May 23, 2014 Current Affairs / General Interest
Note: This set of haiku below was inspired by an image of a sculpture by Isaac Cordal that I saw online, which was titled “Politicians Discussing Climate Change.” If you want to see the image, please note that I didn’t ask for permission to show it here, but you can find it on this site:
Four Haiku About Climate Change (Inspired By Isaac Cordal’s Tiny Sculptures)
Drowning in Denial (The Nile)
©May 23rd, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Seawater arose
Around us, as we posed
Questions in the rain.
Did we do this, or
Was it a freak of nature?
Our questions gurgled.
We argued, as we
Asked our questions, which bubbled
Up from drowning lips
And as we argued
The last one yelled, “It’s not us!”
And then, we vanished.
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P.S.
Please visit and check out my husband’s website, theclimatemessage.com, wherein he provides information, and hosts essays, music messages and poems relating to Climate Change and other related issues. These musical and poetic messages are coming in from all over the world. The numbers grow daily. My husband, Warren Senders, says that “Music is a Climate Issue,” and goes on to show us how. Please visit, and leave comments or your own musical or poetic Climate Messages on his page, if you feel that our earth is something worth fighting for.
Tags: #Original Poetry, Climate Change, Climate Change Denial, Four Haiku, Isaac Cordal's Tiny Sculptures, the climate message.com
May 16, 2014 Uncategorized
Anarkali
©May 16, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Brick upon brick upon brick,
Piled higher and higher
And you, within walls.
Suffocation looms.
But only when mortar’s added.
So, confound them!
Distract them.
Pretend there’s mortar
At this spot and that one,
Insert grey spaces there,
Magic can work.
Pretend to die,
And when they’ve left,
Find those grey spots,
Prise the bricks out, and then
Remove them all,
One after another.
Now, scatter them around you,
Hurl them at the sky
Dash them to the earth
Hurl one at the fabled city,
And run for your life.
Perhaps your Salim awaits.
Perhaps not.
Who cares?
You are beholden to no prince.
You do not need him.
You, pomegranate blossom,
Bearer of many seeds
Encased with blood,
Sweet and tart
Is your life.
Escape!
Sweetness calls.
Life wails aloud.
Freedom cries out.
Burst the skin!
Scatter yourself to the four winds.
Somewhere, a sweeter life
Will grasp at soil, take root.
And you will be whole again.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, Akbar, Anarkali, doomed love, Immurement, Indian legend, Jehangir, Mughal legend, Mughal-e-Azam, Salim
May 15, 2014 Uncategorized
Perspectives
©May 15th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Doors are good,
But there are so few of them
Windows, on the other hand,
Draw me like a magnet.
Windows keep the wind out
Wind down our day,
When we shut them.
Windows tantalize,
Holding out a view
A promise of something,
Which, if we chose, we could
Climb out, fly out,
And claim.
Looking out, we see dogs run,
Children play, cars rush on,
Stray bags on aircurrents.
We see flowers unfold petals,
And birds unfurl wings,
And our vision takes flight.
Or, perhaps, we don’t see.
Perhaps, we see blankness.
Where a brick wall faces our window.
We see a fire escape,
A bored pigeon,
Pedestrian and dreary.
Or, maybe, schoolboys
Smoking pot, or drunks in
Stumbling stupor.
Perhaps, our windows trap
Pockets of madness,
Of sadness, of despair.
Perhaps our windows are
Simply painted on, faking
A word that doesn’t exist.
But doors, now.
Ah, doors are good.
Hinging on promises, symbols,
Giving us sweet metaphors,
Making portals, pathways
Into other worlds, they flash
Glimpses of secrets which swirl
Into other more mysterious ones,
Perhaps to another, darker,
Gnarlier, older universe.
Or, perhaps they give
Us an out, a means to escape,
Even if for a little.
Every doorway has its
Secret Mezuzah, its blessings
Keeping out danger,
Locking in peace.
But what if the danger
Were within?
Would the mezuzah be
A Möbius loop?
If I had my way,
I’d have my door close
To my window, and
Make one work as well
As the other.
It’s all a matter
Of perceptions, perspectives
Of a frame, after all.
That which is framed
Is good, named, tamed.
And then, when we step out,
The world, dense and hungry,
Advances, intent, angry,
Rears its massive head, and
Swallows us whole.
Tags: #Original Poetry, Doors and windows, Frames, perceptions, Perspectives, Worlds
May 13, 2014 Teaching and Learning
What Matters
(Portrait of a Study Hall in Middle School)
©May 13th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Twenty-six minds in a rectangular box
Six windows to see out of,
And one door to escape from:
Boxed in, we sit, attending
Attentive, studious, silent —
Almost, but not quite.
