Sep 30, 2014 Original Poetry
A Sleep-Prayer for My Daughter*
©September 30th,2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Blue descending, silken-deep
Like midnight promising her sleep
Darkness, spilling sweet moonlight,
Ease her mind with gentle night.
Let her sleep, and let her dream
Let her visions palely gleam
In quiet streams, in forest glades
In hollows where no one has strayed
Hold her sweetly in your arms,
Oh Sleep and Night, and bring no harm.
Let her smile in sleep, and think
No thoughts of death. And let her drink
From wells of fun, of play and song
Show her where she might belong.
Then, float her boat of happiness
On moonlit streams with no distress
That brook of dreams where she
Will sing, and read, and quietly be.
For childhood’s full of dreams and fears
Give her strength and spare her tears.
_______________________________________________________
Tags: #Daughter, #Love, #Original Poetry by Vijaya Sundaram, Dreams and visions, Happiness and peace, Prayer for My Daughter
Sep 25, 2014 Original Short Stories
PHOTO PROMPT Copyright – Marie Gail Stratford
Word Count: 100 words
Genre: Greek Mythology
The Twice-Born*
©September 26th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
I stand, ivy-covered thyrsus in hand. I induce madness, ecstasy or death. I, born of Semele of earth, and Zeus of the Lightning Bolt, stand, uncertain for the first time.
You ask, “Will you help me forget myself? For I am bereft.”
If I said, “Yes,” I would invite your death. I will not willingly take you there.
I kneel at your feet, Ariadne of the Labyrinth.
Come, sip on nectar and sup on ambrosia, while I throw your crown into the skies.
I am Dionysos, God of Joyous Oblivion. And this is the first time have I truly loved.
__________________________________________________________________________
* My second attempt at a story based on this photo-prompt. Thanks for reading!
Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, our Fairy Blog-Mother, for hosting Friday Fictioneers, and to Marie Gail Stratford for the lovely photograph!
Tags: #Friday Fictioneers, #Love, 100-word short story based on photo prompt, Ariadne, Dionysos, Dionysus, falling in love, Flash Fiction, Greek Mythology, thyrsus
Feb 22, 2014 Uncategorized
Puppy
©2014, Vijaya Sundaram
(February 22nd, 2014)
A puppy tumbled into my world.
I am heavy with the weight of her,
Heavy with care, but light with love.
She trusts that we will do right by her
(And how could we not?).
It is a sacred trust, this trust
Of puppies and children.
The trust of dependence
And hope, of helpless love.
In her leaping and silliness,
I find joy and the quick of life.
In her quick eyes and mind,
I find delight and delirium.
In her delicate bones, and
Elegant face, I find pleasure.
In the cleaning and the holding,
The picking up and the cuddling,
In the sleeping and the feeding,
In the sluicing and the drying
Of this pup, simple satisfaction.
So, why am I unsatisfied today?
Foolishly, I think:
What about those other things?
Why not exist in the here, the now,
The growing circle of the
Universe of Dog?
Unselfish love. Selfish pleasure from it.
In unselfishness, I see
A glimpse of selfishness.
And I swim towards it, grasp at it,
Hoping to be saved.
_____________________________________________________
Tags: #Love, #Original Poetry, dog days, Puppy love, responsibility, selfishness and unselfishness
Jan 9, 2014 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
A new person entered our lives. She transformed us … into parents. We haven’t been the same since. Life has more richness, more depth, more beauty, more music, more love, more … dimensionality.
Below is what I wrote on my Facebook page:
_________________________________________________
So, today, our little girl turned nine!
It’s hard not to feel sentimental.
Also, a sense of amazement at how time shapes reality.
Nine years and a day ago, she wasn’t at our table.
I remember (in the days leading up to her birth) trying to imagine her in our lives, at our table, in our living room, playing with toys, making up stories, singing all over the house, reading, sprawled in various positions in her room or any other room.
I almost succeeded.
This is where imagination cannot match reality. Reality is a million times more beautiful and satisfying.
Happy Birthday, dearest S!
Poets have muses.
She is mine.
________________________________________________
I am grateful for her. Thank you, Universe!
Dreamer of Dreams
Tags: #Daughter, #Love, #Mother and Daughter, birthdays, Gratitude, mother
May 16, 2013 Uncategorized
Prim(at)e Time
©By Vijaya Sundaram
May 16th, 2013
They watch me all the time.
I sit here, idly tearing at some leaves.
Stuff, stuff, chew, stare, look away, the sun
pouring silk and desire onto my thick pelt,
I sit, meditating.
I look back at them.
They bare their teeth in a grin.
How I’d like to leap at them!
I, lord of the leaves,
Lord of all that’s mine,
King of the sun and the sky,
Inheritor of trees and mountains,
I am helpless with rage and love.
For, somewhere inside, a tiny voice
Speaks to me. I could be those …
Two-limbed, loose-armed,
Snoutless things, with pale eyes
So far apart, and teeth that gleam
So frighteningly.
Rage, rage against this glass
This thin sheet of my prison!
Rage against this display.
Rage against this ignominy.
Rage against these weak, helpless
Grinning creatures, and hurl
Them into oblivion, down, down
The mountains of my dream-desire,
Where the mist curls gently
Around our large, thick feet,
And the Clan, of which I am leader,
Lives in warmth and all-encompassing love.
(I have never seen this, save in a dream.)
And the dream is mine, real as these
Creatures staring dumbly at me.
And yet, somewhere, love
Love for those poor, helpless
Peltless, naked, shuffling,
Dream-dead beings, with
Strange, oddly-pigmented covers on their
Pale, dead skins, carrying odd things
On their backs, and their
Squirming, ugly young ones
In their arms, fills me with a fierce pain.
How can I console them?
The thought springs, unbidden in my mind.
And just as suddenly, it is shaken off
When, my child, born of my beautiful wife,
Springs onto me, and charms me
Into play, with foolish antics.
And, before all of us amble off to another
Cooler, sheltered place, far from
Eager, prying, obscene eyes,
To loll at leisure, and lovingly groom
Each others’ fur, I gaze back calmly
At the pale, two-legged ones, thinking:
There, but for the grace of … what?, go I! …
And one of them sees me, gazes a thought-beam
At me and shakes her head, in sorrow.
Then, her young one, quite beautiful for a pale one,
Tugs at her arm, and she, lovingly,
Like me, turns to go where her child leads.
— I wonder where she goes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Freedom, #Love, #Original Poetry, Dreams, empathy, Gorillas, humans and apes, primates, sorrow, zoo
May 7, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Reading, Writing, Thinking, Teaching and Learning
Ruminations
(Not too earth-shattering or terribly original, but what I thought of today)
©Vijaya Sundaram
May 7th, 2013
It seems so obvious, somehow, when one puts it baldly, thus: One has to have a meaning, a purpose in life. If there isn’t one, find one. If we cannot find one, look elsewhere. If we still cannot find one, create it. That’s it.
If the meaning and purpose come from a place of emptiness, then one’s actions are empty at best, and harmful at worst. That’s where we get the Dzhokhars and the Tamerlans. That’s where we get empty men with hungry souls emptying their weapons into innocent and hapless people. Adrift without meaning and purpose, the empty ones fill their emptiness with rage, religion and false notions of honor. Killing is the ultimate worst expression of that emptiness.
If we act with mixed motives, our lives will crumble, and we will create confusion in the lives of those around us. No one will benefit in the end, and all of us will be unhappy. I did all this for them, how come they don’t appreciate what I do? is the question that haunt those who act with mixed motives. Or: I don’t mind sacrificing my needs for others. Really! Confusion and anger come from these, and ultimately, disappointment and bitterness.
If our motives are clear and obvious, and we are not working only for our own benefit, but for the benefit for all, our lives will be the richer. As a great soul once purportedly said, “What you do to the least of my brothers, you do unto me.” Interconnectedness is everything in the web of our lives. Self-expression and service to others work only if both come from a place of joy and love. Clarity is the result.
If we work with purpose and true motivation, and we are doing it from interest and a willingness to learn, and a willingness to be vulnerable to failure, our lives will be the richer, and so will the lives of those around us.
If we act from moral strength and purpose, and our actions are real and obvious extensions of our intentions, and there is no self-aggrandizement detectable in our actions, our lives will reflect that. And inexplicably, others’ lives will be affected — positively.
Meaning and purpose germinate in such grounds as these.
It is the job of teachers and parents, and of the policy-makers to help create a world with meaning and purpose. If, instead, we create a generation devoid of true self-hood, but made up of selfishness instead, we are committing societal suicide.
Create meaning. Help and hold each other as we cross the treacherous terrain of existence. It’s in the reaching out and the holding that we find the poetry of living, the art in life.
Ultimately, a true artist or poet does art or writes poetry for its own sake, because it’s beautiful and because it makes her or him happy. Artists or poets don’t look for rewards or recognition (although they wouldn’t refuse it if it came their way). They bring others pleasure, but they do it unintentionally. They come from a place of truth.
Make your life a work of art. Make poetry. Make truth. Make love happen. Make the act of living, both for yourself and for others, a beautiful thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Clarity, #Life, #Love, #Poetry, #Truth, Art, Beauty, honor, interconnectedness, meaning, self-expression, self-hood vs. selfishness, service, Teaching the young
Apr 27, 2013 Character Vignettes for Possible Novels, Original Poetry
Birthed / Breathed / Bridged
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 27th, 2013
The question always remains:
Am I truly their child?
They brought me into their home
Poured love into my being
Gave me roots to dig deep into
Gave me sunlight to grow in
Breathed life into my struggling lungs
Held me and loved me
Stood vigil by my bed
While I, asthma-racked and
In the grip of death,
Nearly toppled headlong
Into oblivion.
They pulled me back
From the brink,
And kissed me awake.
They are my parents.
I shall always love them.
And yet, and yet,
There’s a faint echo
Of that other mother
Of that other father
The ones who stand forever
In the shadows of my past
Who remain forever and always
Enigmatic and tongue-tied.
Whose profiles, half-turned from me
Reveal … indifference?
Disgust? Rage? Sorrow? Regret?
Was there love there, somewhere?
Or was I begotten in haste,
And mourned since?
I look yearningly into the shadows
See an emptiness in there
Bridged with a bridge of steel
And silk, which brought me
Safely into my parents’ arms.
Terror opens a chasm within me.
My breath fails me.
My pulse stumbles.
I cannot help it — I yearn
To topple into that gulf and
Seek the bottom of a grief
With no name.
I force myself to look up,
Ahead, not down, and see,
In wonder and understanding.
Across that gulf, beyond those dim profiles
I glimpse the outline of another one —
A Someone who beamed
Me into being, who breathed me out.
She held me across the span of Time
And tided me through the fjords
That might have stopped me
She wanted me to be.
She wanted me to be me.
And I am.
That bridge of steel and silk
Brought me safely to shore.
And my parents will stand guard
Right there, at that bridge
And they will deny that chasm
Its greedy need.
And they will spread a net
under the bridge
And they will fight the ogres
That dwell beneath.
And I want them to.
And though I shall always wonder
About the bottom of that chasm
And yearn for the shadow-parents
I will not yield to temptation.
For nothing is more tempting than
Grief and yearning,
And nothing more dangerous.
So, I shall step forth
With light step and light heart,
Knowing my bridge of silk and steel
Will remain for all time.
And I shall go forth to build
My own bridge, and stand guard there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Chasm, #Love, #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poem, Adopted child, bridges and birth, character vignette, fiction, Fictional character, silk and steel, vigil, Yearning
Apr 25, 2013 Original Poetry
Abandoning
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 25th, 2013
At the moment of abandoning all,
One feels relief.
Like dropping one’s backpack
And troubles at the door
When one comes home from school.
Or unhooking that bra
And tossing it over a chair
And sinking, boneless
Into the same chair,
Staring, slack-jawed
And unambitiously into
A happy space.
Or like dumping a job that
Has grown like a forest
All around one’s body,
With clinging vines and
Dark underbrush, with
Snakes crawling about.
At the moment of abandoning all,
One feels relief.
If only that feeling
Could sustain itself over the ache
And terror, or weariness
And more tasks
That are sure
To follow!
It’s a sister to that other feeling:
Falling in love.
Dizzying and breathless
Heart-bursting and
Empty-stomached,
Weightless, feathery
In a buffeting wind.
Or like a blazing fire
That starts with a little match
Match-making!
If only that feeling
Could sustain its white-hot
Fire, over the cooling winds
That follow!
It’s a brother to that other feeling:
That of letting go of life,
And whirling, leaf-like
Into blackness.
Weightless again,
Whirling, wind-tossed
Orphaned by life,
Plummeting slowly
And leisurely into death.
If only one could sustain
That mad, exhilaration
That onrush of breathless
Heart-extinguishing
Joy over the vast
Unending desolation
That is sure to follow!
Perhaps, I just need
Some sunlight right now —
A light-hearted stepping out
Into the luminescent evening —
And chase away the shadows.
I know the shadows will wait.
That’s all right — I’m clever.
I can out-wait them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Death, #Life, #Love, #NaPoWriMo, #Waiting, Abandoning, letting go, patience, relief, sustain
Apr 16, 2013 Current Affairs / General Interest, Original Poetry
For the Sake of Life Itself
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 16th, 2013
Call me a coward.
I didn’t tell my eight-year old
That an eight-year old died
Yesterday, standing, waiting
To cheer the people who ran.
And his father, who might have run,
But did not, on that fateful day,
Can run and run from now
Until the end of time
And never catch up.
And the beautiful child that son
Must have been (for how could he be otherwise?)
Died in mid-cheer.
He was eight years old.
He held a poster that said,
“No more hurting people. Peace.”
His name was Martin.
How can one explain such a thing
And how can one still stay intact?
For, in that moment when the world blew up
And an eight-year old flew into the air,
Becoming one with the stars and the atoms,
One broke into a million fragments.
But we carry on, for all the other
Children, who wait for us, eyes wide with trust
Believing that there are good people among us.
And we turn to them, in relief and grief.
And I turn to my beautiful
Angel-child, for the sake of love,
For the sake of all the little ones,
And for the sake of life itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Life, #Love, #NaPoWriMo, Boston Marathon, children, eight-year old, grief
Apr 7, 2013 Character Vignettes for Possible Novels, Original Poetry
Portrait of a Fake
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 7th, 2013
It’s in her eyes, you understand.
Her eyes that hold the mistrust, the dark fears,
The resentment, the self-deluding lies.
Too frightened to turn inward and read what’s
Held in the abysmal depths of her heart.
It’s in the insincere smile, the tinkling laugh,
The worried look, the cold self-absorption
That mark her every utterance, her tone,
Messaging deceit too light to notice,
As she slithers forward like a cobra.
She holds her grudges, she clings to anger.
She knows no other way, for her very
Self was build on these, too far from childhood
Take those away, and not much is left there.
Just a void with remnant strands of realness.
So, perhaps those resentments and grudges
Those fake-friendly words and insincere smiles
Are fine as they are, for who can face the
Awful truth of one’s own emptiness and
Remain standing, exposed, and in one piece?
Perhaps it would be better, though, to melt
Away into nothingness, perhaps to
Die and reshape oneself into a new
More real, truer self, unpropped by ego
And held aloft by a true love for all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Love, #NaPoWriMo, #Rebirth, #Truth, deceit, Ego-centrism, falsitude, inward, realness, reshaping self, void