Apr 3, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry

Himself in the Mirror
©April 3rd/4th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Happy to be you today?
He says to her,
The question surprising
Both of them.

Oh yes, so happy!
It’s sunny out, and
The days flow like silk,
Don’t they?

Coffee with me sometime?
He asks, tentative,
Attracted, shy.

They stand on the grass
Little, friendly ants crawl over
Her sneakers, and she lets them be.
A bee buzzes near his head,
And he shakes it.

She inclines hers
Just a fraction, smiling vaguely,
Her acknowledgement of his
Invitation, his attraction
Fractured by competing
Time-tables, now and forever.

She’s on another track,
The train approaches,
And she has to choose
To board it.
He doesn’t see it,
He doesn’t hear it,
All he sees is his reflection
In her eyes.
He is in love.

It isn’t that she’s unhappy
It isn’t envy of him, either.

It’s shifting views
Opacity and transparency,
Her mind saying one thing,
The world seeing another.

Delicate and elfin,
She stands, hand shading
Eyes. smiling vaguely
Up at him, his face so eager.

I’ll be seeing you,
She says, and his face falls.
She pities him, but she
Is not his keeper.

Okay, he mumbles, and
Walks away, diminishing,
Into the horizon,
His return a question mark.

She goes to her house,
Her heart beats loudly.
She’s made up her mind.
This is no time to worry.
He, or her parents,
Or her friends will,
But she won’t. 
She has chosen.

She opens the door to the bathroom,
Stands before the mirror,
Gazes at her reflection,
Sees what she will become,
And smiles at himself in the mirror.
Hello, you!  he says.

He boards the train.

 
_____________________________________________________________________
This is my poem for Day 4 of NaPoWriMo.
This was the prompt:
One of the most popular British works of classical music is Edward Elgar’s Enigma Variations. The “enigma” of the title is widely believed to be a hidden melody that is not actually played, but which is tucked somehow into the composition through counterpoint. Today I’d like you to take some inspiration from Elgar and write a poem with a secret – in other words, a poem with a word or idea or line that it isn’t expressing directly. The poem should function as a sort of riddle, but not necessarily a riddle of the “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” variety. You could choose a word, for example, “yellow,” and make everything in the poem something yellow, but never actually allude to their color. Or perhaps you could closely describe a famous physical location or person without ever mentioning what or who it actually is.

Tags: #Enigmatic poem, #LGBTQ, #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Transgendering

Apr 2, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry

Elegy for My Father
©April 2nd, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

I try and try to remember
Everything, everything about
My father, who spent
His life unravelling, like
A gaily-coloured ball of yarn
Tumbling down a steep,
Unforgiving slope.

When my little brother,
Eleven years younger,
Would watch the sky with round eyes,
Point out planes with toddler fingers,
My father would name them.
Avro, he’d say, Jumbo Jet.
And my father would burst into song,
Always the same one,
He’d croon in his soft light
Baritone, musical and innocent:
Avara hoon (I am a vagabond),
And sing, Avro hoon (I’m an Avro),
And we’d laugh, like clockwork,
Predictable, precise,
Delight permeating us.

He loved flying, and planes,
(despite his dreams of becoming
a pilot thwarted by this and that)
And flew everywhere, fleeing
His debtors, leaving wife
Grieving, kids conceiving of life
Without a father for a long,
Long time. 
Reality was a game to him,
And he played it recklessly,
Grimly, convinced he would win.

Yet, back at a time when
He was still around at home,
His children rejoiced,
Found his bulk reassuring, solid,
Hardly ephemeral, eternal –
A man with weight, jollity,
Benevolence, levity, jokes.

Picchu chitti aathilé
Chaapaatu pandhilé
Chappati chappitane,
He’d say, more and more rapidly
And we’d repeat them,
Tripping over his water-falling
Tongue-twister, and get
All knotted-up, laughing.

Punning in three languages,
He’d make our sides ache,
And we never stopped to wonder:
Did all dads do this?
It was no big deal to us –
That’s what a father did.

I wish I could remember.
I try and try, but my mind
Falters, and I cannot bring back
His word-play, his heaving belly
Rippling with mirth, his strange
Obsession with tidiness, his urge
For control, for so much
Had been taken from him:
His worth, his wealth, his daring,
His promises to himself, his
Poor lost left leg,
Lost to a crushing train.

I try and try, but I cannot
Remember most of his jokes – just one,
The one he made when we,
Weeping, surrounded his hospital bed
Nineteen years before his death,
When he, with amputated leg, said:
“Now, your mother can truly say
Naan ottha kaal la nikkaren,“
(Since standing on one leg
Was what stubborn people did –
In Tamil.)

I try and try to recall
His humour, but a shadow
Falls over it, the shadow of his
Chasms of pain, craters of loss –
He didn’t speak much of that;
I do.  I have lost his voice,
The one that chuckled
And guffawed, rocking the room.

I have forgotten his puns.
This is a small loss, and a great one.

