May 18, 2019 Original Poetry, Uncategorized
Sharpened Knife
˙May 18th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
Leader:
Woman with her womb so red
Could come to birthing
To be dead.
Chorus:
To be dead.
To be dead.
Could come to birthing
To be dead.
Leader:
Man, holding penis small
Comes to birthing
Not at all.
Chorus:
Not at all.
Not at all.
Comes to birthing
Not at all.
Solo Voice:
With heart of stone
And will of steel, he
Bends the law
And does not feel.
Control is all he wants to own
And fear is what he carries.
Then, let him learn to live alone,
And let no woman harry.
Take them, take them all away
Men with hearts as dark as night
Take them ere the break of day
And pen them close, as we take flight.
Leader:
Woman with her womb so red
Is born to love and work and life,
With, without, a child to raise
She shines alone,
A sharpened knife.
Chorus:
A sharpened knife.
A sharpened knife.
She shines alone,
A sharpened knife.
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May 18, 2019 Uncategorized
Post One a.m.
©May 18th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
I am aslant,
Athwart,
Diagonal.
I am sidewise,
Crabwise,
Orthogonal.
I am stranded,
Wind-beaten,
Eroding.
I am sinking
Wave-sucked,
Corroding.
I am rounded
Pebble-smooth
Rolling.
I am sanded
Smooth-grained,
Unscrolling.
I could curl up
Shell-shocked
In the deeps.
I could swirl up
Hell-hocked.
Lose your sleep!
Call me, catch me
Sing to me!
Fall into sleeplessness.
Bring to me
Stories, sea-songs,
Strength to bear
Catastrophe. Leave some
Love to spare.
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