Nov 27, 2017 Original Poetry
Folding
©November 27th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Daily-ness clings on
A shrug cannot shake things off
Fall into breathing.
Today was a rose.
Now turns to fast-fading Then
Petals folding shut.
The day spirals down.
A singularity waits.
Beyond that, sweet sleep.
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Nov 26, 2017 Original Poetry
Nestling
©November 26th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
The air clung to me like an icy lover
As I awoke to today’s call,
Strangely exhilarated, but cautious.
Hope, a baby bird, raises its beak.
I nestle beside it, its companion.
Nascent and unborn though I am,
I feel my companion stir beside me,
Hear broken shell crunching
Beneath its little feet, as it moves.
I feel its huge need, its primeval squall,
For it is calling, it is hungry.
Politics scares me, and people
Are unpredictable. Though ambition
Once thrived, my dreams of what I would be
Have given way to what I am now.
I have nothing more to give,
Not for anyone. I want to do good,
To be of use, to make a difference,
I am still trying, after my long sojourn here,
To crack this shell open, to crunch it down.
I am not Hope. I am something else –
A glimpse of a Promise. Perhaps.
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(With a nod to Emily Dickinson.)
Tags: #Ambitionless, #nestling, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram
Nov 25, 2017 Original Poetry
Uncanine
©November 25th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
The awareness of the canine
In the other room haunts me.
Her heart beat strong and steady earlier
Today, when, reaching down, I wound
My arms around her in a sudden
Excess of affection and guilt.
Her dark eyes looked blank,
And yawning hugely, she wagged her tail,
Her intention clear: “Let me out!
I have a raccoon to investigate!”
She looks at me, knows more,
So much more than I can fathom,
She knows my tone and strange griefs,
And although they are strange to her,
She is always there, stolid and unsentimental.
I stand humble and ashamed before her.
I know I she deserves more.
Does she? She lives in the present,
As I do, but only I hear the ticking
Of the clock, and of our heartbeats.
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Nov 23, 2017 Original Poetry
Thanksgiving 2017
©November 23rd, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Many dinosaurs died, and trees, too,
So we could be on the road today.
We gave thanks for family, food, friends.
All around us, the trees leaned in closer,
And the Octagon hummed with voices
From ancient tribes thronging in the dark.
Was it forgiveness? Mourning? Love? All of these?
Or, was it that the earth was spinning around,
Like a lost soul, humming to herself,
Shouting into the winds, like Lear in winter?
Sometimes, great occasions weep behind a mask.
Still, the food was delicious, and our duty
To the generations who need reminding
Was done. Now, it’s time to face tomorrow.
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Nov 22, 2017 Original Poetry
Subtext
©November 22nd, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Every day falls between the lines.
Every person and everything glimpsed
Sub-textually, subliminally.
I am tired of words today.
But I turn to them still, for they
Bring me warm comfort on a cold evening.
I eat them for breakfast, lunch, dinner,
And come up still empty,
Unsatiated, hungry for meaning.
Loneliness lurked under my feet
And walked by my side today
Oh, don’t mistake me –
Loving family, good friends,
I have them all, and love them.
They throng around the margins
Of my loneliness, form a ring.
Still, that ring is tenuous,
And I walk past it often,
Into a space I am too mute to name.
I walk alone, always, and feel worlds
Thinning away from me, as if
I’m on a glass spaceship, racing
Past the solar system.
Sometimes, the light beneath my feet
Reflects crowds and worlds back at me
And sometimes, it refracts them.
I smile abstractly, shield my eyes,
Set my sights of something far,
Far away, and keep moving.
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Nov 21, 2017 Original Poetry
Listen!
©November 21st, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Electric lights hum like crazed gnats.
All around me, the sense of quiet
Seems fractured by hum, hiss, whine, rumble.
When we say we long for silence,
Do we really mean it?
Will I be able to bear it?
One day, I will hear the beating of my heart,
The thrum of pulse, and flow of impulse.
I will hear all the colours parting
Like sunlit hair in the wind, colours
Humming their way into blood and bone.
I will see all the sounds around me,
And paint them into shapes
With my lips and lashes,
With my nose, my fingers, my toes.
I shall trace the outline of all faces
In the air around me, outlines of light,
While electricity hums eerily,
Unceasingly, annoying me through the night.
