What I said was rain
a sudden downpour,
quenching an arid sky,
He heard thunder,
the threat of storms,
flashing cracks in his night,
I meant light,
gentle as a firefly,
flickering softly on a silent branch,
He saw flames,
roaring through dry woods,
devouring what was left,
My words, river stones,
smooth, cool to the touch—
his, jagged glass,
shattering at the edge,
Between us, a chasm,
wide as a drought season,
thirsting for understanding,
with bridges burned in silence,
I spoke in flowers,
their roots deep, unseen
he plucked petals,
believing they were enough,
I sent him a seed,
He felt the weight of the earth,
When I gave him a leaf,
He saw a dying forest,
I drew him a map
and stood at the start
He wandered off the margins,
I built us a raft
He feared the hidden currents,
I opened the door,
He saw only the threshold,
We stretched
fingers grazing the void,
but the space swallowed our reach,
endless as a moonless sea,
Now we sit,
each on our own shore,
holding pebbles,
thinking them treasures.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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