It Is Here that I Am

Doors open

With a creak so gentle,

It makes my heart sing

At the possibility of a draught

I’ve been waiting for.

The heavy, laden breeze

Sings its own tune.

Filled with aromas of a meal

I’d rather not have,

It sits on my porch, waiting

For my hunger.

And then, it rains.

Each huge drop weighs down

Those floating bits of food

I wouldn’t eat.

It is fresh again.



Legs crossed and waving at unknown fears,

I sit, and wait.

Wait for the birds to build that nest above.

It could take another day.

It might take a few more,

But I wait.



The hair’s all combed.

The nails all cleaned.

My toe-rings glimmer at the sight of a late sun.

About time!

The breeze is fresh with new roses,

The nest all built.

Legs uncrossed, sitting in a lotus.

It is here that I am.



12 thoughts on “It Is Here that I Am”

  1. Lovely imagery, and a perfect poem for this evening, as we wait and wait and wait for the rain, the wind and the first days of autumn. “The heavy laden breeze sings its own tune”… Wonderful.

    1. We’ve had the monsoon drench us for over 5 months, now. It is too late for the autumn here, so can’t wait for the winter! By that standard, this poem about waiting for the rain might seem contradictory, but these heavenly drops of rain never fail to sate my wandering mind…

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