elegant, the contortion of
the visible expanse, incoherent elements clamouring
for release, morning pretending to be a newly birthed
night, night lit up like a funereal morning, didn’t we also
do it awkwardly, dumping darkness into the space
between us, letting the light grind into the ugliness, we
could sit naked on the parapet to see if the rain understands
when the earth says no or trace the immorality of the tempest
to a karmic reduction, a consequence even after it is removed
from its cause, but you stand there, smiling, the universe
reduced to a point on your finger, telling me why the
frenzied sky tries to shred itself so it can become
water, after the penitent water has patiently gathered
itself, day after day, to become the sky.
Rajani Radhakrishnan is from Bangalore, India. Finding time and renewed enthusiasm for poetry after a long career in Financial Applications, she blogs at thotpurge.wordpress.com. Her poems have recently appeared in The Lake, Quiet Letter, Under the Basho and The Cherita.
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