Jul 23, 2019 Uncategorized

Double Vision
©July 23rd 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram

To see with double-vision
You need to fall headlong onto a pavement,
Or break through prejudice,
Or scroll through Facebook,
Or drive home in slashing rain.
I talk to a man sitting outside a CVS, a man
Who smiles, though you see his heartbreak,
When he tells you he’s Indian,
And a beggar – in Massachusetts!
The exclamation breaks through his words
And hangs, astounded, in the air.
His passport’s expired, he has no work.
There’s more history there,
But I’m a stranger, and it’s late,
So we speak, warmly, in Hindi.
He asks me if I have money.
I have none, and I tell him so, ruefully,
All bought with a card, I say,
Pointing to my bag of First Aid things.
No matter.
The conversation holds currency for him and me.
I ask him if he needs food, which I can give.
He says, ” I’m okay.”
So I bid him goodnight,
Tell him to take care.
We part, smiling.
Two humans, two Indians,
One hurrying home to comfort,
The other contemplating a world
That’s held together with safety pins
Outside the CVS in Porter Square.

The world’s precarious.
I wish I could set it right.
I drive home.
Double vision sometimes blinds.
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Jul 23, 2019 Uncategorized

Intersecting Planes
©July 23rd, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram

All the planes lie open
And to move from one to another
Is to move from one fractured cubist realm
To another.
A series of still-shots in staccato movements,
And all this stop-motion scenery splinters
Before sitting upright.

Thus it was, and thus it is now,
But the fractures have resolved into windowpanes
And the view outside is
Alight with the sun,
And I could be anywhere out there,
Dancing,
Unfettered,
Full of air,
Full of Song.
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