Words Poem by Shruti Das

Did you
Graft that language into those words
that I whispered so softly into the rain?
The rain was disturbing my window panes,
that were tightly shut like my eyes.
The rain,
then went beating against the shingles
on a distant roof
that sounded like my heart
inside its ribbed cage.
And my words were beaten back
and tattooed into us
In a painless moment.

Your words
beautiful
as the sunrise and the sunset.
offered
feelings as old as history.
They flowed over frontiers
and crossed the horizons
to reach me
as incandescent dunes
of sand and snow
blown and shaped by a mirthless breeze
that stole through
the cracks in the willing window panes
to tattoo into me
in painless moments.