Jul 20, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
What is This Thing?
©July 20th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
This is a mystery
So still, so stormy,
So full of shadows and shapes,
So many fishes, small and large,
So many beasts beyond our ken,
So full of canyons and peaks,
So riotous in colors and life,
So saturated with longing
With the past, present, future
Colliding in mid-stream, swirls
Of echoes from everywhere,
A chaotic clash of currents
From every-when,
Where does it begin,
Where does it end?
How sombre are its deeps?
How playful are its shallows?
How many sunrises and sunsets
And moonrises and moonsets,
And star-flows and haunting calls
From faraway constellations
Fill its hungering belly?
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Dept, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost
Jul 19, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Feast and Famine
©July 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
So much to eat,
And such little control.
So many riches,
And such little taste.
So many sensations,
Such little feeling.
So much beauty,
Such little appreciation.
So much knowledge,
Such little wisdom.
So many choices,
So many chains!
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Feast, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost
Jul 18, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Frail, Holy Grail
©July 18th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Hold the Earth holy
Hold her in your hands.
Keep her safe.
Blue oceans circle her.
Giant peaks touch hushed skies.
Canyons yawn below.
Trees grow tall and strong,
Grasses wave gaily in prairies,
Animals leap and stalk, and dive,
Flowers grow unashamed and lush,
And here and there, the earth moves,
Rocks jut out, bones show.
Earth is strong
But she’s lived a long time
Been poked and prodded,
Strip-mined, mountain-top-mined,
Tunneled, cultivated, deforested
Plundered and molested by men.
And now, she’s grown
Frail as glass,
Life-broken in places,
Trying to stay intact.
Give her room, give her time.
Let her waters flow,
Let her birds fly,
Let the forests grow tall
Let her animals live.
Let all life flourish
Try and do no harm.
Let our Earth recover,
And we may live, yet.
Seek her strength.
This is our Holy Grail.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Earth, #Frail, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost
Jul 16, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Unpredictable
©July 16th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Even as I think
The skies wheel around my head
And I unthink it.
Even as I say it,
The ground revolves below me,
And I unsay it.
Even as I feel it,
My blood swirls around my bones
And I feel it more.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost, #Unpredictable
Jul 16, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Storm-Catcher
©July 16th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Winds gather up each other
Roiling in a viper’s nest
Storing up venom,
Coiling and uncoiling,
And the skies groan
Like women carrying
Wet laundry to the line,
Dripping clothes
To wring out
And hang up.
Flash of lightning
Tears apart clouds
Titanic hands ripping skies
Clashing cymbals,
Accompanying shouts
Rumbling deep within
Our bones, as we ache
With the coming
Of the storm.
Dread or alarm catch at some.
Some run out to drink the rain,
Some enjoy the show,
Others fasten windows and doors,
Still others hide.
(Where’s the DOG?!)
Would that the storms
Within us be as obvious!
I could run and catch those storms,
And lasso them. I could run them down,
And tame them, and ride them.
And together, we could face the new sun
Parting the clouds, and heave
A sigh of relief, as we collapse
On the wet, wet grass.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #Storm, #TheDailyPost
Jul 13, 2016 Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Star-Trip
©July 13th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Unfurling my bright new sail.
Getting ready for my journey.
Will you step on board with me?
We will sail through puffy clouds
We will sail up to the moon
We shall catch the Earth-rise soon.
Stop here for a bit and breathe
That heady breath of space-time –
Don’t you think it tastes sublime?
Now, onto Mars we’ll quickly go.
Before we know it, we will melt
Right through the asteroidal belt.
And next, we’ll swing by Jupiter,
We shall not stop to say hello
We have a long, long way to go.
So, on and on, we’ll sail through space
In my little ship whose sails
Will snag a passing comet’s tail.
So, we’ll hitch a quicker ride
To the galaxy’s far end.
That’s when the journey’s done, my friend.
No, we shall not return home.
Home is in this little ship.
(I think you’ll like this cosmic trip.)
Don’t you think you’d like to come?
I’ll bring some songs and pretty flowers
We shall while away the hours.
I shall make you dainty cakes
And cups of spicy Indian tea
We’ll chase away reality.
You say you won’t? You break my heart!
Well, darling, I am off to row
Away forever – off I go!
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(Written at 3:40 a.m. Forgive my lapses! Oh, and I’ve set my WP clock to Alaska time, so it’s still Wednesday, July 13th in my little blog-world, not Thursday, July 14th!)
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Journey, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost
Jul 12, 2016 Original Flash Fiction, The Daily Post
(g)Host
©July 12th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Annika slipped past the gate of the house in the woods.
She had gone exploring, and was lost. She had wandered out of her backyard, where she had been playing a make-believe game. Her mother was sound asleep in the hammock, made drowsy by the sound of bees in sunshine. Her father was away in the city, working.
Talking to her unseen friend, whom she could hear, she had walked down the street, and found herself at the edge of the conservation lands that adjoined their town.
And now, here she was, in the wilderness, slipping past the crazily-hanging gate of the house which was in perfect condition – and empty. The trees seemed to stand closer together, and whisper, “Don’t go, little girl. Turn back! Don’t go.”
She turned, then, to the trees, and whispered, “Why?”
But the trees grew silent. Someone had come to the door.
Annika turned around, and saw no one. The voice she had followed said, “Bow down to the Host.”
Annika didn’t understand, and said, “Who? I don’t see anyone, or hear anyone.”
And a voice spoke that would have chilled anyone to the bone, but the little girl was oblivious. “Hear my voice, and tremble. I will rend you limb from limb, but do come in first, for you’re my Guest.”
