May 19, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Pen-Sieve
©May 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Perfect blankness is my state
When I think about thinking,
And if I had a pensieve
Like Dumbledore,
I’d have nothing to add to it,
But thinking about not thinking
Is making me pensive.
I miss being blank,
And having thoughts
Sift through me, and out
Leaving only lumps.
Time to do something useful
Like laundry or dishes,
Or maybe brushing the dog,
So the thoughts will come
Bubbling up, and I don’t need
To feel the strain when I think,
And I’ll heft a thought easily.
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In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Pensive
Tags: #Daily Prompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Pensive, #TheDailyPost
May 19, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Wilt Thou Flourish?
©Mary 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I wilt in Winter.
When darkness tautens
Around my neck
Like a noose of gloom,
In the dead of December,
I wilt, desolate, disconsolate.
Despair and sadness, twin tight
Bands, constrict my heart.
Everything seems pointless.
Then, I breathe deeply
Watch snowflakes fall like dreams
Observe their beauty, console myself,
Remind myself that Spring
Will come again, and I must sing.
Singing, I will herald her coming.
I sing of Spring as she approaches.
And watch tender leaves glow rich green
And ferns unroll themselves
Unwrapping themselves like gifts
And watch my crocuses and daffodils
And hyacinths and narcissus
And tulips poke out one by one,
Perfect but oh, so short-lived!
And lilacs like pale dreams haunt the air
And perfume it so sweetly, I could swoon
From the lust and lucency of it all.
When Summer flowers tease bees
Into drunken ecstasy, they weave
Unsteadily through the air, humming
Sipping at the rich moisture
Of my plants, when I water them
Thirsty and grateful they are,
So why would they ever sting?
Sunstruck and dizzy, I keep cool,
Sipping water with lemons,
And I sing with the bees.
And hum in Summer.
But when the year tilts away
From the sun, warming her back,
It is then that my garden yields her store –
Burgeoning beans and basil,
And peapods bursting at the seams,
And pumpkins and squash trailing downhill.
Tomatoes ripening like voluptuous women
And taut eggplants tantalizing me with glowing purple,
And tricky green peppers beckoning me closer
And roses blooming unashamedly
And sunflowers yearning towards the sun
And it is in the Fall that things flourish,
And it is then that I flourish.
A creature of the seasons,
An accidental human, I.
But from wilting to flourishing,
I follow the Earth, and time
Swallows its own tail,
And eternity repeats its mantra:
Wilt and die, and grow and flourish
Over, and over, and over again.
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In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Flourish
Tags: #Daily Prompt, #Flourish, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 18, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
South-Bound
©May 18th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The land pulses with heat
And moist air, pregnant and brooding
With malligai and bougainvillaea
And chanpakam and rojapu.
The pure and sinful scent of chandanam
The heady perfume of ylang-ylang
The fragrance of Madras coffee
The aroma of steamed idli with sambhar,
And upma and paper-crisp dosai-chutney
All blend with memories of temple-bells
And camphor-scented rituals before the
Incense-intoxicated household gods.