But the hum of thought flows
Through the spaces between desks
Collect in little pools of light.
Eyes gaze into space, catch mine
From time to time, glow in
Recognition: I know you,
And I like you. You’re all right.
(I think.)
The nods, the sidelong looks
Between peers, almost friends,
Some friends, some just classmates,
Catch at filaments of connection.
Heads bent over writing, over science, math
Over drawing, over Insurgent and Divergent
As if these stories bring back some need
To rebel, to fight, but against what?
And for what?
Some long to find causes,
Others laugh at them,
Mock those who act,
Who knows why.
It does not matter. For some,
Reading equals being. Others sit,
Twitching with dissatisfaction,
Mute, itchy.
Here, now, in Study Hall
In 8th Grade, at my school,
In my plant-overflowing, poster-splattered,
Blue and green, and maroon and red
Room, where music swells
From time to time, and
Laughter bubbles, and questions
Spill over every day, and where
Thought and effort crease
My students’ brows,
My Study Hall mutters itself
Into a state that resembles
Work and focus.
And that’s all that matters —
For now.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, focus, middle school, recognition, students and teacher, study hall, what matters
May 12, 2014 Uncategorized
Journey’s End
©May 12th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Little things:
The smile that leaves an imprint in the air
The nod of greeting branching my way
The question that arises from thirst
The answer that comes from a quenched place
The dog back on her feed, after sickness,
Whose face shows her former mischief
The child who tries to please, and fills
My heart with an aching joy,
Who learns and spins and dances,
And sings and advances into maturity,
And retreats into childhood,
When the fairies call.
The husband who makes it all work,
Binds our wounds, makes the appointments
Grows our food, fixes our house,
Loves and gives and forgives,
And occasionally grouches, as do I.
These little things
Make my blood sing.
And make my orbit steady
As we swing towards
Journey’s end.
Journey’s End
May 12th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Little things:
The smile that leaves an imprint in the air
The nod of greeting branching my way
The question that arises from thirst
The answer that comes from a quenched place
The dog who is back on her feed, after sickness,
And whose face shows her former mischief
The child who tries to please, and fills
My heart with an aching joy,
Who learns and spins and dances
And sings and advances into grown-up-hood
And retreats into childhood, when it’s all too much.
The husband who makes it all work,
Holds it together, makes it to the appointments
Grows our food, fixes our house, loves and gives
And occasionally grouches, as do I.
These little things
Make my blood sing.
And make my orbit steady
As we swing towards
Journey’s end.
Tags: #Family, #Journey, #Original Poetry, destination, orbiting
May 11, 2014 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Awaiting the Doorbell
©May 11th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Shopping disgusts me
Yet I do it.
Not all the time, mind you.
And usually, it’s for things I need.
It leaves a bad taste in my mouth
And a buzz in my brain
As if I vomited out my soul
And helped a corporation’s gain.
I want to not need things
I want to not want things
I want to be unpressured.
I want … to be delivered.
Not packaged, not sealed,
Not signed, just
Delivered
Unto myself,
Sans frills,
Sans frippery,
Sans foolishness,
Sans forgetfulness
Sans flirtation
Sans filigree
Sans fancies
Sans fantasy.
Just plain,
Unbowed,
Unadorned,
Unashamed
Unapologetic
Undefeated
Untired
Alive and awake
In joy and in eternal
Leap mode. And so,
I await the doorbell.
Tags: #Original Poetry, #Shopping, Deliverance, deliverance from needs, Delivery, doorbell, nirvana
May 11, 2014 Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Repletion Mode — An Other’s Day Poem
©May 11th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Mother Day yawns
I lie in bed.
Birds unfold the day.
I lie in bed.
Sounds of household peeling.
I lie in bed.
Sunshine splintering.
I lie in bed.
Cup of coffee in husband’s hand.
Bounce of daughter and dog on bed.
I arise, a sea creature,
From torpid dreams.
Tiredness rears over me
I drown in enervation.
Yet, slowly, slowly,
Depletion mode gives way,
Slowly getting replete again,
Slowly, slowly now.
Oh, so slowly.
I sit up and hug my child.
It’s Other’s Day.
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Tags: #Daughter, #Dog, #Original Poetry, completion, husband, Mother's Day
May 9, 2014 Uncategorized
Music in the Present Tense
©May 9th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
The insistent beep of a device somewhere
The punctuations of birdsong
The clack-clack of high heels tripping down the hallways
The voices raised in ritual greeting
The hum of a computer awakening
The whir of an unidentifiable machine
The question from a student
Poking a head in at my door:
Is Poetry Club cancelled for today?