When he was cremated, a shape
That resembled him lay
On the mound at the cremation-grounds,
A shape of ash, a shape of dust.
And the priest who presided
Collected the main part of it,
Placed it in a brass pot, covered
It with something (a cloth?
I cannot remember), draped
Lovingly wound garlands
Of beautiful flowers around it,
Handed it solemnly to us.

My brother, sister and I
Carried it in a rickshaw
To a river outside the city,
And dropped the pot,
Ashes, flowers, my father
Into the waters, and we
Watched, as it floated away
Bobbing in the waves.
We didn’t say much.

Where did all his words go?

Did they fly up, like birds
Released from his frame,
When his breath escaped,
His eyes fixed on a spot
On the hospital walls
Beyond all of us, who watched
While he left us, his cancer
Eroding his insides, the pain
Matching the brightness
In his eyes, as we held his hands,
And the hospital staff filed in
Silently, with bent heads?

Did he pun one last time?
Did we not hear it?
For he couldn’t speak, then.
The words had flown,
And he couldn’t catch them.
His breath fluttered out.
He left us yet again –
This time, to a place
Beyond our imagining,
Probably transforming himself
Into an Avro, flying into the sun.

He imagined us all.
And we remain,
Scattered remnants,
Of his tattered life,
Eddying in his wake,
As we gather ourselves
Into an illusion of self-hood.

I shall try to remember all this
When my breath flutters,
And my words vanish in
A puff of air, and my eyes
Fix on a spot somewhere beyond
Those gathered around.

I shall follow my words
And escape the shell
Encasing this world.
And who knows? I just
Might meet my father’s
Puns spiralling down.

_____________________________________________________________
This is my poem for Day 3 of NaPoWriMo.  The prompt was to write an elegy (I chose to write an unrhymed one), and to “center the elegy on an unusual fact about the person or thing being mourned.”

Tags: #Elegy, #Father, #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram

Apr 1, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry

We Wave You Away
©April 1st, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Everything waves away
The encroaching end.
Off with you, begone!
Look!  Bright lights and warmth!
You cannot approach.
There is no place here
For the likes of you!

Hearth-fire leaps and twirls,
Dog curled at our feet.
Sonny Rollins blows hard
While Max Roach
Whirls his sticks and skates
Across meters, dancing.
And Tommy Flanagan
Punctuates all with light
Finger-tips, master-ease.

Brown rice, tofu, spinach
Cooked with tomatoes,
Spices, onions, peanuts,
Settles like a sigh of
Pleasure in our bellies.
We sit, and we read
Before the fire.  The dog
Is content, her people
Near her, two-egg omelette
And yogurt for her dinner,
Her drowsing attention
Ready to leap into
Fierce action at a sign.

So, you cannot come here,
You, the inevitable
Face of the end of things.
Do not approach at all.
Take a break, leave us be,
Leave the world for now.
________________________________________________________________

Tags: #Contentment, #DeathDeferred, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram

Mar 30, 2017 Original Poetry

To A Red Tortoise on a Spring at the Kitchen Window
©March 20th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Bright red tortoise with nose in the air,
With four paws waving, and head raised high,
Where do you go when I’m not there,
Sitting at your window facing the sky?

A blue disc shines (an alternate world).
The light slants in like slippery fish.
And dust motes dance in a dreaming whirl,
As the butter melts in a porcelain dish.

Do you visit the land of blue-sun skies,
And watch red rabbits race you down,
As you plod on serene, and sans surmise,
While the clouds pile high in a giant frown?

Do you waggle your head, you wrinkled thing,
And smile to yourself as you plod along,
And dream that you’re a bird on the wing,
While the earth simply fades into your song?

You are what you dream – now you’re a bird.
You soar up high, while you gaze ahead.
Then, without a sign, a sigh, a word,
You fall into sleep, your thoughts unsaid.
__________________________________________________________________________

Tags: #ObjectPoetry, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram

Mar 29, 2017 Original Poetry, Uncategorized

Not Here
©March 29th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Every ghost leaves behind a sigh
A song, a rustling leaf, a cry,
Muffled, indistinct.

Although we walk but once this way
And leave, each day gives way to day,
Bearing imprints, linked
.
Call it our dust, our joys, our pain,
We fall into lust, destroy, gain;
The world is remade.

Now, as twilight shadows gather
I wish to fade away rather
Than stay, be replayed.

No promise of a better life
Or a worse one sustains me.  Knife
This darkening moment.

Forget I ever lived, forget
What I had to give, no regret
Equals atonement.
__________________________________________________________

Tags: #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram

Mar 28, 2017 Original Poetry

On the Sands
©March 28th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Go, my friend, to the place
Where you grew, tall and young,
Air glowing like a pearl,
Where you danced, a girl
All fire and fun, unsung
On the beach, upturned face,
Welcoming arms out-flung
Waves shushed in, your toes curled
Your mind was blank, you twirled
And spun, while the world clung
To your skin, you-encased.

