Making Tea

[Raincoat]

I open my eyes..
Clouds drift into an unending chasm that has breached the periphery of this world
up, up, they go,
like the steam from my tea..
Wisps, curling. unfurling;
Then they stop
for a while..
Then again,
more wisps billow from my cup
and behind the piano, sun beams have latched onto physical objects, boxes, papers, dust,
so that a cut of yellow floats in space on space in my simple room.

Tea now lukewarm, begrudgingly I move my heavy carcass from my depressed cushion and head back to the kettle..
for the cycle to begin again.
Need to break it.. I need a healthier state of mind
to blot out the song.. meri piya
over and over
meri piya
tormenting my mind with yah diya
a Hindi song,
“my love, you are this lamp”,
yet with soft, hurting eyes I tell myself..
I’ve had enough,
pissing piya, piss right off!

[calico]

Hi raincoat.

From one newie to another:
I like the idea of following the wisps of steam and the simple immediacy of this:
"

and behind the piano, sun beams have latched onto physical objects, boxes, papers, dust,
so that a cut of yellow floats in space on space in my simple room.

but would clouds drift into a chasm? Chasm doesn't seem quite right, and breaching the periphery isn't as clear as it could be.

I like the depressive laziness of repeated cups of tea, I know that one, and I like these lines:
“my love, you are this lamp”,
yet with soft, hurting eyes I tell myself.."

The ending? Not sure, sounds very heartfelt!

thanks.

[Gematria]

My instinct is to say that you should cut out the clichés and superfluity. "Clouds drift" is a cliché, as clouds are often described as doing that. "Unending chasm" is another, for the same reason. "Heavy carcass" seems like it could do without the adjective, as could "physical objects."

[Sharra]

I think Gematria is right. The cliche is diluting the good stuff in this. I think you need to focus in on more concrete images.
I've been very cheeky and done a hatchet job on it - if this was mine, I'd begin by cutting it back to...

I open my eyes..
Watch clouds drifting
like the steam from my tea..
wisps, curling. unfurling.

Behind the piano, sun beams latch onto boxes, papers, dust,
a cut of yellow floats in space

Tea now lukewarm, I head back to the kettle..
for the cycle to begin again.
I need to blot out the song.. meri piya
over and over
meri piya
tormenting my mind with yah diya
a Hindi song,
“my love, you are this lamp”,
yet with soft, hurting eyes I tell myself..
I’ve had enough,
pissing piya, piss right off!

I think this begins to bring it back to what the poem is actually about. But please feel free to ignore
Sharra
x

[bery]

I agree, the thought of watching the steam is a splendid idea but, definitely some chopping are necessary. Those long lines only reduces the already-constructed rhythm to a confusing state. Why not make the transition one word a line. Hope these help.