Chrysalism

Chrysalism (n.) the tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.

Recipe.

Cut open the sea womb,
with starched paper and a fountain pen
Dip the nib in brilliant blue,
light a bonfire in your den.

Fill in the stem with petrichor,
and cradle it like wine
Glide the tip without a sound,
rub it in honey and lime.

Soak it in for you hold the cloud,
hover it on lands that do not sprout
Flood the town with words and tears,
of rain and everything that you hold dear.

For words and water work alike,
Feeble in drizzles, and ferocious in tides.

There is music, in the way trees moan,
when gusts of wind flow through their cones.
In lights that float in the air,
Of fireflies ridden of their despair.

Turn off the stove, keep the pen to rest
your package has arrived
A raging storm wrapped in white
in an exotic tongue
A deafening roar, hushed in quiet.

–Peeyush Chauhan writes on the comfort of residing indoors in thunderstorms.

This is the second poem in our series “Manipal Poetry Writing Month.” Use the hashtag NaPoWriMo to connect with us and share your poetry.