Where girls go to school in two-plaited
Goody-goody-ness, speaking primly
To each other on buses that lurch on,
While they stand in starched
School-dresses, carrying bulging
Satchels on thin shoulders,
And gaze stiffly forward, despite
Suggestive remarks and frank stares
From shiftless and shameless louts;
Where dabba-wallahs carry tiffins
To and from school and workplaces and homes,
In muscle-melting heat, on sturdy bicycles,
Secure in their role as food-carriers,
Doing no harm, doing much good;
Where the emaciated mendicant,
Bent-backed and black from the sun
Comes to the door of house after house
Singing, “Bhavathii Bhiksham dehi,”
And the lady of the house approaches,
Tips a bowl of uncooked rice into his brass pot,
While her child watches from the door
Heart beating fast for the barefoot beggar,
Whom one must never turn away empty-handed,
Because all who come for food
Are from the Divine, and may not be refused;
Where temple bells ring on Holy Days,
And the chanting of fat Brahmin vadiyars
Weaves a moody spell in the mid-morning heat
That mingles with the radiant burst of marigolds
Forming garlands for the gods, or priests,
While starving men and dogs sit outside the gates
Some waiting, others rooting through trash;
Where puritannical prudery persists
And the tyranny of tradition holds sway,
Where rules are made, and followed blindly,
Unquestioningly, and no sense emerges
Save that one must uphold tradition;
Where kindness saves, and community
Knits lost people together during floods;
Where dancers, musicians, thinkers
Create new worlds, rich with art;
Where technogeeks leave in droves
To find more sympathetic stomping grounds;
Where curd rice and pickles are enough
To keep body and soul together
In searing heat, and grinding poverty;
Where the sun beats down without mercy
And the rains slash down without ceasing,
Where the Bay and the Ocean
Drum incessantly against the land,
And the sun floods the waves in the early morn,
Strewing leaves of gold that skitter
Across the troughs and swells –
– This was the land of my youth. –
Where do you come from?
They asked, when I moved a few states Northward.
I answered, simply, “The South.”
And they said, Ah yes, I thought so.
Where do you come from?
They asked, when I moved across the ocean.
And I answered, “From India.”
But it is the South which beats in my body
Like a drum or a pulse.
And I shall return some day,
Unless the sea claims it first.
And if the sea does claim it,
I shall transform into a South Indian mermaid,
And swim home to the land under the sea.
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In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: South
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #South, #SouthIndianReferences, #TheDailyPost
May 14, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Photograph©Vijaya Sundaram
Pearl Beyond Compare
(Underestimate)
©May 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Good at estimating
Hazarding a guess,
He could tell at a glance
The true price of everything,
But the value of nothing,
And he’d beat it down
To get what he wanted.
But when he picked up a
Pearl beyond compare,
Lying innocent and quiet
On the crab-infested beach,
He thought it a pebble
Laughed at its lumpiness,
Its monstrous size, saw nothing
In its shining depths,
Did not imagine riches
In its shimmering glow.
And he threw it away.
Into the hungry sea
And bought some fake ones
That cost him a fortune,
And possibly, his wife.
And the sea? She was glad
And she let him be.
She had received her due,
She would torment no one.
For what the sea releases
She takes back always, always.
For everything flows back
Home to the sea.
Do not underestimate her.
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P.S. I was thinking obliquely about John Steinbeck’s book The Pearl, but my character tosses this metaphorical pearl back into the sea without even seeing what it is, whereas Kino hangs on to his literal (and metaphorical) Pearl of the World, and pays a huge price, which is, in its turn, completely different from what Matthew spoke on in the well-known parable (13:46).
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Underestimate
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #PearlofGreatPrice, #TheDailyPost, #Underestimate
May 14, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post Photo Challenge
Photograph©Vijaya Sundaram, January 29th, 2016 (At the New England Aquarium)
In response to The Daily Post’s Photo Challenge: Face
Vis-à-Vis
©May 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Let me see you now
In the light of the glimmering water
Where fish swim swiftly, surely,
Like sparrows in a backyard, but we
Shall out-swim them, shall we not?
Let me see your eyes –
Inscrutable and bottomless
Full of sliced light, shimmering,
As you gaze at me, back-lit by blue –
I could drown in them.
Let me see you now
Face to face, clearly, not darkly
What do you see, my friend,
When you see me?
Do you wonder what I think of you?
Or, could it be that you dream
Merely of swimming free
Far from here, from all these eyes?
We shall face them all together
Standing face-to-face
Faced by the enormity of our fate
To be forever watched, seen, admired.
– Quick, let’s turn our backs on them all!
