Jun 17, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Electric Grave – Retaining Walls
©June 17th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
When the lights on the ground
Dim the lights in the sky
And the sound of deep silence
Is silenced by deep sound
The collective sounds of human
And non-human in dizzy dance
And spirals of movement
From home to work, to play,
To home to work, to play,
Under electric lights, or inside cars
Or on electric trains or inside buses
Then, the City raises her head
And looks around, a wraith of beauty
A terror to nature, razed
To the ground, except in parks
And sidewalks.
Then, the City peers in at vacant lots
And at junkyards, at the lost child
In a lonely alley, seeking home,
At the bullies beating up a teenager,
At the dog racing up and down the streets
Collarless and ownerless, lost
Helpless, frightened, distrait;
At the two Vietnamese women
Waiting patiently at the bus stop,
Clutching their plastic shopping bags,
Wearing their trauma lightly
Like a little parasol over their heads
A little stooped, talking quietly;
At the bald man with a gold chain,
A cross tattooed on his bare arms,
Standing there at the Church of St. Francis
Staring blankly at his i-Phone,
Tears pouring down his face
As he leans against the retaining wall;
At the twenty-something boy-man
Who walks his dog every day,
And whose father tells everyone that he’s sick,
Sick of his son thinking he’s some
John Lennon type or something,
With his peace, and love, and guitar-playing;
At the flutter of girls who walk, unselfconscious
And full of beauty and foolishness,
In short shorts or short skirts, giggling,
Chewing gum, and checking their phones,
While grown men lounging against walls
Check out their legs.
The City peers in at all these,
And into houses, where things happen
That should not happen,
And the City turns her head away,
And goes to see the homeless man
Under the bridge, who smiles
Toothlessly at her, and offers her
His doughnut, which she takes,
And she takes him, as well,
With her, into the land of
All the forgotten dreams, and
Forgotten souls, and discarded lightbulbs
And broken people.
She takes him there, by the hand,
Eating his doughnut,
And leaves him there.
And the City goes to bed
In the one hour between night and day,
While she dreams another life
That’s lived between her
Streets and her alleyways,
Her parks and her highways.
She sleeps, and dreams away
Her whole concrete existence,
Which vanishes in a gathering cloud
Of dust and desolation,
As the sea advances, ready to claim her
As his own.
The retaining walls start to crumble,
And the City smiles in her sleep.
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Tags: #City, #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
Jun 16, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Open!
©June 16th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
The corridor is endless
Orange flames in brackets on walls
Seem all the darker for the blackness pressing
All about you, hugging your shape
As you move silently along, holding your breath.
The silence haunts with a sibilant sound.
And the sound of your own voice
In your own head, keeping you going
With a chattering commentary,
Is deafening, and your head feels
Full to bursting with it.
You walk, and you walk,
Holding yourself like a cup
That might spill you and shatter,
If you trip over your eagerness,
If you run, if you stumble,
And you wonder whether
At the end over there, far away,
Lies the place you seek.
Strange images flash on the walls
To the left of you, and to the right.
You recognize the play,
You recognize the actors –
You will not be deterred.
You see yourself among them,
Running about, hair flying,
Laughing, crying, stumbling, falling,
You love and you hate, and you
Think you’re too late, too late, for
Everything, everything, always.
The hours tick by, the silence
Breathes down your neck,
And your terror assails you:
What if you’re wrong, and this passage,
This corridor you’ve chosen,
Is the wrong one?
What if at the end of it,
There’s nothing, and you have
To turn back, retrace your steps,
Watch yourself and others
Mock you, as you seek blindly
The thing you want?
What if you’re wrong, and were always so –
Wrong from beginning to end,
About everything you’ve ever done?
You always thought that to doubt
Was to be true, to be open to
All the possibilities, all the realities
Swirling around you, but are you right?
Is your doubt a self-indulgence?
Is it a self-flagellation?
Is it right? Is it good? Is it true?
It does not matter, you see.
It simply is. You try and you try,
And you peel away the layers
Surrounding your vision, to see clearly
You do not hide from your clear-eyed gaze,
You keep your eyes open, and you
Keep on moving towards that end
The place you seek.
And your steps lead you there,
And your fingers feel along the walls,
And you bump into a door
You know it’s a door, for it sounds
Like one, it feels like it should be one.
You draw a deep breath, summon
Your strength, steady yourself to meet
What lies beyond it, and say:
Open!
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Open, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
Jun 15, 2016 Haiku, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Breath and Nature
©June 15th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
To bathe in beauty
Saturating sunlit days,
Amongst trees, is joy.
To rest weary eyes
On shadows on moonlit nights
And breathe, contentment.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Natural, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
Jun 14, 2016 Daily Life, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Skunk-Struggle
©June 14th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Five little kittens
Skunk kittens, that is.
So small, so tumbly,
Peering through a fence
At me, strange human.
It’s seven p.m.,
Where is their mother?
I wonder, and gaze
So tender, so sweet
Their returning look.
I call out softly.
They squeeze through the gaps
Towards me, sniffing,
All black and white-striped
And soft-snuggly fur.
