Dec 30, 2017 Original Poetry
Spillage
©December 30th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
The clock ticks on and on.
An endless litany of eternity
Talking to Time, it moves
Chasms of seconds around
Circular paths, craters of minutes,
Into which I fall, endlessly.
Time casts a spell, but it is brittle
In the face of these typing hands.
I can splinter Time into shards
And poke at my mind, till, gasping, it
Spills words upon white, virtual pages –
They flow aimlessly, like blood.
The clock ticks. A vein pulses.
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Dec 30, 2017 Original Poetry
At Year’s End
©December 30th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
The days hurtle towards their end,
And the year gets ready, unhooking itself
To turn on its hinge, to let them through.
There are things to look back on.
I’d rather not.
The dust rises under the hoofs
Of fast-approaching year-end days
And the riders are bright like the sun.
I remember good times,
And smile as they ride by.
I see the darker times,
And shade my eyes, blinkered.
Mostly, I see love, and gladness,
And growing things, and joy.
I hear my daughter’s voice, mine,
And my husband’s, as we raise
Them in song together.
Mostly, I remember the padding
And clatter of my dog’s feet,
The hurling excitement of her fifty pounds
As she sees me home after a long day.
Mostly, I blot out the horrors of a world
Lying on the roadside, oozing blood.
Of children, of families, of women,
Of countries, dying in the dust.
Yes, mostly, I shield my eyes, and smile
At that which brings remembered joy.
For, if I were to unfasten the armour
That shields me, and let the rest in,
I would dissolve, or burst into
A million pieces.
I’d rather not –
Not just yet.
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