The trees had begun whispering again when the voice began speaking, so all the little girl heard was the latter part of the sentence. Being an obedient little child, she said in her piping, clear voice, “Okay.”
As she walked up the drive, the trees made a huge clamour, and she turned around, and saw something white fluttering to the ground. She stopped, curiosity piquing her.
“Why do you stop, little girl?” asked the voice by her side.
“I just dropped something. Wait here. I’ll be back,” she replied. She ran down the drive, pushed the gate aside, and bent to pick up the paper.
“LEAVE NOW! It’s a demon-ghost in there, and he will eat you,” spoke the paper.
Annika thought for a moment, then said, “Perhaps, he’s lonely.”
“No,” spoke the paper, “A little girl and a little boy went in there last month, and they’ve never come out. Go! Run! Don’t look back until you’ve reached the gnarled old oak tree down there. We’ll protect you.”
And so, Annika ran. The unseen voice who had accompanied her from her home to the house in the woods called out to her, “Why are you running away? You are our Guest. We’re your Hosts. We will …”
But what they would do did not reach her ears. She ran, panting, to the gnarled old oak tree, then turned around.
The trees had bent down, and formed a wall of green around the house, and were slowly devouring it. A long-drawn-out scream came from it, chilling her senses.
She bowed down to the trees and said, “Thank you,” at the top of her voice, then ran through the woods, until she found the main road. She slowed to a walk, heart hammering, and trudged on till she found her home.
Her mother was still in the backyard, on the hammock, now snoring gently.
Annika slipped into the backyard, and now, her heart beating more calmly, she poured herself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher her mother had left on a table by the side of the hammock. With a slightly shaky hand, she drank it, then quietly began swinging on her swing set, keeping an eye on her mother.
Soon, her mother stretched, yawned, and smiled at her daughter. “Wow! I must have been tired. I’ve been asleep for hours.”
Annika said, “Let’s go in, Mom. There are Hosts out there, and they’ll eat us. I don’t want to be a Guest.”
Her mother laughed. “You’re such a wonderful story-spinner, sweets! Come on in. Time for me to make supper. Dad will be home soon.”
Annika, dumbfounded, looked at her mother, made as if to speak, then stopped.
“Yes, I do spin stories, don’t I? I love them. Thanks, Mom!” she said brightly.
And they went back in.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #GhostStory, #OriginalFlashFiction, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost
Jul 11, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Cowardice
©July 11th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Arise!
Take up your knitting.
Do it! Do not fear it!
It’s just yarn and needles
You’re not weaving lives,
Spinning destinies
Plotting a Revolution,
Like Therese DeFarge.
You’re knitting a swatch.
Ah, it isn’t cowardice, then?
What is it?
Jump!
There’s a place to learn to swim
And teachers who will help.What’s holding you back?
You’re not on a sea,
Bobbing helplessly among whales.
You’re here, now.
There’ll be many hands to help.
And you won’t drown.
What’s to fear?
So, it isn’t cowardice, then?
What is it?
Inertia?
What’s that?
A first cousin
To cowardice,
Only much slower.
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P.S. I’m very tired today. I’m writing because I’ve made it a daily practice.
No colorful metaphors flash into my mind’s eye today, nor searing emotions. Sorry!
Tags: #Cowardice, #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Post, #TheDailyPost
Jul 10, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Desert-Rain
©July 10th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Thirst is all around us
Vast, gaping, parched thirst
Gripping the throat,
Drying the mouth,
Making a desert of our lives
A desert in the hearts of men.
And the land crumbles to dust.
And people fall forward,
Prey to hatred and guns
To violence and pain
To those who kill
With savage impunity.
Alton’s name means Old Town, or
Town at the source of the river.
And a river did flow from him,
Into the desert all around.
Where it dried and vanished
Into the dust, as he was pinned down
And killers pumped bullets into a dead man,
Because he stood there, selling music.
Sworn to protect, they
Murdered, instead, with glee.
Alton Sterling, aged 37.
Say his name!
Philando, a name that sings
Love, love of humans, and
Love was in his days, his acts.
Philando, shot for no reason,
While his girlfriend beside him,
Live-streamed his death
His loss of life into the desert,
His breath left him
While a crazed cop held a gun
Spluttering bullets and lies.
Philando Castile, aged 32.
Say his name!
And we thirst, we who watch,
Standing helpless, as we see the desert
Encroaching on us all.
Mouths agape, parched, we stand
As our feet sink further, deeper
Into sand that churns as we yearn
As their hatred burns us all
And if we do nothing, say nothing
The desert will grow.
Dig a well, plant some trees,
Hold your ground for humankind.
And human-kindness will bloom.
We shall not desert our brothers
Our sisters, our children, our souls.
We shall walk on shifting sands, and find
Our way back to green lands.
We’ll dig a well to quench
Our thirst, and we’ll offer
Libations in the name of peace,
Which, perhaps the gods will accept,
And perhaps, someday, they will rain
Down mercy and help us love again.
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Tags: #AltonSterling, #DailyPrompt, #Desert, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #PhilandoCastile, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost
Jul 9, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
A Glass of Water
©July 9th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Liquid sand turned transparent
Catches captured light from a bulb,
Holds it in liquid, transparent,
Shining like the sea.
A glass of water.
And when it falls,
Its light tumbling and cracking
It sometimes breaks
And spills everywhere –
A little like us when we
Stumble and fall.
With luck, we won’t break.
Would that we were
As transparent, as clear.
And when we spill,
Would that we could get
Easily mopped up!
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Glass
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Glass, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost