Mar 26, 2026 THE POETRY
Monastic Illuminations
(An ekphrastic poem about the illuminations in manuscripts produced by monks in the Middle Ages)
©April 24th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Snails and horses, sex and darts
And armored men with enlarged parts
And women with distended hares
Extended branches, full of snares.
All jokes aside, are these sad hearts?
Devoted to their prayer-books,
Deprived of hugs and loving looks,
These monks, lacking another’s love
Are raised, instead, to worlds above.
Are these, then, thoughts they cannot brook?
Or, do they thrive on scenes like these,
While singing psalms on bended knees,
Laughing with well-disguiséd mirth,
At things that cannot live on earth,
But which they gaze upon with glee?
Were they the precursors of crazed
Apocalyptic painters, dazed
With visions of another world,
Where those from paradise were hurled,
And found themselves down here, amazed?
Warrior snails and valiant knights
Flatulent and naked, sights
As one would never want to see
When thinking thoughts of piety
Enough of this, out with the lights!
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Mar 3, 2026 THE POETRY, the surreal and the unreal
A Vision
© January 7th, 2020
By Vijaya Sundaram
The Dreamer stirred-
And everything slipped side-wise,
Then straightened up, while
People and animals walked up walls,
And birds wheeled perpendicularly.
The Dreamer stared-
And everything grew eyes
That stared back,
And followed her
As she backed slowly down
Sloping, forgotten streets,
Stumbling upon gifts and blessings
Left behind by bewildered Magi.
The Dreamer bent low,
Doubled over, and rolled down
A hill which grew where she stood.
A pail of water rolled down alongside,
But not a drop spilled.
Another rolled alongside her,
Overtaking her,
And cracked his skull.
The Dreamer sat up, and sang-
And everything became silent,
Listening loudly, while planets
Swung heavily in their orbits,
Humming in frequencies
Only she could hear.
She sang- and the world straightened its shoulders,
Aligned its axes,
Unrolled its streets,
Disciplined its sudden hills,
Shut all the opened eyes, sending them
Back into the place whence they’d emerged.
And she whispered to the bewildered Magi,
“Look! That star has burned out.
Find another on your way home.
Nothing here awaits a birth.
All is burned, utterly gone.
Find a new star, or join the Dream-Time.”
As she spoke, the Dreamer felt a river
Coursing down her cheek,
Even as her toes burned,
And she curled up, bit by bit
Into a long column of smoke.
And as she went elsewhere,
Leaving ash-heaps of Dream
Smoking in the forlorn dawn,
Salt rivers traced their Sister-Routes
To dead Oceans,
And no creature stirred.
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Dec 23, 2019 THE POETRY
No One Ghost
©December 23rd. 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
©December 23rd. 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
So strange it is to live
Surrounded by people who Are,
When all I see are those
Who once were, those who will be,
Those who might have been,
And those who could become.We breathe in ghosts
As we move through air,
And they slip, silken, though
Skin, ears, eyes, mouths.
Surrounded by people who Are,
When all I see are those
Who once were, those who will be,
Those who might have been,
And those who could become.We breathe in ghosts
As we move through air,
And they slip, silken, though
Skin, ears, eyes, mouths.
There’s no one ghost here, but
Multitudes in the air we breathe,
The water we drink so gratefully,
The food that we bite into,
The air molecules that vibrate in music
Next to our ears, and enter our brains.
Multitudes in the air we breathe,
The water we drink so gratefully,
The food that we bite into,
The air molecules that vibrate in music
Next to our ears, and enter our brains.
Alive, though dead, they
Fill us with their lost selves,
And sing of a time we pine for,
Which we dream about with a vast yearning,
As we gasp, and flounder,
And struggle into wakefulness,
Drowning in dry land,
Feet getting sucked under.
Fill us with their lost selves,
And sing of a time we pine for,
Which we dream about with a vast yearning,
As we gasp, and flounder,
And struggle into wakefulness,
Drowning in dry land,
Feet getting sucked under.
I feel them on my skin,
Their blind desire to live and feel
Filling me with a bone-deep love
For this life, even as I long,
So fervently, to leave it.
Their blind desire to live and feel
Filling me with a bone-deep love
For this life, even as I long,
So fervently, to leave it.
And will I meet them when I do?
Or will we be blind to each other
As we turn to the living
And long for their breath,
Their blinded, sunlit eyes?
As we turn to the living
And long for their breath,
Their blinded, sunlit eyes?
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