Apr 9, 2013 Uncategorized
Mercy-Crumbs
[Fourth Poem-Response to “Pigeon” by Anthony Green]
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 9, 2013
Pigeon on the platform
Man on the train.
Sometimes, crumbs of mercy
Give life again.
Small pigeon at his human feet
His crumbs of mercy for the bird
A man, at gunpoint with the guards
A woman gives hope with a word
Each little crumb feeds living souls
Each little crumb gives back to life
Each little crumb furthers a goal
Each little crumb reduces strife.
A simple act, a simple deed
So easy, yet so very hard
For those who do not choose to feel.
And only some dare take that chance.
A simple act saved this man’s life
So simple, yet so very strong
Her kindness was that upon which
His life hinged; she set right that wrong.
The man saw her, and said no word
His thanked her with his eyes so mute
And filled with something that was stirred
Within, and rich with gratitude.
Pigeon on the platform
Man on the train.
Sometimes, crumbs of mercy
Give life again.
Tags: #Hope, #Life, #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poetry, Goodness, Gratitude, Mercy, poem-response to "Pigeons" by Anthony Green
Apr 9, 2013 Original Poetry
The Hunted
(My Third Poem-Response to “Pigeon” by Anthony Green)
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 9, 2013
In the beginning was the Bird
The Bird just was, and then the Word
Was spoken, and its calls were heard
And hate and war were soon bestirred.
Then, trains of death soon came and went
Those death-trains slew all innocents
The guards so cruel, so hell-bent
On uncovering with cold intent
The ones who hid, and who were hidden
And some they spared, and some they didn’t
And hunted by a word forbidden,
Their lives, by hate, quite overridden.
And in the end, lay the forlorn Bird,
Murdered by the hateful Word
And of their cries not one was heard
And in the ashes, no one stirred.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poem, Hunter and Hunted, Pigeon, Poem-Response
Apr 9, 2013 Uncategorized
This is my second Poem-Response to “Pigeon” (film by Anthony Green)
Slingshot
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 9th, 2013
Poor, poor bird,
Alone in the world
At the mercy of boys
With slingshots.
Just there,
Nowhere else to go
Nothing else to do
But just be and peck
At crumbs of mercy
Tossed its way.
Every crumb matters
Every gesture burns
As a brand in the dark.
Every act of goodness
Lasts an eternity.
Though the cruel day
Comes, hell-bent on
Exposure and betrayal,
Each kindness leaves
A trace.
And the bird survives for
Another day, another hour.
Though cruelty
Dogs its steps.
Every kindness brings
Life.
Every saving brings
Hope.
Every crumb brings
Fullness.
And somewhere,
In another world
In another time,
Those traces will come
To live and glow
Through eternity.
And life will take wing
In the light of peace.
And only goodness will
People that world, with
No slingshots in sight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Hope, #kindness, #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poetry, #Peace, fullness, Saving, Slingshot
Apr 9, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Original Poetry, Reading, Writing, Thinking, Teaching and Learning
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3o8jL1BXMdk]
Response to “Pigeon” by Anthony Green
©Vijaya Sundaram
April 9th, 2013
[The above YouTube video shows the film “Pigeon” by Anthony Green. This was the prompt I put up today on my “smartboard” in class (we have been studying books set in the Nazi-Holocaust period for the past few weeks). Students watched this 11-minute film and then we had a discussion about the significance of the different acts of kindness or unkindness in the film. We also discussed the symbolism in all the visuals (I don’t want to go all school-teacherish on you here), as well as the arresting imagery, acting and directing.
This was followed by a writing assignment. Students had to write a poem-response to this film, telling the story itself, or using the larger symbolism to zoom in on what moved them. They were deeply affected by the film, and the poems they came up with were beautiful.
I told them that I, too, would write while they wrote. So, I managed to write in four out of five of my class periods today.] Here is the first of the four poems I wrote (unedited, sorry, no time to tweak things. Will do that later):
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shema Yisrael
Response poem to the film “Pigeon”
©Vijaya Sundaram
April 9th, 2013
Shema Yisrael
Stranded on the island
I await my deliverance
Shema Yisrael
Pigeon at my feet
Crumbs for its survival
Shema Yisrael
I have lost all, lost all
My papers, my self, my life.
Shema Yisrael
I try and sidestep my fate
Waiting is my wasteland
Shema Yisrael
Here are guards, inexorable as death
I die by degrees, in a sweat of fear
Shema Yisrael
Angel in human form sees
My loss, transforms into demoness
Shema Yisrael
I had a wife, and now a new one,
Who beats me about the shoulders.
Shema Yisrael
Guards aim death at her, “Papers!”
She mocks me, her “husband.”
Shema Yisrael
They laugh at us, mock me; they see she
“Wears the pants,” and then they leave.
Shema Yisrael
Bless this angel of mercy, this wife
Who delivered me from death, from hell
Shema Yisrael
May her act not go unnoticed
May she find a place among the angels.
Shema Yisrael
May the pigeons and doves among us
Find their saviors, may they fly in peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Eḥad
(Hear, O Israel: the Lord is our God, the Lord is One)
Disclaimer: I am not a Jewish person, nor a believer of any sort. However, I believe deeply in the power of prayer to steady ourselves, when we’re cast afloat, rudderless, on an open sea. It’s a centering mechanism. It’s good. It can only calm us, not hurt us.
Tags: #humanity, #kindness, #NaPoWriMo, #Resistance, #Teaching, Deliverance, Goodness, Mercy, poem-response to film "Pigeon" by Anthony Green, Shema
Apr 8, 2013 Uncategorized
Boot-Foot and Bug
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 8th, 2013
Emotion comes and goes
A storm that seems so strong
Once it’s over, it’s done.
I know it, but do they?
I dislike emotion.
An annoyance it is,
A silly distraction,
A pointless indulgence.
All that bursting, bleeding
Self-serving sentiment,
A foolish, maudlin thought
That the world really cares.
Somewhere a bug dies in
Terrible pain killed by
A monstrous boot-foot which
Does not care or know it.
Better to just crawl off
Fly away, flee away
Right out of that boot-foot.
Avoid, avoid that foot!
~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S. This is all I could come up with today. No wise words, no deep-fried descriptions, no universal truths, no lush language. Today is Spartan fare. That’s all, folks!
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poetry, Bug, Emotion, Foot, Indulgence, Passing Storms, Sentiment
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
Apr 7, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Original Poetry
Disregard -- A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 7th, 2013
It is only when you sit in silence
Electricity humming in your eyes
That you notice you are grimly angry.
It seems the thought police have invaded
All the spaces, inserted themselves in
All your faces, devoted themselves to
Tracing and erasing all that you are.
“But … But …” you stammer deep within your mind
And now you hope that they will never find
The depth of your disregard for that which
They hold so very dear, so very close
To their lemming hearts, justification
Upon justification to prove that
What they did was always right and always
True, because only they are right, you see.
So, observing all, you reflect and rejoice
That, although they seek to undo your mind
They’ll not find you, for you’ll be gone, a flash
Of laughter and mischief, and that too will
Vanish in the hot sunshine of your words.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poem, Disdain, disregard, free mind, free speech, Freedom of speech, justifications
Apr 6, 2013 Original Poetry
Dancing Bells
(Honoring my Daughter’s First Ghungroo Ceremony)
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 6th, 2013
A deity smiles
Benignly down
At the offerings
And the flowers.
Indian food and chai
Compete with incense
The air is quiet
Awaiting blessing.
Today, my girl learns
What tradition is
And she turns on the
Hinge of creation
She to her teacher,
She to her teacher,
Connected by bells
Strung tight together.
Wise words are spoken.
Her teacher evokes
A sense of sweet awe
Reaching for realness.
Hot tears sting my eyes
Mine too, he whispers,
As I dab at them
With my dupatta.
The ceremony
Glows through the morning
A quiet reverence
Saturates the air
Bells on their ankles
Tender and thrilling
Quell their pressing doubts
Render them quiet.
Then, they whirl and twist
They twirl and they stamp
And turn, her young friends
And she, dancers all.
The bells ring out clear
And bright, and tender
The blessings linger
In hands, feet and hearts.
Now, she is one with
Her dancing self and
She sees where the road
Leads. She is unfazed.
She is persistent,
She is stubborn,
Reverential.
These will move her feet.
And her arms will shape
The air into song
Sculpting song into
A pattern for her days.
And her teacher’s words
Will string the small bells
Of each dance into
Bells that ring for life.
For the tradition
Comes through each of them
Through the student and
Into tomorrow.
Tags: #Life, #NaPoWriMo, Anklet bells, dance, Daughter and Teacher, Ghungroo Ceremony, Guru, Kathak Dance, tradition
Apr 5, 2013 Uncategorized
The Feather Drifted Down
©A poem by Vijaya Sundaram, June 3, 2011
Stillness. The feather drifted down.
Silently, the feather drifted.
Drifting down, without a sound
It caught my eye, held it captive.
Drifting, it caused me to suspend
All thought, emotion, sensation,
All space was there for it to bend
Into white swirls, interactive
With the air. My eyes tracking it,
The feather twirled, drifted and danced.
Grace, in space, while I, lacking it
Stayed put, all silent and in thrall.
This is what it all boils down to:
A single feather floating down
Life and death and toil come round to
A few moments spent in free fall.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Life, #NaPoWriMo, #Original Poetry, #Space, dance, Feather, Free Fall, grace, Toil
Apr 5, 2013 Original Poetry
Rot (Or: A Bad Writing Day) ©By Vijaya Sundaram April 5, 2013
Inspiration does not come
It does not come
It does not.
It stays away, like a child
Unwilling to play.
Ideas elude me.
They elude me.
They elude … me,
Like those dreams I pursue
Into the vanishing dark.
My songs are stilled,
I have no songs.
No songs.
Silence fills my ears,
Loudly boxing my eardrums.
Words fail me now.
They fail me.
They fail … me.
And I am left with nothing,
Nothing but words that mean nothing at all.
If this continues tomorrow,
And the day after,
And the day after that,
I might as well die.
And then, resurrecting, write about that.
Or, failing that,
I will fly away from here.
Fly far, far away, hoping.
Never to return.
Or, maybe not.
Perhaps, I’ll moulder like leaves
On the silent forest floor,
Richly rotting and feeding
The soil, from which
Other things will grow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S. This is the poem I had written (and then lost) on April 5th, so I ended up writing a journal-entry-type post that day. I have backdated this one’s “publish” date to April 5th (even if it is April 10th today)
Tags: #NaPoWriMo, Bad Writing Day, inspiration, lack of energy. Love, lack of ideas, lack of inspiration, Rot