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Tags: #Face, #Face-to-Face, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPrompt, #TheDailyPromptWeeklyPhotoChallenge
May 14, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Photograph©By Vijaya Sundaram, April 10th, 2016
Vision and Visions
©May 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It is what you do not see
When you walk, eyes fixed
On everything beyond, your
Footsteps leading you
Inexorably towards your
Future, meted out to you
In incremental doses by
A timid mind – yours –
That is what interests me.
Vision is tricky in a fog
Your aging eyes,
Their lenses losing shape
Ache with a longing
For clarity beyond doubt, yet,
When you see clearly,
With a little help, of course,
You trust not what you see.
Is seeing, perhaps, always
A matter of where you stand?
A question of certainty,
Even if the world revolves
Dizzyingly around your heels?
As you turn and turn,
And the shapes flow in and out
Of an insidious mist, do you whisper
Whom do I trust? What is the truth?
Eyes see eyes in a turning world
Eyes all around, seeing endlessly
Seeing each other reflected
Endlessly in their orbs,
Eyes all the way into the past
Into the future, seeing-blind.
Tell me again, are you there?
Were you ever there?
And am I here, if I cannot see?
It is a dream of visions
We are the dreamers,
We are the dream
We are the seers
We are the seen.
Somewhere in another world
A sea without stars froze,
Where a young girl sang
Floating above the waves,
Playing her sitar,
But the song fades from mind
And a voice cries in the wilderness.
And somewhere, eyes flash.
And the Sleeper sleeps on.
Eyes closed, speaking softly
In her sleep, as the visions
Emerge, merge, submerge.
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In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Vision
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost, #Vision
May 12, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Photograph@Vijaya Sundaram, 2007
Wormhole
(Survival by Chance)
©May 12th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
To reach its goal, sperm swims upstream
Poor little salmon, bursting free from
The urge to be washed away.
If it’s lucky, it’ll survive.
And then, if we’re lucky,
We shall see the light of day.
If not, meh, no big deal.
Someone will emerge from that
Moist dark tunnel, fighting all the way,
To breathe in cool gulps of new air,
Shivering and naked, but alive,
Human and whole, and save the world
Or perhaps, destroy it.
Our future is dark, and we see darkly
But perhaps, we shall find meaning
And purpose, and oh, a wormhole
To wriggle into and out of,
To start out again, anew.
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P.S. I know that photograph is not of salmon, but still … it’s fish!
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Survival
Submitting simultaneously to dVerse for the first time.
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #dVerse, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
May 11, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
All photographs©Vijaya Sundaram, May 2016
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Generation
Beans to Be
©May 11th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Yesterday, with the sun pouring
Streams of honey on fragrant flowers,
With the bees drunk with it all,
And the birds singing, their
Unfettered joy ringing in trees,
With the rain clouds hiding,
My daughter and I planted beans
In earth rich with humus and manure
Which I’d worked over the
Previous sun-soaked day.
Small, and curved and tender,
Beans slipped into one-inch holes
From our gloved hands.
They lay there, vulnerable,
And we covered them over,
As I sang in my mind,
“Grow, little beans, grow!”
Tenderness filled me,
Such a strange emotion to feel
On that warm spring afternoon!
Named, staked, marked, and watered,
Our beans lie cradled in dark, tasty soil
Full of the green tug of growth,
Ready to bring forth new life.
Generations of beans, pale green
Resembling tiny to-be-beings
Promising food, lie waiting,
Waiting for their turn in the light
With no giant or Jack to break them,
As they await the hot days of summer.
While spring flowers bloom
And bees stagger in drunken stupor
And the dog goes mad with joy,
While I follow them into
Sweet, daydreaming delirium,
Sun-saturated and content,
No emotional surges, no loneliness
No angst or stabs of passion
No confusion or climaxes assail me,
When I think about our beans to be.
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Tags: #Daily Prompt, #Generation, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram
May 11, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry
All Those Opossums
©May 11th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
All those opossums
Crossing the road
In cold, cruel North America
Where cars drive by, oblivious,
Callous and uncouth, eating the horizon,
Metal behemoths, graceless and soulless
Carrying fleshy bipeds, intent on pleasure,
Needlessly texting, swilling coffee, eating.