Go there, spin, make your silk
Wrap yourself in a pod
Hang down like a rain-drop
Freeze before your heart stops.
Close your eyes, and applaud
This life, this youth you milk.
Forget the rest who plod
Towards the sloping tops
Of receding dream-props
Chasing after false gods
Who laugh while they bilk.

Go there, build, smile and sway,
Suspended, in the core.
Between one heart-beat and
The next, weave your strands
Link to all from before
And stretch the shining day
So you will nevermore
Seek to understand
Life; just stretch out your hands
Grab both sea and the shore,
Press them together – play.
______________________________________________________________

Tags: #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram

Feb 28, 2017 Free Verse, Original Poetry, Uncategorized

Keep Walking
©February 28th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Legs keep moving, in and out,
On and on, feet touching pavement,
Feet in air, feet touching down.
Resist cessation.

Birds sing in confused pleasure
Trees wear catkins like gloves,
Soft-fingered and fuzzy,
And bulbs poke out
Look around in anticipation,
Unsure of life, compelled to grow.

The sun rides hard,
His horses neigh loudly,
And buck and trample clouds
As they propel themselves
Chaotically, confusedly, hotly
Towards yawning darkness,
Resist!  I call out to them.

Keep walking, keep walking.
Sing as you walk, loudly, loudly
Let the darkness know you approach.
Let it cower when you arrive.
Sing into its yawn,
Pour loud joy into its chasm,
Until it dissolves, stupefied,
Chastened, ephemeral.

Resist!
_______________________________________

Tags: #Approachingearlyspringinwinter, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #resist

Feb 27, 2017 Free Verse, Original Poetry

Refusal
©February 27th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Tags: #Dog, #NoWeHaveNoBananas!, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram

Feb 26, 2017 Free Verse, Original Poetry, Uncategorized

Orpheus (and I)
©February 26th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Every day, the idea of oblivion
Entices, lures, coaxes me ever closer.
I resist, then press on towards it.
And I resist again.

There is a river whose name
I forget, remembering pain, and forget.
Once, I crossed over, and returned
How, I know not.  Yet, it calls.

Now, I play my music, but it’s
The ghost of someone who plays:
The ghost of a beloved memory
Who lets her fingers
Stray dreamily over the lyre.

The stones speak.
The woods stir.
Animals gather round.
They come closer and closer.
I do not greet them.
They sit in silence around me.
They bring some solace.

Sunlight plays over my head
Like the fingers of my beloved
I see strings stretched across it.
I play it, and rain falls, flowing
Over my cheeks, like the river
Of forgetting, bleak, cold.

See over there? 
Somewhere beyond those hills,
Women beckon, red-eyed, long-nailed,
Wild-haired, naked, wine-stained,
And manic, ready to wreck my life.

They fill me with terror,
Yet, I’m strangely drawn to them
As if an error of blood, of rage
Connects me to them, an error of fate.

Someone long ago, from the future
Said to me, “Avoid them.”

I forget who it was,
A poet, I think.
She treasured my music.
She wept over my lost love.
She wrote about my sorrow.
And she said, “Stay here.
These woods, these animals
Will love you and protect you.
Play your music for them.”

I do not listen to her words.
She was born of my mind, a mere
Figment, a fragment of a future
That didn’t exist, because it hadn’t
Come into being, because I
Didn’t sing of it, because I
Couldn’t picture it, because I
Abhorred the future, because i
Loathed the present, because I
Wanted to live and die in the past.

I leave that place, weeping
For my lost love.
The trees weep with me, and animals
Follow, forlorn, seeking comfort
From one who is bereft of it.

The hills call.
Maenads beckon.
I am come to meet
A fate I cannot fathom.
A seek an end to this.
I seek my beloved.
I hear her call, even
As I am torn.
_________________________________________

Tags: #GreekMythology, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Orpheus

Feb 24, 2017 Free Verse, Original Poetry

At the Heart
©February 24th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

It was always a spiral
An endless spiral, with an endless
Swirling centre plunging down
All the way, into the heart of everything,
And rising endlessly up, like a mad demon
Into the skies, ready to uproot.

Wisdom and knowledge, that is.
Knowing and forgetting,
Chaos and dust, and shining motes
Light-infused, light-saturated,
Water-suffused, water-logged –
The spiral lifts everything,
Everything that is rooted,
Thinking itself secure and firm,
And tosses it around like a rag doll
Smashing dreams, and reconstructing
Everything in a new reality.

Everything IS a new reality

My life is filled with forgetting,
Getting, losing, forgetting
Letting it all pass through me –
I’m a sieve, collecting grit and pebbles
And stones and dirt, rocks and houses.
And while the funnel funnels me up
And whirls me in its mad dance,
All that stone, and grit, and pebbles,
That dirt, those rocks and houses,
Lifted out of place, I catch briefly,
A glimpse of the calm, still place,
Filled with light, and for a moment,
I sit there, suspended, cross-legged,
Rising and falling, eyes closed,
Oblivious.
__________________________________________________

Tags: #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram