Apr 4, 2013 Original Poetry, Teaching and Learning
Teacher: A Glimpse As I Passed By
(For Val)
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 4, 2013
Almost in the abyss,
A young boy howls in
Soul-agony, a torment
That he cannot understand.
He sobs, beast-desolate
In the hallway, uncluttered
By others.
I approach,
And see this:
Kindly teacher,
Clad in blue
Pats him gently,
Inexpressibly kind.
“It’ll be all right.
You’ll be fine.”
Her voice like soothing
Balm in Gilead,
Pours solace on his
Strange, wounded mind.
(For he is undeniably
Different from the others.)
Her goodness, a candle
Steady in his darkness,
Completely undoes him.
I walk by, heading elsewhere,
And try not to intrude.
He howls louder,
Lurches against her.
She hugs him with such love —
A well-spring
Of love, she is
An angel of beauty
An angel of warmth
Goodness glowing golden,
Like an energy-field
Around her.
All the comfort he needs
He finds right here,
In her enveloping frame
All the goodness nestled
In the encircling warmth
Of her motherly embrace.
And no matter what this child
Suffered today, whatever else
Torments, grips and twists
His grief-stricken heart,
He will remember this:
When he was most
Desolate and undone,
When he was most
Alone and abyssal,
There was someone.
And she leaned
Over the abyss
Plucked him up,
And brought him back
From the brink.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #kindness, #Loneliness, #Love, #NaPoWriMo, Abyss, Autistic Spectrum, Brink, Comfort, Education with soul, Goodness, grief, Misery, Saving, Special Education Student, teacher, Teaching the young
Apr 3, 2013 Original Poetry, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Catapult – A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
I watch the sun’s beckoning fingers
Inviting my daughter and me to go out
And play. The lure is undeniable.
I resist, resolutely. I shall not go out.
No, I shall not. I want to be lumpen.
My plea? Too tired. Too worn out.
Not for me the beautiful sun
Nor for me the brisk air
Of near-Spring, teetering
At the edge of winter,
Still tilted in Winter’s wake.
I insist on staying indoors, always
The rebel against that which is good for me.
I used to be good, you know.
I was good. I looked good.
I was young and aware of it.
So, I carefully did these:
Walk, eat right, count my calories,
Be healthy, do lunges and stretches.
Now, un-Cinderella-like, with the years
Flown by, I find that I’ve turned
Into a pumpkin, and do not mind.
My daughter doesn’t mind that we are home.
She’s had her sun-stint earlier today,
With loving and dutiful Dad.
She played with Bella, a beautiful dog
She romped about
On wood-chips and grass,
Happy to be almost at Spring’s door.
I wasn’t there. I was told the bare
Details: Playground, dog, Bella, romping.
But I might have been there.
I saw them all, clearly.
For I hallucinate scenes
Clear as day, scenes which move
Like movies of yore, slow long
Camera angles and panning.
I see everything: My child,
Bella the dog, her fond owner,
My fond husband watching our daughter
Adore the dog, and the blue, blue sky above.
I hallucinate most things (but I know
It’s in my mind), because the stories
Always unfold thus, and all the colors are
Extra-saturated and brighter than real.
Now, as I watch, bemused, nonplussed,
My daughter prances about the house
Cat-faced, with a mask she made herself.
Cow-like, she moos, then cat-like, she slinks
Towards me, catapulting into my arms.
Stunned, I allow myself
To be borne away on the wave of her
Eight-year old magic.
Once, she asked me:
Would you love me if I were a boy?
I shall always love you.
Would you love me less if I were a teenager?
I shall always love you.
Can I stay with you and Dad forever?
I shall always love you.
I love you, Mom!
I shall always love you.
“I don’t want to grow up,” she states
Seriously, full of purpose and intent.
“I won’t! I want to stay a kid
Forever, and be free.”
Part of me agrees.
Another part says,
What of the you who’s waiting to be?
But for now, we stay far from the catapult
Which flings us into the distant future.
Time enough for growing up.
For right now, a child of eight
Claims my entire attention
And dances in the spotlight
Of my love for her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Childhood, #Daughter, #Life, #Love, #Mask, #Mother and Daughter, #NaPoWriMo, catapult, dog interactions, future, Growing up, innocence, Play, Playground
Apr 3, 2013 Original Poetry
Utopia Will Exist!
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 3, 2013
If I say so, it will be!
When society grows sick and pale
And wan with civilization,
I’ll quietly slip away, vanish
Through its revolving doors, elsewhere.
In this time and place, far away,
The deep forest grows wild outside
My door. And jasmines will bloom bright,
Moon-white, beside a silver stream.
This world will have strange and lovely
Fruit all sweet and rich and light-filled,
And swollen with the sun’s desire,
Pregnant with juice, bright, sinful, rich.
And the bees will buzz crazily,
Greedily around the flowers
Growing bright and sweet and golden
Glowing with nectar and promise.
And the heady scent of it all
Will waft dreamily through the still
Quiet air, slumbering in peace,
Languorous, sated with noon-sun.
And a dreaming child of five will
Lie on the grass beside the stream
And his hair will glow like water
While his dream-mother reads aloud.
And the world’s story will unfold
A new story never been told
And it will be gentle and good
— Wait! There’ll be a hint of chaos.
And I will step closer, impelled
By a strange force, but unwilling
To hear and listen. But they’re here
In my own world, and how dare they?
When story-chaos enters here,
The very air will shift and change,
And turn on its hinges, away
From my world and its lulling peace.
And I will flee far from that turn,
Chase after that revolving door,
And slip away again, this time
Into a world even farther.
And I will fill this new-found world
With just a few people, and they
Will resemble no one at all
Creatures of light, of air, of song.
And we will sing those songs. We shall
Dwell in silence, and our forests
Will be deep-rooted, strong, with us
In them, singing, winging skywards.
And the air will be strung with beads
Of light, and our songs suspended
Like drops of dew upon the leaves,
While we live in unchanging bliss.
It will not bore me, and slay me
It will not, I say. I like peace
And non-action. I like being.
And I like all that nothingness.
So, don’t entice me with chaos
Don’t bring storylines and shadows.
And say Utopia isn’t real.
It is, I say! It exists, here!
And if I say so, it will be!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Chaos, #NaPoWriMo, #Peace, Being, civilization, creatures of light and air, New World, Nothingness, revolving doors, storylines and shadows, Utopia, world's story
Apr 1, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Indifference?
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 1st, 2013
You want to see pure indifference?
Talk about work to a person who has not slept for forty-eight hours.
Talk to a starving person about morals.
Talk to an angry teenager about duty.
Talk to a woman in the throes of giving birth about the dangers of population explosion.
Talk to a painter about toxic substances in paint.
Talk to an Isaac Newton about weightlessness.
Talk to a dancer about sitting attentively in a classroom.
Talk to a Climate Change activist about the profit margin in polluting industries.
Talk to a caged animal about why it is safe and better off in the cage that you’ve created for it.
Talk to a child and explain to her why she shouldn’t play, and attend to her homework instead.
That’s all for now, folks!
Too sleep-deprived for a bigger, fancier blog-post.
~Dreamers of Dreams~
Tags: #indifference, #NaPoWriMo, Artists, caged animals, children, Children and Play, dancers, dreamers, musicians, Play, Pointlessness, Work