With thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain.
Pretending to run for cover I secretly pray for more rain.
Over the echo of the water, I hear a voice saying my name.
No one in the city moves under the quick sightless rain.
The pages of my notebook soak, then curl.
I’ve written: “Yogis opened their mouths for hours to drink the rain.”
The sky is a bowl of dark water, rinsing your face.
The window trembles, liquid glass could shatter into rain.
I am a dark bowl, waiting to be filled.
If I open my mouth now, I could drown in the rain.
I hurry home as though someone is there waiting for me.
The night collapses into your skin. I am the rain.
from “All One’s Blue: New and Selected Poems”, Harper Collins, 2015
Published with permission from “All One’s Blue: New and Selected Poems”, HarperCollins India.
This selection is curated by Yamini Krishnan.