Vijaya Sundaram

Poet, Musician, Teacher, and Amateur Visual Artist

Handwritings

Handwritings

©April 17th 2014

By Vijaya Sundaram

There was a time

When my friends’ rounded,

Precise, neat handwritings carried

A sunlit, sea-magic –

All of them.

 

There were pearls within,

Each word a pearl

Holding meaning, light

Glowing in them.

 

 

I loved their handwritings

Loved the slant or the straightness

The dark or the lightness

The pressure or its lack —

All of that.

 

Everything spelled beautifully

Thought laid bare,

A revelation of self,

All of it.

 

And I looked with pleasure

At words that flowed

Across ruled paper

And down the page

Erasing emptiness,

Lapping at the shores

Of silence, their ebb and flow,

Filled with music,

Rich with it.

 

All those

Careful, controlled

Pearl-handwritings.

Caught carefully in time

Strung together,

Making meaning –

It was all magic,

Pendant with it.

 

And all I wanted

Was to wade in,

Gather those pearls,

Crunch them up,

And eat them all,

All of them.

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April Sun

April Sun

©April 17th, 2014

By Vijaya Sundaram

 

Blueness crowds the sky.

Sun-gold from up high,

Shoots down streams of gold

And pierce the bitter cold.

Breaking into splinters,

Falling shards of winter,

Shatter round my feet

As I walk down the street.

Dog-Joy (Or: Completion)

Dog-Joy (Or: Completion)

©April 15th, 2014

By Vijaya Sundaram

 

I find I take delight

In my dog’s proud walk,

As she picks up a stick

And claims it in the

Name of Holly.

 

Utterly undone, I kneel,

As she twists her whole

Frame in wordless ecstasy

When she sees me —

This smiling curve of dog

And joyful tail,

And gentle teeth

That grab my hand

And nip and hold it in love

Beyond reckoning.

 

I am complete.

 

Who greets me like this?

(Oh, I know I am loved,

But like this? This pretzel-

Shaped frenzy of joy,

This luminous, numinous

Delight in my being?

Oh, I know I don’t deserve it,

But who cares?!)

 

And when she lies near me,

A love unlike no other,

Her soft, puppy fur

On my feet, warming them,

A wild presence at the

Boundaries of my own,

I find my brain

Dissolves in a mist

Of dog-thought.

 

I think:

Why dream?

Why do anything?

It doesn’t matter,

Not now.

 

Oh, I know I’ll arise

And go about my duties

And do stuff, but

I don’t really care

For any of it.

 

I have this dog,

This now-sleeping

Weight of dog

At my feet.

 

I am complete.

 

No, there is no despair here,

Just utter, total quiet

A settling, as it were,

Of soul and self:

A house settling deeper

Into earth.

 

I am complete

With her on my feet.

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Listening

Listening

©April 15, 2014

By Vijaya Sundaram

After you’ve stood

And listened to silence,

Words seem like leaves

Eddies of leaves

Whirling in a flurry of wind

In an empty field.

 

And yet, it’s nice to stand

To watch and listen

To stand in quietude

In solitude, checking

The wind, sniffing the air,

Looking for signs

Of life in an attitude

Of quiet reverence.

 

I had thoughts once,

And dreams, and songs

And stories.

I had visions of the future

Of people and things

I wanted to meet, and do.

I had melodies flowing

Clear and bright through

Dark woods of uncleared

Thoughts, once, not long ago.

 

Yet, today, I am spent

Not sad, almost content

Dreaming dim dreams,

Hearing muffled songs,

Stopping any visions

Of what the future

Could hold.

 

It’s dangerous to dream.

Needs energy, nu?

Needs courage.

Needs strength

And endurance.

 

Today, I don’t have that.

Today, I just sit

And listen.

To listen is to pray,

To listen is to look deep

And give the gift of self.

To listen is to surrender,

To disarm oneself.

And so, I listen.

 

It’s the least I can do.

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