How is it that they
Know to trust kindness
In a stranger’s voice?
They, who’ve never heard
Human voices call?
How is it that they
Sense benign presence
And yearn towards it?
What souls have these skunks,
So alert and bright?
And I? I’m enthralled.
The backyard shimmers
With mutual longing.
But humans may not
Have commerce with skunks.
The dog barks madly
From within the house
Skunk-kittens tumble
Over each other in alarm
Squeeze back through the fence.
The spell is broken.
Skunks in fur-clump
On the other side,
While the fence divides
Kittens from human.
I go back homewards,
They tumble over
Each other and play
At the farthest end
What else can they do?
It is a struggle
Living and growing
In a hostile world.
Still, they can learn
To make a big stink.
And get their own way.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Skunk-kittens!, #Struggle, #TheDailyPost
Jun 13, 2016 Culture, Daily Life, The Daily Post
Time to Rebuild
©June 13th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I’m very, very tired today.
The car door of our rented car (a honking SUV, which I hate, but which we needed because someone rammed into our car over a week ago, and gave me a fender-bender) got whipped out of my grasp by the wind, as I was opening it, and whacked my poor nose, which promptly started bleeding profusely. Fortunately, I got ice on it, and lay down, and in forty minutes or so, it stopped. It’s still a bit sore.
Then, later in the evening, I spent a couple of hours, lopping away at some weed trees, and random small vegetation that had become strong, and was unwanted, and was blocking light from reaching our backyard plants. It was like plowing through the undergrowth of a small jungle. My daughter helped by gathering all the huge branches and piles of leaves, and stacked them neatly along the side. All that work with a big lopper made my arms hurt, but I liked the sense of accomplishment that came with it.
Apart from that, I worked some good dirt and manure into a patch of earth in the side yard, and planted a bunch of morning glories that a friend of ours brought for us, and watered all the plants in the front yard.
We had a good day, as a family and apart – we played Bach chorales on our guitars, each of us taking turns playing the main melody, alto, tenor and bass lines, while playing all the parts together. It’s always lovely to make music with my family.
So, at this level, I’m happy in my own, tiny part of the universe.
And at another level, I’m heartbroken about this world in which we’re bringing up our daughter.
I’m heartbroken for all the mothers and fathers who lost their sons and daughters in Orlando yesterday: 49 people killed, because of a hateful bigot with access to assault weapons, who decided that those who love people of the same sex are an affront.
I’m heartbroken about a country where it’s easy to get assault weapons, just because of some misbegotten notion that the 2nd Amendment has to be protected at all costs, without regard for the context in which the Second Amendment was put in place.
I’m heartbroken because there’s so much bloodshed, so much misery, so much hate, so much violence, so much darkness in the hearts of so many people.
It’s time to rebuild.
Say No to hatred.
Say Yes to love.
Say No to violence.
Say yes to healing.
Say No to bigotry.
Say Yes to acceptance.
Say No to war.
Say Yes to peace.
Say No to destruction.
Say Yes to rebuilding.
Oh, and along the way, don’t forget to say hello to your neighbours, call your faraway parents, siblings, friends more often, and give generously of your time and more to those who seek you out.
And save this beautiful blue-green planet of ours –Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, and fight against complacency or despair, when confronted with Climate Change.
Please.
And thank you.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #DayintheLife, #Rebuild, #TheDailyPost
Jun 12, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
To Stand and to See
©June 12th, 2016
by Vijaya Sundaram
I stand in the midst of thought
And, my mind ripening, I marvel
At fields of golden grain before me.
Where the sun pours down generous light.
My eyes and mind rejoice at sudden
Dawning comprehension, a glimpse
Of what it means to live, and to grow,
Where life shouts out in defiance of death.
And death is but a step away, here, where
I stand among the flowers in the valley below
And forget everything in fields of poppies
And meadows where asphodel and narcissus bloom.
Planting myself firmly in the midst of all
That is, was, and will be, I do not flinch
When things are born, ripen, decay, die –
Knowledge blooms in sun, and in darkness.
I stand among all this, and know it as truth.
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Understanding
I found out to my delight that the word “understand” has its roots in Sanskrit, at least the “under” part. See the Online Etymology Dictionary, from which I quote the excerpt below:
Old English understandan “comprehend, grasp the idea of,” probably literally “stand in the midst of,” from under + standan “to stand” (see stand (v.)). If this is the meaning, the under is not the usual word meaning “beneath,” but from Old English under, from PIE *nter- “between, among” (source also of Sanskrit antar “among, between,” Latin inter “between, among,” Greek entera “intestines;” see inter-).
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost, #Understanding
Jun 12, 2016 Free Verse, The Daily Post
Gentle Rain
©June 11th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Today, in the cool, gray light
Saturated with rain-damp
Happy to be alive and agile,
I shoveled rich, dark earth,
And cleaned out planters
With my husband and daughter.
Later, as I planted kale seeds so tiny
And celery and mustard, as small
And poblano peppers, I felt
A rush of maternal love.
