Mar 19, 2013 Uncategorized
A Winged Race– A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 19th, 2013
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And she will walk tall
An Athena, an Aphrodite,
An Artemis, a Hestia.
Above all, she will be Gaia.
And she will smile
In all her wisdom, for
She will be the bringer
The herald of the morrow
Sans sorrow, sans dread.
With compassion and passion,
She will unfold the mystery
The beauty, the burgeoning
Of life, tender and tragic,
Full of magic and love.
And he, in turn will arise
Reach for her, steady himself
And walk tall beside her.
And he will be an Unnamed One,
For that is what we need.
And he will be there
Alongside her, respect
In his eyes and heart,
And love will bear root there.
And what is love,
If there be not respect?
And what is respect,
If there be not passion?
And what is passion,
If there be not compassion?
And what is compassion,
If there be not acceptance?
And what are all these,
If there be not two beings
Building together, living
Learning, loving, glowing,
Growing together?
*And new women will arise
And walk, hand in love with women.
And new men will straighten
And walk hand in love with men.*
And they will all be as earth and water,
Tree and soil, air and vapor,
And they will rebuild upon the
Dead and desiccated lands.
And a new race of winged creatures
Will arise and take flight.
And life will rejoice, for it will
Not all have been in vain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
P.S. I realized that the poem sounded rather Christian (rather like an ode to Adam and Eve, which was totally NOT my intention), so I added that asterisked stanza. I am not Christian. I am a Hindu by upbringing, and a spiritual atheist. I believe in equality between women and men. I believe in gay marriage. I believe in the right of all people to emotionally and physically love whomever they choose, as long the expression of this love is between consenting adults.
I am against violence of any kind, be it directed at women or men.
Tags: #Original Poetry, Celebrating LGBT, Celebrating Women, Equality, New Beginnings, Woman Power
Mar 19, 2013 Teaching and Learning
After Steubenville — A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 19th, 2013
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A sickness has stolen into our worlds.
The souls of our young men,
Swollen with self-love
(Or could it be self-hatred?),
Fatten themselves upon the spirits
Of our young women, who,
Powerless, longing for recognition,
No matter whence it arrives,
Find themselves caught unawares
In the buffeting waves
Of the contempt and hate
That pulses in the swollen, unfettered
Power-crazed glands of young men.
After such crimes, what punishment?
And who shall speak for our girls?
Filled with confusion, eager for love,
Looking for direction, they follow
False trails, lose sight of themselves,
And, trapped in a mirror world,
Desperate, surrounded, they cry out,
Lose their way, flounder, flail, fall
Out of consciousness.
And the talking heads on idiot boxes
Blame them subtly, making mouth-noises.
Do they not see the horrors they condone,
Waggle-tongued hypocrites of our time
And of our shame? Worshippers of clay gods,
They babble and preen, loose-jawed
Purveyors of muck, shaking their heads,
While our girls lose consciousness.
After such crimes, what punishment?
And who shall speak for the boys?
Lust for power and narcissism,
Hero-worship and sports-worship
Create a crazy, mirror-world with distorted
Images, reality suspended, decency snuffed out,
Morality crushed underfoot, shame splintered!
Self-knowledge drowned in manic laughter,
They cavort like Pan’s satyrs.
A sickness afflicts our children.
And our girls shall not see freedom
And our young men shall know prison.
Each imprisoned in a hell that we,
The makers of our world, need to break down.
Break down, rebuild, rename, re-teach.
And we need to teach our children well
Or we shall all go to hell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Teach Our Children — Crosby, Stills and Nash YouTube Video
Tags: #Original Poetry, #Punishment, Crime, Media, Ohio, sick society, Steubenville, Teach Our Children
Mar 19, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Snow Day–A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 19th, 2013
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Woke up today to snow!
No school!
Feel like a child …
Alas, the feeling ends there.
Work calls.
I cover my ears
Pretend not to hear.
Nope. It’s insistent,
Like an unwanted visitor
Leaning on the doorbell.
Silence in the house.
No pulse stirs the walls,
Breath is suspended.
Lips parted, couched in bed, I wait,
Willing my intruder to vanish
Into the snow whence it came,
But it waits. It is patient.
I grumble and grouse.
I stop my ears with my fingers.
I go, la, la, la, la, la.
I arise, drink coffee, look out
See all that piled up snow.
I tend to my child,
Listen to my husband playing guitar.
But work always waits.
