Apr 20, 2013 Current Affairs / General Interest, Original Poetry
The Place I’ve Come to Live
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 20th, 2013
I wish I knew more about everything
And I wish I didn’t.
I’d love to know the names
Of those little blue-edged white flowers
Growing close to the soil amidst ferns
Which we planted years ago,
Probably memorizing their name.
I’d love to know the names of the trees
Pushing their way into Spring,
In all kinds of weather
In the woods close by, where
Invisible animals come out to play
In the moonlight, and small snakes
Slither away in April.
I wish I knew why music moves me so much,
And has taken residence in my body
So that I cannot move without
A beat or a song pulsing in my blood.
I wish I could tell you why the face
Of my daughter, or of all children
Fills me with the greatest urge
To protect, to cherish, to save.
I wish I could say that I would
Have run, without a thought
Towards that explosion, despite
My fear of what it could do,
But I do not know whether
I would have been a heroine.
(We’ll never know, will we?)
I wish I could tell you that
I would have been the first
To rush up and pinch a bloody
Artery or vein of a man in shock,
Who, having lost both legs,
Managed to write the words:
Bag. Saw the guy. Looked right at me.
I wish I could tell you that
I’d know exactly what words to say
To those who lost their legs:
I know how you feel? I feel your pain?
My father lost his left leg
And some toes on his right?
I wish I could say: Kill the man
Who did this crime, maim him,
Torture him, make him scream.
But something doesn’t let me,
Like a hand, pulling me back, putting
A calming palm on a fevered
Forehead, making it cool down.
And, meanwhile, elsewhere,
Millions live their lives
In fear, unplumbable sorrow,
Unfathomable hunger and rage.
I wish I could say something
To everyone, be everywhere,
Do something useful.
But I sit here, paralyzed, mute
Looking out at a quiet, peaceful
Backyard, with those little
Blue-edged white flowers,
Growing close to the soil,
Which I planted years ago,
And whose name I’ve forgotten.
I wish I could say something
About more what happened this week.
All I can say is I’m glad it’s over.
But it’s never over, is it?
Knowing more doesn’t help.
Not knowing is unbearable.
But I have to accept this, for
This is the place I’ve come
Finally, to live.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, #Spring, Boston after the capture of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, Heroism, I wish I knew, sorrow
Apr 19, 2013 Current Affairs / General Interest, Original Poetry
Whirlwind
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 19th 2013
Brother down. My brother down.
Could it be, could it possibly be
That guilt gnaws at his spine?
He sits there, crouched
In an anonymous room
Or backyard,
The incubus of death
Possibly trapped to his chest,
Making breath
Difficult, and making sobs
Harden into shrapnel.
He awaits the end,
Undecided about dying.
It’s clear he wishes
To leave on his own terms.
The fog comes and goes.
Mist along the alleyways
Of a labyrinthine mind.
Angelic face, dark eyes
Innocent and disarming,
Armed with what could
Only be a death-wish.
How can hatred catch such
A beautiful-seeming young man?
What does he think,
Crouched there, seeing
The faces of the innocents
Slain by the bombs that
His brother and he placed
In their bid for … what?
Who caught him when he
Grew up, far from parents,
Vulnerable to hateful words,
Prey to delusions of matyrdom
(For what else could it be,
But his need for such a terrible end?)
Did his life lack purpose?
Did his honor embrace darkness?
Did his heart get clutched
By loneliness and despair?
He had friends, they say.
So, why didn’t that save him?
A fog envelops the mind
Of the young man, as he
Awaits the raging
Firestorm he has begun.
For he knows, somewhere in
In his twisted soul, haunted
By an eight-year old’s smile,
(No more hurting people.
Peace.) that he is doomed.
Haunted by a beautiful Chinese student’s
Steadfast gaze, by a young Medford woman,
Twenty-nine years old, who
Served food and life to people,
He awaits his turn
At the grim table laid for him.
He has sown the wind,
Now, he will reap the whirlwind.
Before that, we want to know:
Why? Why? Why? Why?
And even when he, shouting, answers,
Bitter and vengeful, or
Weeping and ashamed, or
Laughing and scornful, or
Guilt-racked and tormented,
We shall never find out.
And the whirlwind will carry
Away the shouted words,
And we know we can never get back Kansas again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, #Waiting, Boston, Boston Marathon bombers, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, Reap the whirlwind, sadness, terror, We can never get back Kansas again
Apr 16, 2013 Current Affairs / General Interest, Original Poetry
For the Sake of Life Itself
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 16th, 2013
Call me a coward.
I didn’t tell my eight-year old
That an eight-year old died
Yesterday, standing, waiting
To cheer the people who ran.
And his father, who might have run,
But did not, on that fateful day,
Can run and run from now
Until the end of time
And never catch up.
And the beautiful child that son
Must have been (for how could he be otherwise?)
Died in mid-cheer.
He was eight years old.
He held a poster that said,
“No more hurting people. Peace.”
His name was Martin.
How can one explain such a thing
And how can one still stay intact?
For, in that moment when the world blew up
And an eight-year old flew into the air,
Becoming one with the stars and the atoms,
One broke into a million fragments.
But we carry on, for all the other
Children, who wait for us, eyes wide with trust
Believing that there are good people among us.
And we turn to them, in relief and grief.
And I turn to my beautiful
Angel-child, for the sake of love,
For the sake of all the little ones,
And for the sake of life itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Life, #Love, #NaPoWriMo, Boston Marathon, children, eight-year old, grief
Apr 15, 2013 Current Affairs / General Interest
Copley Square, Boston
I was going to write a poem today.
I am struck dumb.
How can I write?
Take care, my friends.
Will be home soon.
In Sorrow for the dead and for the injured.
With Love,
Dreamer of Dreams
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, attack, Boston, marathon, sorrow
Mar 30, 2013 Current Affairs / General Interest
Nick Hanauer’s BANNED TED talk on job creation:
“Jobs are a consequence of a circle of life like feedback loop between customers and businesses.”
~ Nick Hanauer
Please watch this TED talk. It will open your minds, if they aren’t already open. It will help many of us break out of the spell created by GOP mythology, which currently shapes attitudes towards job-creation (which is, that the rich create jobs).
Watch the whole thing with open minds, and then discuss, if you wish.
Thanks!
Dreamer of Dreams
Tags: capitalism, Job Creation, Ted Talk by Nick Hanauer, TED talks