The lights in the kitchen hang low
Like ripe fruit, bursting with noise,
But I shall pluck them, and bite into them,
Tracing outlines of you, and you, and you.
I shall trace your outlines in wonder,
Gazing at you all, becoming you.
For you are beautiful, and so are you.
Wrinkled and smooth, smiling and frowning,
Canny and uncanny, innocent and experienced.
All beautiful. To compare is to kill.
Turn out the lights! Cut the sound.
Weave shapes out of darkness, limned
In starlight. I am transient, dimming
Through eternity, a mere shape leaving behind
Shadows of shapes, gnats crowding the night-sky.
Below, the electric lights hum and flicker.
Lick this air. Taste it! Let it slip down your throat.
Turn out the lights! Cut the sound.
Can you hear the beating of your heart?
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Tags: #ElectricHum, #Listening, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram
Nov 20, 2017 Original Poetry
In Rehearsal
©November 20th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Atoms hold this cup in shape,
In between deep holes of nothingness,
as I sip my steaming tea,
Staring into empty space
Cluttered with things.
The day ended long ago,
But I cherish this silence,
This darkness pressing close
Against the light, where the window
Meets the night air lying in wait.
Today, I read a play, and watched
The actors move in rehearsal
Around each other. Between lines,
They fell through the playwright’s words,
Plummeting into character,
Falling into story-line, pulled into
Punctuation and meaning, living
Words in flesh, finding their pasts,
Breathing life into an old story –
New, still, in fresh discovery,
As I lay at the bottom of a pond,
Watching reflections sway above me.
And yes, I took notes, and yes,
I paid close attention, and yes,
I picked up props, or called out lines.
But the fronds swayed above me,
And the reflections silted down.
I turned, and the dead playwright turned,
Smiling at me. I smiled back, delighted.
I had many questions. I opened my mouth.
He faded away, leaving only an outline.
It was time to breathe.
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Tags: #Chekhov, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Rehearsalforaplay
Nov 19, 2017 Original Poetry
Wind-Cage
©November 19th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
The wind howled in my ear
Like a lover declaring undying love.
I turned my back on it, and drove
Into the night, headlights piercing
The air, refusing victory to encircling darkness.
There are people who live caged,
And people who live free,
And people who live free, in cages,
And people who live in freedom, caged.
The wind blows through them all.
And they all turn their backs to it,
For the wind is unrelenting and cold.
And whether it’s or freedom, or containment,
There is choice – the choice to refuse.
So, I turned my back to the wind,
Directed my light-eyes towards love,
Turned up the fugitive heat against grappling cold,
And drove my cage homeward,
Straight into the unyielding night.
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Nov 18, 2017 Original Poetry
Leaf-Drop
©November 18th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
A leaf flutters down
The air quivers and falls still,
So, too, a lone thought.
Restless, the dog sniffs
In quiet anticipation.
Things change, stay the same.
Seasons come early.
How to travel this cold world,
Standing still, moving?
We come, play our parts.
Heave a sigh, leave, and go home,
Relieved, for it’s done.
Even love must go
There is no eternity.
The tree drops her leaves.
Her leaves feed the soil
The tree grows again, always.
One day, lightning strikes.
Sing of this, and more.
Music swirls in the blind dark.
Spear the howling winds.
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Nov 17, 2017 Original Poetry
Dissipate, Assemble
©November 17th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
A husk seeking sleep,
I sit motionless before a screen,
Awaiting nourishment, unsure
Of my place in the universe.
And yet, I keep pouring
Words onto a thing that
Isn’t real, my fingers clicking keys –
This thing that assembles language,
Resembles thought,
Hovers in pixellated ghost-form,
And spreads its ghost-wings
Across cyberspace.
This need to speak –
This I do, despite
All the opposite need
Within to remain
Tongue-curled, silent,
For I have been quiet
So much of the day.
Is it, perhaps, a reminder
That I exist, that the day
Was not in vain?
That the things I did today
Meant something?
I have not invented something,
Planted something, helped someone,
Healed someone, broken new ground.
My day dissipates like smoke
A wild wind blows it all away.
I am atomized.
Tomorrow, I will reassemble.
Guarded optimist.
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