Quiet, brutally determined,
Work waits, arms crossed,
Infinitely aged and weary.
And I long for the quietude
Of my final rest.
I yearn, I yearn, I yearn
For my final rest.
Alas, I know my work
Will follow me there.
It is not to be spurned, rejected
Cast aside. It is wedded to me.
Sighing, I get up, allow my breath
To resume its rise and fall
And, with rueful smile,
I open the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Original Poetry, #Procrastination, Snow Day, Work
Mar 17, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Essays on Music and Musicians
Roots Music
(Pune, India, 1994) – An Original Poem
©Vijaya Sundaram, March 17th, 2013
To get to the roots of things,
We dug deep, drenched in song.
At times, things were rich,
Saturated, awash in light.
At others, rocks shouldered through,
Got wrenched out of the way.
That was the year when
Unexplained sorrow burst
Through inexplicable joy,
Escaped, became song.
Sometimes dreams came,
Pursued by demons,
Effaced by the gods.
That was a good year,
Full of magic realism, when
Dreams came on winged backs
And bore me away, and
A three-faced Goddess
Showed me favor,
As I ran, carrying a fish in a jug.
That was the year to rise,
Untrammelled by the mundane.
Above the struggle, we leaped
Into a space of pure spirit.
That was the year we distilled
Our music-minds, mined the ether.
That was the year, when,
Lighter than air, lighter than light,
We rose, embryonic-winged
For we were ruled by spirit,
And our spirits were weightless.
~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Music, #Original Poetry, #Vijaya Sundaram, #Warren Senders, Antigravity, India, Pune
Mar 16, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
On the Road, in Kerala
©A Short Poem by Vijaya Sundaram
March 16th, 2013
____________________________________________________
It whispers in like mist
Swirls softly around the edges
Of a tired consciousness,
Descends, in folds of subtle silk.
The moving scenes outside
Drift away in Dopplerian shifts:
Hills clad in ecstatic green,
Small dwellings on the roadside,
Palm trees and flowering plants
Whoosh away in bursts of color.
Dogs, curious and incurious,
On the sides of roads, and hills
Roosters and chickens, pigs and cows
Cluttering the fringes of things.
As eyes close, and breath settles
Into a pattern, calm, rhythmic.
And, full of purpose and beauty,
My child slips quietly into sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Original Poetry, India, Kerala, On the Road in Car
Mar 1, 2013 Teaching and Learning
I wrote this poem in December, immediately following the Sandy Hook tragedy. It completely took me apart. I took refuge in writing a poem, because that’s all I could do, after those dreadful hours of grieving, to deal with the unthinkable. Please do read and let me know what you think.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Memoriam – Sandy Hook
©By Vijaya Sundaram
Written on December 16th, 2012
O hold on to your rainbows bright,
O Children of the shadowed Dream.
O hold on to your unicorns, for
Things are not quite what they seem.
On the edges lurks the dark
Wedged behind those pretty parks
Run, my child, before it leaps
That monster from the scary deeps.
Hold your breath and lift your wings
Catch the breeze under your swing
Jump up high into the air
Live your life, don’t turn a hair.
______________________________
Refrain:
Monsters come and monsters go,
It’s you for whom our sorrow flows.
But we’ll go strong into the night
And whisper hope to make things bright.
______________________________
This world is not for hate and hurt
This world is not for grief and rage
You should be playing in the dirt,
And love your happy, youthful stage.
We’ll whisper deep into the morn
We’ll sing a song of love for you
We’ll work for all who have been born
We’ll bring the dawn above to you.
Forgive us for the world we’ve made
Forgive us for the sins of trade
Forgive this hateful history
And show us love’s deep mystery.
___________________________
Refrain:
Monsters come and monsters go,
It’s you for whom our sorrow flows.
But we’ll go strong into the night
And whisper hope to make things bright.
_____________________________
Tags: #Childhood, #Original Poetry, grief, parenting, sandy hook, teachers
Mar 1, 2013 Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Today, I attended a dear colleague/friend’s baby shower. This made me quite sentimental, and I remembered my own, given by colleagues and friends at school. When people reminded me to write a poem for her, after she read out my (non-poetic) card, I said I would do so. And I did. Right away! (Wish I could say that for everything else I say I’ll do!)
In any case, here it is:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For Joanna, With Love
As Promised, A Mom-Babe Poem!
©By Vijaya Sundaram
Feb. 28th 2013
Deep within, life is shaping itself
Into a little, magic being,
Perfect, because she’s yours,
Beautiful, because you are bearing her,
Complete in herself, and
Completing you and your true love.
And you, the mother, will watch
And learn how to be a new you.
You’ll count her fingers and toes,
Touch her little nose,
Kiss her cheeks of rose,
As the hours come and go.
You’ll trace the down on her cheeks
While you read Goodnight Moon.
You’ll try every ruse and trick
To lull her to sleep.
Time enough for that!
Her bright eyes will seem to say.
You’ll jerk awake at the least cry,
Or gurgle, or sigh, or changed breath.
Alert, ready to face insomnia,
You’ll nurse and nod wearily,
Actions automatic and altruistic,
While you drown in somnolence.
At three a.m., you’ll unwrap
A popsicle, driven mad by thirst,
Eat a sandwich, with her in your baby-wrap.
Knowing *every breath you take
And every move you make
She’ll be watching you.*
Glaring maniacally at the clock
Rocking the baby in your arms,
You’ll mutter all the rhymes
From all the baby books you have
And your voice will lull you to sleep,
While she smiles at nothing at all.
And she’ll gurgle and wave her arms
Tracking, with attentive eyes,
Those sweet, strange bubbles of light
Which she alone will see.
And then you’ll see with your intent gaze.
The light of all her baby-days.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(* with apologies to The Police / Sting, for stealing some of Sting’s words there!)
Tags: #Original Poetry, Baby shower, Mother-to-be, Sting
Feb 19, 2013 Uncategorized
Raccoon-Night — A poem
© By Vijaya Sundaram
May 11, 2012
Whiskers a-quiver,
Tail aloft
Bright little raccoon,
Sharply soft.
Your paws hold fruit
Your eyes the night
Your secret hides
In shadowed light.
I gaze at you
You stand so still,
And gaze right back
And eat your fill.
What cheer, what cheer, you bright young thief?
What joys, what pains, what songs, what strife?
What shapes your raccoonish beliefs
Through this, your secret, night-time life?
I wish to join you, little thing,
And slip out through that magic door,
Stay up all night, pick songs to sing
Songs we’ve never sung before.
And as I see your tail aloft,
I see how midnight makes things soft
The dark leans close, your eyes shine bright
I stay with you, in hushed moonlight
Sleep comes to knock; I turn back, sad
To say goodbye, see you no more.
But when I drift, my smile is glad;
I’ll still slip through that magic door!
Tags: #Original Poetry, animal poem, raccoons
Feb 18, 2013 Uncategorized
Event Horizon -- A Poem © By Vijaya Sundaram April 27th, 2012
Forever circling, forever spinning
Closer and closer to the core
Seemingly for an eternity, like a golf ball
Into a vortex built for it in a Children’s Museum,
I dance towards the center.
I know the wider circles will narrow
Into an infinitesimally
Small one, and finally
I will drop into that other world
That other universe waiting for me,
The shadow world
Of visions unseen, and nightmares unimagined.
Is it down, though?
Or is it just beyond?
Time stretches into the far reaches
Of space, condenses into a black hole.
And I circle, circle, circle
Well past the event horizon,
And no light escapes.
This is what my life seems here,
Spinning, plunging forward towards the core,
Always spinning, spinning, spinning.
I watch myself from the other side,
The far side of the event horizon.
And I appear to shift and slow down.
Within, I continue just as I always did.
Without, old age chains my ankles, and I feel so slow,
Within, I speed up, a child heedlessly
Racing towards non-being.
Without, I send out cries of light to that other side, where
My old self watches, helpless, while I pitch headlong towards,
But never quite reaching, that heart of death.
My cries do not pass through.
I move in opposite directions,
Watch from two places: One towards,
And one away from that final plunge.
Eventually, I know I’ll circle, and tumble into
A world beyond that pinpoint of darkness.
Will it all be flat there?
No concentric circles, no Schwarzchild radius
To grab at my ankles?
Or will it always be circles
Within circles, within circles,
Within which the spinning top
Of selfhood disintegrates into atoms
Torn apart by invisible hands?
And as I dance inexorably towards this question,
I see something new
Forming out of that dense, closely-pressed space:
Light radiates from the particles,
Re-forms from those atoms
Into another being, frees itself
From ankle-chains, and escapes.
Tags: #Death, #Original Poetry, #Rebirth, Black Hole, Event Horizon, Red Shift, Schwarzchild Radius