Dec 2, 2016 Uncategorized
Give to Life
©December 2nd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It’s winter, and still
My stunted carrots struggle on
Clinging to life and rich earth.
A rose, white and wan
Wafts her gentle, cool perfume
While December frowns.
A single chilli
Holds on to a still-green plant
Promising a fight.
Burying her snout
In cold, wet soil, my dog breathes
Life into my life.
I cannot forget.
I cannot sit in the dark.
I must give to life.
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Tags: #GardenandLife, #haiku, #Original Poem
Nov 22, 2016 Uncategorized
Why I Haven’t Written In A While
©November 22nd 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
When the sky rains down fire
When children die in faraway Aleppo
Breathing chlorine fumes
In bursting lungs and bursting lives,
When girls are sold into bondage
And have no voice, no tongue
No self to reclaim, no past to turn to,
While grown men break their bodies,
When water protectors are beaten back
For asserting their right to the land
As hoses spray ice-water at them
And the temperature drops below freezing,
When leaders rise to power
On a rising wave of hate and violence
And all words of love and peace
Drown in their wake,
When the earth is raped
And gaping wounds bring forth
Fossil marrow from her heaving bones,
And corporations rejoice, while the poles melt,
How can I speak?
Of what can I sing?
Where shall I turn?
What bell can I ring?
Yet sing I must
And speak I shall
And work I will
Resist I should.
And I’ll seek what beauty
Remains on this jewel-bright
Shadowed, sacred planet
And bring it forth into the light.
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Tags: #2016Elections, #aleppo, #climatechange, #IstandwithStandingRockND, #resist, #standingrock, #Syrianconflict, #waterislife, #workforpeace
Sep 21, 2016 Uncategorized
PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Irony; pseudo-religious fiction
Light-House
©September 21st, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Ascension wasn’t difficult that day. I simply dissolved into many points of light, allowing myself to be beamed up.
My problem is that no one saw it.
What was the point of that glorious display when it was ignored?
I’m not a charlatan or anything. Practically anything can be transmuted, if one knows how to dissolve the bonds that hold matter together, and then reassemble them through sheer force of will.
Another person did it before me. We had the same Teacher.
I blame those damned cellular phones. Everyone was too busy, texting, to see my feat.
It’s not fair!
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Thanks to our Fairy Blog-Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for graciously hosting Friday Fictioneers week after week without tiring, and to Roger Bultot for that fantastic photograph.
Tags: #ascension, #FridayFictioneers, #ironic story, #Original 100-word Flash Fiction based on a photo-prompt, #Transmutation
Sep 8, 2016 Original Flash Fiction, Original Short Story, Uncategorized
Dark-Side Priest
©September 8th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
It was the night of the lunar eclipse, and the earth had come to a stillness that boded no good. All living things had gone into their dens, or lairs, and nothing was abroad. The ocean struggled in vain with the wind, and all humans were within their little caves, sensing Change, but not knowing what it was.
As the eclipse began, a collective cry arose from the cave-dwellers, a cry of alarm and despair. What would they do without the moon?
Then, one man stood up, tall and heavy-browed, his club over his shoulder, and his animal skins hanging down his emaciated shoulder. He strode to the mouth of the large cave, where several of his family and tribe members sat huddled. As they watched him, a muttering arose.
He saw the shadow get larger, and guessed that it would cover the whole moon. Still, he reasoned, if it were a moving shadow, then it would move on, away from the moon. Of course, he had no real words for this, but his logic led him there.
And with that, came an idea.
He needed an animal.
He found one with his unerring spear. He dragged its thrashing body back to the cave. The muttering of his tribe became louder, but also appreciative.
He motioned them to stand back.
He needed a fire.
They had a small one going inside the cave. He strode in with an broken branch, strode out with a glowing stick, and fanned it into flame.
The others watched, pushing and shoving, wondering what he was going to do.
He stood over the fire, placed the carcass of the dead animal, turned it this way and that, and muttered unheard syllables, gazing up at the now-blacked out full moon in the sky.
Then, he paced around the fire, waving his arms one way, then repeating the motion the other way. His face took on an eerie glow, and his voice was harsh.
A delicious smell arose. The animal was cooking well. It smelled tantalizing. His family and others of his tribe felt their mouths watering. Some tried to approach him, but he waved them back with warning shrieks.
After taking some blackened bits of wood and making marks on his face, he began dancing around the fire.
His tribe watched, mouths agape. They were now both befuddled and afraid.
The man looked up, and saw that the shadow on the moon’s surface had been shifting steadily, and that some of the her silver glow was returning. His tribe members noticed this, as well, and their fear and bewilderment turned to awe.
The man stamped out the fire, and picked up the charred animal, and waved it at his people. They roared in approbation.
Then, he put it down, knelt, as if offering it to the moon. A gasp of admiration swept through his people. After this, he tore apart some of the deer’s flesh, and ceremoniously ate his first cooked venison.
Thus, the first Priest of the Tribe was born.
And he always got the best meat.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Eclipse, #OriginalShortStory, #Postaday, #PrehistoricTale, #TheDailyPost
Sep 8, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, The Daily Post, Uncategorized
Sidewalk Woes
©September 8th, 2016
I will avoid the cracked and bleeding sidewalk
And dance on the road in bare and sore feet.
So what if a storm were to come
And whisk me far away from home?
So what if a car were to crush me, and
Speed away without a backward glance?
The sidewalk’s no good, it’s broken and boring.
Look there! I could slip and fall on that banana peel.
How ignominious a death that would be!
I shall avoid all banality!
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #Sidewalk, #TheDailyPost
Aug 29, 2016 Uncategorized
I’ve been away on vacation, and was off-line most of the time.
I’m back, and I’ll try to catch up with my writing, even as I try and catch up with some of your work. You know who you are.
Love,
Dreamer of Dreams
Aug 29, 2016 Uncategorized
Fifty-Plus
©August 29th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Something about the word
Makes one hope
And despair, both.
Half-way there.
Half-way done.
Split down the middle.
Wholeness awaits.
When I turned fifty,
I wished to leave my job,
When I turned fifty-one, I did.
Turning a deaf ear to my Calling.
Turning an open one to the next.
Another door would lead me
Sunwards, perhaps.
I pretend I have fifty more years
They beckon, and I follow.
My feet hurt a bit,
And my soul is scarred.
The world brings grief
Every day brings gladness.
My heart if full of joy
And shadows, both.
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Aug 17, 2016 Free Verse, Original Poetry, Uncategorized
Ghost
©August 17th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Every day, a ghost visits me
Formless and opaque, she fools me;
I see her as a wisp of air,
A shade of light,
A spectre of cloud-moisture.
She follows me and needles me
And pokes and prods and pushes me
And mocks me, and jeers and gibes at me,
And asks me in a susurration of curiosity:
So, how did you spend your time today?
And I turn and see her face
And know that I can never escape.
My ghost is mine alone,
And I can never run from her.
My ghost holds a mirror up to me
And asks me over and over again:
How did you spend your time today?
And I stammer and reply:
I did this and I did that,
I took care of an urgent matter,
And strove against time
To complete my tasks.
And my ghost asks, quietly:
Did you sing today?
And did you dream?
Did you weave tales
From light and air,
And did you feel free?
Did you help someone?
Did you feed the hungry?
Were you of use?
Did you speak words of love,
Words of praise,
Words of thanks,
And words of hope?
And my answer to these
Is in the face of my ghost.
And my ghost asks, quietly:
And did you feel happy?
And my answer to that
Is in the face of my ghost.
My ghost is satisfied,
And walks away into the night.
I know she will return tomorrow,
And I brace myself.
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Tags: #DailyPrompt, #Ghost, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Postaday, #TheDailyPost
Aug 3, 2016 Friday Fictioneers, Original Flash Fiction, Uncategorized
Word Count: 100 words of text, exactly
Genre: Realistic-magic-realist fiction
Empty
©August 3rd, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram
Every day, they peer over my shoulder with haunted eyes.
I ignore them. I’ve a job to do. Some days are good. The money’s okay. At least, the drunk ones can’t reach over far enough to grab my breasts.
My parents died from alcohol poisoning. I don’t drink.
At closing time, I cleared out customers, then sat for a few minutes. My feet hurt.
“Join us,” said a silvery voice. Heart hammering, I turned. Her hand emerged from the painting. I had nothing to lose. I took it. Colours swirled.
The world faded like a dream. I drank new air.
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Thanks to our dear Fairy Blog-Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for hosting Friday Fictioneers in her indefatigable, inclusive, and cheerful way every week. Thanks to Ted Strutz for that strange photograph, which I like very much.
Tags: #FridayFictioneers, #SupernaturalFiction, #Surrealist story