And my strangled “Yes,”
Accompanying a nod,
The high hum of electricity
The shimmer-buzz of fluorescent tubes,
The shuffle of janitorial feet
Jingling keys and all,
The clicking of my fingers on these keys
And the tap-tap of my restless ankle-boots –
All these lead me to this question:
And for what purpose
Is all this work, this tension?
Where’s the music?
The piano at the far end stands
Silent, withdrawn, reserved.
The guitar teeters madly
On the counter where a student
(Or perhaps I) put it,
The hanging-plants overhead grow silently,
Breathing in my carbon-breath,
While I drink in their lovely
Oxygen-rich green exhalation,
So symbiotically symbolic!
The rhythm of inhale-exhale
The music of plant and mammal
In a room full of made things,
The give-and-take of the natural
And unnatural, mediated by
Human intention and action.
I listen intently, and think:
And what’s the purpose?
And, Where’s the music?
I wonder again.
And the music blossoms,
Rose-like and silken
Spiky and molten
Opaquely clear
Before my eyes, my ears,
My breath, my skin.
Right here, amidst all these
Things, these thieves of Time and attention,
These sheaves of paper
And cluster of pens.
Amidst all these four-legged
Quietly triumphant things
On which we sit, and at which
We labor mightily.
But I don’t hear it. I wonder:
Where’s the music? Shall I play some?
And then, I find it, right here, see?
Tight, at my feet, hands, skin, ears.
Still, I’ll play the guitar,
I think, and stop
This, this thing I’m doing.
And I do.
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Tags: #Music, #Original Poetry, classroom, daily noises as music, intention vs. action, sounds, symbiosis, Work
May 9, 2014 Teaching and Learning
Test
(A Glimpse From My Classroom Window
While Students Take a State Math Exam)
©May 9th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
Trees, a brick wall
Fighting a grey sky.
Glass windows reflect
And reflect back
Human and non-human images,
Fleeting and busy, still and silent,
Over-layered, screen upon screen
While cars flow by,
An easy stream, swift and sure,
On a road where sound
May or may not exist.
Not in my quiet classroom, anyway –
Here, where heads are bent
Over official papers
Lives the Mind,
Where only the rustle of papers,
And the scratch of pencils,
And the shuffle of abstracted
Student feet reveal a Supreme Force –
Thought, turned into abstract
Abstruse, enigmatic
Symbol, a language not
Everyone masters, but which
Life and Matter know.
Cellular and atomic
Is their knowledge.
And the Laws were
Already written, before
My students and I
Before everyone,
And everything,
Everywhere, everywhen,
Ever were.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, atomic and cellular, classroom moments, exams, Laws, mathematics, Students, teacher, universal laws
May 8, 2014 Uncategorized
Seeing-Seeding
©May 8th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
To exist in the world
Is to disrupt the even flow
The rhythm, the deep
Assurance of air, water,
Warmth, fire, sky, stars.
We get in the way,
Eager humans all,
While losing our way.
Stumbling over ourselves,
In our desperate eagerness,
Tumbling down precipices
To reach our receding goal,
We scatter hope and despair
And loss and gain
And joy and pain,
Refusing the stillness
That sits at the heart
Of an expanding universe.
For these I yearn:
To see a passionflower,
And become one in an instant,
To glimpse a hummingbird,
And whir and hum in the still air,
To lie beneath a tree
Like a simple stone,
Absorbing glittering life-light
Sun-slippery, leaf-veined greenness –
To catch sunlight in my mouth
Taste its lemony warmth,
To follow a darting rabbit’s flight
And send peace, murmur peace after it
To hurl myself joyfully after a ball
To skitter and skid, slip, not fall
And still hold stillness,
Like water in a cup,
Unrippled, unruffled in
Surface and depth –
To give, and give away,
To forgive and sieve away
Grudges, rage, sadness, doubt,
To smile at insult,
And smile at praise,
To shrug at sorrow,
And forget tomorrow.
To gaze ahead, evaporating
As I move one, saturating
Myself with affection for
All that lives and moves,
Going from water to air
And air to water,
Repeating, escaping, returning
Over and over, and over, again.
Indifferent, but loving,
Detached, but attached.
Going from seed to tree,
And tree to flower,
From flower to seed,
And seed to earth,
And back to tree,
While lightning is
Poised to strike me
Where I stand.
And while I yearn,
Clamoring passionately,
For quietude and stillness,
The universe will
Expand forever, rippling outwards.
Before folding back,
Multi-petalled, tight
Like a fist, and finally
Return to its atomic self,
To its minute, all-seeing,
Inward-looking, quiet,
Turbulence-ignoring,
Life-making, seed-self.
And I will cease to yearn.
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Tags: #Original Poetry, attachment, Contracting, detachment, expanding universe, inward-looking, Seed, stillness