All those opossums,
Slow and sweet
Full of lumpish grace
Full of beautiful tiny-eyed wonder
Full of somnolence and moonlight
Full of love, and need and fear
Full of the urge to get the hell across.
Look! There come a pair of yellow eyes
To blind an opossum’s little bright ones.
Hurry, little opossum!
The moon hides her face.
The moving clouds freeze.
Lilacs bloom in purple grief.
Heedless, the human drives on.
Somewhere, someone will grieve
For you, little opossum.
Somewhere, someone will remember
That you once lived.
And you will live again
Slowly crossing the highway
On a moonlight night,
With the scent of blooming lilacs
Wafting you along your way.
No humans will zoom by
Milky clouds will move gently across
And you will lump across with grace
WIth your six children on your back,
Ruling the roads, and the moon
Will sail you safely home.
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May 9, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
In response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt: Chaos
Take Off The Lid
(On the Chaos in My Mind)
©May 9th, 2016
Want a peek into pure chaos?
Lift the lid to my brain
Go on, do it!
Ah, I knew you were too scared
Worried about what you’d find, eh?
Here, I’ll take you by the hand,
Shine a torch into the darkened corridors
Let the air in a bit.
Here’s a room filled with insecurity:
Too many doubts, too few doubts,
Too much judgement:
For doing, or not doing,
For being, or not being
This, or that, or the other.
Castigate myself:
Too many moral standards
To vault over.
Too many ambivalences,
Too many opposing pulls:
Should I, shouldn’t I?
Why should I?
Too many fears, unspoken anxieties.
Commitments to flee from
Commitments to bind myself with.
And while loving getting older,
I’m hating it with a passion.
Wishing to borrow this mind
And inhabit my younger self.
Walk cautiously, the dust will
Choke you, trip you up.
Here’s a room filled with joy:
Music, music, music swirling
Like flower-strewn winds.
Rich pleasure in simply being
In my skin, oh how lovely!
Love, so much love, bursting
With love for so many!
Sensuous joy – mine alone.
All that sunlight to drink,
All those colors to steep my skin in,
All those fragrances in which to drown,
All those birds to gaze at,
All those silken scarves to
Brush against my silken skin.
(Older silk is sweeter, by far)
All the love my husband pours over me,
And which gives me life.
The sweet hugs my daughter gives me
When I do some simple thing for her.
All the pleasures of moving
Feeling my limbs working,
Feeling sunlight and warmth
The sliding down of grateful food
The slipping of delicious drink
That soft sigh my dog makes when
The night makes her curl up.
The sense of spinning from
The earth, as I walk gratefully
Upon her, enjoying life.
Walk cautiously, the clamor here
Can be deafening, even if it’s
A noisy celebration, and
The lights are too bright.
And it’s all jumbled up here.
Sometimes, in the midst of
This room of joy, a remembered
Sorrow trips me up.
I could organize all this,
Label them neatly and file
Them away into happy
Memory drawers, a file cabinet of sorts,
But they’re ongoing. They’re alive,
Not forgotten, not lost.
I need to move some of them
Into another room, larger, quieter,
But for now, I let them lie,
Ready to leap into life.
And sometimes in the room of
Deep insecurity, piled high
With old worries, or privations,
I see a passage of pure light,
Leading to an open window,
And see that I simply need
To chuck most of that stuff out,
But not into the yard,
No, chuck them out, and make
Them vanish with a simple spell.
That would restore order,
But allow some chaos
To linger amidst it all.
I wouldn’t mind that.
For, in chaos,
Surprises lurk, and lie in wait.
And I don’t mind a little dust,
Even if it makes me cough.
And the occasional gleaming jewel
I find, as I pass through, is worth
A thousand dust bunnies.
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Tags: #Chaos, #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost