Nov 10, 2017 Original Poetry
Nestling
©November 11th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
When I lift up my eyes, and spread
My arms out wide, then hug the air,
Wrapping its coldness close, so close
I know I’m holding all of life.
Billions of people, animals
Enclosed here, nestling in my arms.
All of the past, coldly resting
In this present, aching for warmth.
I hold them close, because, one day,
I shall be one with them, and one
With the creature who comes after
I’m gone, shuddering in sunlight.
And we will look up, all of us,
And ask to be fed, clamoring
In concert, till the mother bird
Returns, and we’ll be warmed again.
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Nov 10, 2017 Original Poetry
Blind Spot
©November 10th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
I am my own blind spot
Right in the middle
Of mind and matter.
And it matters
That I cannot see what
I see, because of all
I think I see. This I mind.
I mind very much.
I mind very much.
Things come up from the side
And sneak up from before.
And I shake my head,
Relieved at swerving
Just in time.
And when that collision
Does happen,
When I stop to think
In mid-drive, pausing for
Directions, taking note,
Will something come at me
From behind? Will I survive?
Or, when I’m in mid-walk,
Will I walk straight into
That thing that’s been
Waiting patiently on the
Sidewalk where I tread, as I
Read the skies, scan
The air, take the mood
Of the winds,
Unaware of that quiet, patient,
Deadly thing that’s been there
Since the beginning?
And will I adjust my vision?
Will I look around more,
And avoid doing damage,
Or, will I simply sit down,
And refuse to keep moving?
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