May 15, 2015 Uncategorized
Illusion – Homan Square and Worse
©May 15, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
How can I smile?
The sun shines muted and somber
The children’s cries of glee on the fields
Seems removed, like sounds heard through glass.
The sky bends, an old woman with a bundle,
Inverted, back broken, over an earth which
Spins only from duty and habit.
How can I smile?
I read things, things about blood
And things about pain
And about cruelty, torture
And rape.
In Chicago’s Homan Square,
A Black Site, mini-Guantanamo,
Men in blue, with blood-lust
And guns ready at the hip
Explode with hatred, and
Engorged with power,
Devastate a life, far from
Prying eyes or help.
And I read, and my gorge rises
And a canyon opens below.
How can I smile?
You want to tell me that we
Are creatures of compassion
And kindness, and love?
You want to tell me that we care
For our fellow brothers and sisters,
That we are merciful?
You want to tell me that
All is not lost, that
Goodness still exists?
Very well! I’ll go along
With your fiction.
I have no choice, but
To die, here, now.
I cannot do that.
Duty compels, and love,
Family ties me with silken threads.
And this body that
Still thirsts, still hungers,
Still rejoices in air and light
And food and music
And words and touch …
These tug at me.
If it’s fiction, and all existence
Narrows down to that perfect point
Where death pinches out life,
I don’t care.
This fiction prods me on.
This is all maya.
And though I laugh in your face,
And my heart is a fist, and the fist,
Is formed from blood and tears,
And I lie in a dark room,
Somewhere
Far away,
Shaking,
Broken,
I will create this fiction.
For I have no choice.
Out of fiction
A genie emerges,
Arms folded, forbidding,
Good, powerful:
Could this be Truth?
I will ask three things of it, then.
And if it doesn’t give,
I will force it back into
Its metallic, negative space.
And spin a wilder
Brighter, kinder fiction,
Which will coalesce,
Transforming this world
Into something that might
Nearly resemble Truth.
I could live with that —
Perhaps.
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Tags: #Injustice, #Original Poetry, Chicago Black Site, Homan Square
May 12, 2015 Uncategorized
Becoming a Balloon
©May 12th, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
Detaching from something is a curious sensation,
Sad and joyful, exhilarating, downcasting.
Liberation can be scary. Who wants to be free?
Is this why so many of us choose our own brand of slavery?
Better to be attached to something, anything, than to float away, unmourned, forgotten.
Is that it?
I would like to be a balloon.
Yes, a balloon is what I want to be
I want to fill with something lighter than air,
A thin membrane separating me from
Complete dissipation.
And, bringing joy to a child’s life, or an adult’s,
I will let myself be held lightly by a hand or two.
And then, let the winds tug at me,
Snap me loose from the hands that hold me,
And float away, so quietly, so softly,
I won’t hurt any bird, I promise,
Nor trouble any airplane’s engines.
Just float away, that’s what I’d like to do,
Until I reach the moon, or become one.
Tags: #Original Poetry, Balloon, detachment, Floating away, Lighter than air
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Tags: #Carpe Diem Haiku Kai, #Original Poetry, original haiku, Painting by Milind Mulick
May 30, 2014 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal
Un-Metaphorical Musings – Sixteen Haiku
©May 30th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Focus! I order,
Focus on love, joy and fun –
Tragedy, begone!
Focus flickers out.
Blindly missing what I like,
I simply exist.
So, filled with ennui,
I sit here, silent and still.
Empty, hollow-eyed.
Hollowed, I sit still.
Ennui all around me.
Boredom fills my bones.
Bones thrum to music
Outside, birds trill in pleasure
When did pain arise?
Pouring from the sky
Outside, the golden sunshine
Makes bright the darkness.
A bright ice-cream truck
Clamoring sounds fill the air.
The weekend begins.
Inside, in school-mode
Thinking, pencils in our hands
We face each other.
Puzzling over this
Moment of non-metaphor
Can we write the truth?
Here, I write in peace.
In India, two teenage girls
Hang from a tree, dead.
Elsewhere, children starve
Gazing into cameras
Eyes huge and hungry.
Here, we eat and crunch
The savour of salt and oil
Permeates the air.
There, a woman walks
Baby on hip, pot on head
Water, far away.
Here, see the landlords,
Grossly surfeit, call for more
Wine flows into cups.
And here, I sit, bored?
Bored, am I? How arrogant!
Step outside, and see!
Today can go on
Stretching into a weekend
And the earth spins on.
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Tags: #haiku, #Original Poetry, Boredom, Daily-ness, Writing about writing
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.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, Bird Poem, Dove, La Grande Famille, Rene Magritte, Surrealism