I knew my small yard better now,
Having nourished and blessed
The womb of the sweet, clean soil,
Having walked its farthest edges,
Having weeded, and prepared beds,
Having watched over and watered
(With some anxiety, but mostly pleasure).
I could smell the sweetness of it all.
I saw little worms and blessed them,
And when chipmunks dashed behind stones
I loved them with a simple love.
And though all I’d done was prepare plant-beds,
Water and seed and pull up weeds,
I felt proud of the peas, the beans
The tatsoi, and lettuce, and beets all poking out,
Some growing faster, others more slowly.
Such hard work – all this growing they do!
And I was grateful to all my sweet flowers
And all the herbs that make the air sweet:
My lavender, mint, and oregano
All rich and swooning with fragrance.
To play in the dirt, and be rewarded
When things grow and reach for the light
When the air is glad with green,
And when a deep languor, a lassitude
Pours slowly down my blood-stream
Like heavy honey –
This is simplicity.
And today, I was happy for this:
This temple under a vaulting sky
Which bent over our bent forms,
As we worked, and blessed us
With a dispassionate blessing,
As gentle rain fell.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Simplicity, #TheDailyPost
Jun 10, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Of Molehills and Mountains
©June 10th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
I made a molehill.
Tunneled under it.
Made a cozy nest.
I named it “Mountain.”
Then, bravely facing
The Eastern sky, I
Climbed it, scaling
It in a single bound.
Sure, it was easy, but
I did scale a Mountain.
What’s in a name?
A molehill by any other name,
Would be as easy to scale.
Now, I’m off to find a mountain.
I shall name it “Molehill.”
It’ll be much easier to climb, then,
Though I shall probably fall
As the Western sky flames red.
And if I do, I shall pick myself up
And say, I’m making a molehill
Out of a mountain.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #making a mountain out of a molehill, #Mountain, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost
Jun 10, 2016 Haiku, Original Poetry, The Daily Post
Metamorphosis
©June 9th, past midnight, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Cocooned universe
Space folded in on itself
A new world is born.
Somewhere, the dry husk
Of the old universe breaks
Sweet butterfly world!
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #TheDailyPost, #Transformation
Jun 8, 2016 Ramblings and Musings, The Daily Post
Mostly, I don’t get embarrassed.
When I do, I shrug it off.
So what if you’re wearing mismatched clothes, or your shirt is inside out?
I’ve done it too many times in my youth and middle age to care one whit.
So what if you order vegetables au gratin at age 16, because you could pronounce it, liked the sound of it, and (perhaps) wanted to impress the rich and stylish college students you’re with, at the posh restaurant in Madras to which you’d been only once or twice before, and then literally blanch when they bring you a horrible-looking creamy stew with some dead vegetables floating in it?
Well, I saw them exchange sly glances at each other, and said to myself, “These are not my people,” then suffered my way through the awful food, and the awful evening, and fled home in relief to my loving parents.
So what if you’re standing there on stage, solo, without your rock group (which couldn’t make it for that Inter-Collegiate competition, due to schedule issues) guitar in hand, earnestly two-plaited, and you’re the only female there, and they boo, because it’s a male chauvinist crowd at an engineering college?
I simply held up my hand, and waited. When they stopped, I sang. Then, they cheered themselves hoarse. One simply has to wait out the bullies in such public cases. I think back now, and wonder how I wasn’t petrified with fright. I must have been completely immune to fear at that moment. Also, I didn’t care about the outcome. I knew they were being pigs. I didn’t get embarrassed being the only female to perform on that stage. It helped that I won the Best Vocalist prize.
So what if you’re standing in front of a crowd of two thousand, all rooting for you and your band, and you forget the words to the song just after you, as band leader, finished the count off?
Well, I simply grinned and said, “Oops … hang on, I’ve forgotten how it starts,” and they hung on silently, and I waited until the words floated back into my head. (Oh, and they cheered themselves hoarse, and we won the first prize).
So what if you the play for which you (as a first year, totally new, 8th Grade teacher) composed the music, did the directing, and for which the students from the last period class worked hard, fell apart because the main actor, brilliant but thoroughly spoiled, ill-prepared and bratty, forgot his lines, ran off stage, ran back in again, then sat on the bed, which fell down, whereupon he ran off again, and had to be persuaded to return?
My students and I simply ploughed on. At least our little music section did well. And the play’s message got through. We even got a few nice words and emails from students and teachers, despite the main actor’s disastrous entries and exits onto and off stage. And that was that.
But then, my embarrassing moments have been few and far between. Sometimes I wish I’d had a few more, then I could make a nice after-dinner story out of them! My husband does, and his stories are brilliant.
The older I get, the more I find that embarrassment is pointless. If a situation is a social disaster, turn it into a story, or, at the very least, embrace the embarrassment caused by it.
In any case, once enough time has passed, no one will know.
And then, in a few billennia, we shall all turn into pieces of explosive space-dust floating about, unembarrassed about being a few hydrogen or helium atoms short of a full-fledged star.
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Embarrassing
Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Embarrassing, #TheDailyPost