May 5, 2015 Uncategorized
A robin stands in bright, young grass
Under a bough of white blossoms —
Whose cherry tree stands, protective
And proud ,with outstretched arms.
I understand spring is here.
And that it’s beautiful.
And it’s life leaping up
Ready to fight.
And the robin hops, happy
Inquisitive, curious, its bright eyes
Darting all around.
It looks happy.
And I should be glad.
I shall be, I will.
Yes.
Tags: #Original Poetry, #Spring, Climate Change, Despair, Robin in the grass
Oct 3, 2014 Uncategorized
La Salle de Bain
© October 3, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
A sigh ruffled a surface
And created a ripple of purpose
Water splashed silver on silken skin,
Washing away worries within.
A lone tear trickled down
As she rubbed her face dry.
A rustle of garments,
A freeing of muscles,
A silken swathing
After gentle bathing,
And she stepped out,
Reborn, ready to face
A day with upraised
Steady gaze.
Above, a fan whirred
Wicking away moisture.
________________________________________________________
Tags: #Original Poetry, La Salle de Bain, sounds
Sep 21, 2014 Uncategorized
Fled and Gone – A Lament for Poetry
©September 21st, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Poetry seems to have fled
As prose unwinds
Wearily, wearily,
The thread that
Someone, a hero, perhaps,
Takes heartlessly
To the heart of the labyrinth,
Where a bewildered,
Bellowing Minotaur awaits
To be slain
Again, and again.
Poor thing!
And Poetry smiles,
Curling deep within
Her cave of molten gold
Too hot
To touch.
I seek her,
Nevertheless.
Labyrinths and monsters
Though fascinating,
Can wait.
________________________________________________________
Tags: #Original Poetry, Minotaurs and labyrinths, Poetry and Prose, Searching for my Muse
Jun 18, 2014 Uncategorized
Creek
©June 18th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Haiku prompt provided by Carpe Diem.
Awash in clearness
I sit, feet in the water,
Mind babbling, empty.
_________________________________________________________________________
Tags: #haiku, #Original Poetry, carpe diem
Jun 13, 2014 Uncategorized
Matrix
(Upon Seeing the Daughter of My Friend Who Died)
©June 13th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Child, whose fulcrum’s gone–
Leaves fall to earth, trees can die.
~ Summer rainshine weeps.
Yet, she plays and smiles
A child with no words for grief
Fish can swim to air.
And you, the father,
Broken, full of promises,
Can you face this child?
Not for me to speak?
Winds blow through the neighborhood
Speak of my friend’s grave.
For shame, you father!
Whose child dances on tightropes —
Honor her mother!
My friend, who died last year
Welcomed death, for cancer’s hell.
Her child breathes her breath.
Remember her child!
Her bones and her blood are hers
Spare love, spare your breath!
You will be your judge
And there will be reckoning –
Kneel, when your light fades.
Yes, you lost her too
To each, his loss, to each, hers –
Honor, cherish, weep!
And child, remember.
Reflections hold memories –
These make matrices.
__________________________________________________
NOTE: The root meaning of matrix is “mother” or “womb.”
Tags: #Daughter, #Death, #haiku, #Original Poetry, death of a young mother, grief, matrices, matrix, original haiku, selfish father
Jun 11, 2014 Uncategorized
Coolness
(Prompt provided by Carpe Diem-Haiku Kai)
©June 11th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Baked-earth-floor, white calf.
Birds hop within blue shadows
Cool noontide slumbers.
______________________________________________________________________________
Tags: #Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, #Original Poetry, original haiku, Painting by Milind Mulick
May 23, 2014 Uncategorized
Sky, Dove — A Simple Poem
(Inspired by Rene Magritte’s Painting, “La Grande Famille”)
©May 23rd, 2014,
By Vijaya Sundaram
A bird arose from
Mist and rain
From cloud and sea
And drowning pain.
And took the sky
With her, aloft
While, down below
All murmured soft.
Above the bird
Soared death and space
Below the bird
Was not a trace
Of life or goodness,
Except where
The bird arose
Into the air.
And as she soared
In clouds of blue, they
Burst and poured
Out life anew.
And hope and love
Bloomed sweet and bright
And singing swelled
Into the night.
The bird flew on
Outwards and on
For she was bound
Elsewhere, to dawn.
__________________________________________________
Tags: #Original Poetry, Bird Poem, Dove, La Grande Famille, Rene Magritte, Surrealism
May 16, 2014 Uncategorized
Anarkali
©May 16, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Brick upon brick upon brick,
Piled higher and higher
And you, within walls.
Suffocation looms.
But only when mortar’s added.
So, confound them!
Distract them.
Pretend there’s mortar
At this spot and that one,
Insert grey spaces there,
Magic can work.
Pretend to die,
And when they’ve left,
Find those grey spots,
Prise the bricks out, and then
Remove them all,
One after another.
Now, scatter them around you,
Hurl them at the sky
Dash them to the earth
Hurl one at the fabled city,
And run for your life.
Perhaps your Salim awaits.
Perhaps not.
Who cares?
You are beholden to no prince.
You do not need him.
You, pomegranate blossom,
Bearer of many seeds
Encased with blood,
Sweet and tart
Is your life.
Escape!
Sweetness calls.
Life wails aloud.
Freedom cries out.
Burst the skin!
Scatter yourself to the four winds.
Somewhere, a sweeter life
Will grasp at soil, take root.
And you will be whole again.
_________________________________________________________________________
Tags: #Original Poetry, Akbar, Anarkali, doomed love, Immurement, Indian legend, Jehangir, Mughal legend, Mughal-e-Azam, Salim
May 15, 2014 Uncategorized
Perspectives
©May 15th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Doors are good,
But there are so few of them
Windows, on the other hand,
Draw me like a magnet.
Windows keep the wind out
Wind down our day,
When we shut them.
Windows tantalize,
Holding out a view
A promise of something,
Which, if we chose, we could
Climb out, fly out,
And claim.
Looking out, we see dogs run,
Children play, cars rush on,
Stray bags on aircurrents.
We see flowers unfold petals,
And birds unfurl wings,
And our vision takes flight.
Or, perhaps, we don’t see.
Perhaps, we see blankness.
Where a brick wall faces our window.
We see a fire escape,
A bored pigeon,
Pedestrian and dreary.
Or, maybe, schoolboys
Smoking pot, or drunks in
Stumbling stupor.
Perhaps, our windows trap
Pockets of madness,
Of sadness, of despair.
Perhaps our windows are
Simply painted on, faking
A word that doesn’t exist.
But doors, now.
Ah, doors are good.
Hinging on promises, symbols,
Giving us sweet metaphors,
Making portals, pathways
Into other worlds, they flash
Glimpses of secrets which swirl
Into other more mysterious ones,
Perhaps to another, darker,
Gnarlier, older universe.
Or, perhaps they give
Us an out, a means to escape,
Even if for a little.
Every doorway has its
Secret Mezuzah, its blessings
Keeping out danger,
Locking in peace.
But what if the danger
Were within?
Would the mezuzah be
A Möbius loop?
If I had my way,
I’d have my door close
To my window, and
Make one work as well
As the other.
It’s all a matter
Of perceptions, perspectives
Of a frame, after all.
That which is framed
Is good, named, tamed.
And then, when we step out,
The world, dense and hungry,
Advances, intent, angry,
Rears its massive head, and
Swallows us whole.
Tags: #Original Poetry, Doors and windows, Frames, perceptions, Perspectives, Worlds
May 12, 2014 Uncategorized
Journey’s End
©May 12th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Little things:
The smile that leaves an imprint in the air
The nod of greeting branching my way
The question that arises from thirst
The answer that comes from a quenched place
The dog back on her feed, after sickness,
Whose face shows her former mischief
The child who tries to please, and fills
My heart with an aching joy,
Who learns and spins and dances,
And sings and advances into maturity,
And retreats into childhood,
When the fairies call.
The husband who makes it all work,
Binds our wounds, makes the appointments
Grows our food, fixes our house,
Loves and gives and forgives,
And occasionally grouches, as do I.
These little things
Make my blood sing.
And make my orbit steady
As we swing towards
Journey’s end.
Journey’s End
May 12th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Little things:
The smile that leaves an imprint in the air
The nod of greeting branching my way
The question that arises from thirst
The answer that comes from a quenched place
The dog who is back on her feed, after sickness,
And whose face shows her former mischief
The child who tries to please, and fills
My heart with an aching joy,
Who learns and spins and dances
And sings and advances into grown-up-hood
And retreats into childhood, when it’s all too much.
The husband who makes it all work,
Holds it together, makes it to the appointments
Grows our food, fixes our house, loves and gives
And occasionally grouches, as do I.
These little things
Make my blood sing.
And make my orbit steady
As we swing towards
Journey’s end.
Tags: #Family, #Journey, #Original Poetry, destination, orbiting