May 4, 2017 Original Poetry
Shoulder to Shoulder
©May 4th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Blood rises against blood,
The pleasure of the few
Meets the pain of the many.
Love meets Hate
Is battered down,
Rises up again, trembling,
Unbowed, bleeding from the ears.
The body is at war with
Its wasting self.
Can a cell tremble at
The destruction of its world?
Or, is star-matter
At war with dark matter?
No matter.
This unfettered beating
Of the wings of demons
Rising from beneath the minds
Of those who’ve abandoned all
Pretext of civic sense
Makes our darkness dense
With doubt and grief.
Savagery is unleashed
Shame is absent in all,
Except in those with love
In their hearts
(And our hearts are sore) –
The shame of those who know
What it takes to hold tight
To all that makes us human,
Coming face to face with
The shamelessness of those
Who’ve tumbled down,
Down, down, down
Into a chasm of unending
Horror –
The horror of the loss
Of all that makes us
Human, and divine.
The fallen don’t know it.
They rejoice in their vacuum.
We weep for them,
And for us.
And then, we’ll arise,
Spread our arms,
Stand shoulder to shoulder,
And fight against
The encroaching darkness.
It is all we can do.
_______________________________________________________________
Written in response to the AHCA “yes” vote today.
Tags: #AHCA, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Response to growing heartlessness in the world
May 3, 2017 Original Poetry
A New Aphrodite
©May 3rd, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Spinning slowly, the moon rotates,
Silver-skirted, courting the dark.
Stars stare down, coldly glittering.
I call to her, she does not hear.
Busy spinning a web of light,
She turns like a top in a dream.
Waves, crablike, rush towards the shore
Lift up her curling skirts, expose
Long stretches of limb, softest sand.
Somewhere, an oil-coated bird gasps
Crumpling upon a distant shore.
No one will see her die alone.
Somewhere, a bright pod of right whales
Call upon the sky, deep and sad.
They disturb my restless slumber.
Somewhere, the last of its own kind
Lays down its head in exhaustion,
Gaunt and starving, betrayed by life.
We slumber in this hemisphere
They toil in fields and homes in that,
No one will listen anymore.
The tides rush in, the tides rush out.
Ants are scurrying all around
Intent upon their destruction.
Somewhere, She will rise from the foam,
Bring all the Graces with her,
Perhaps the moon will respond, then.
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Tags: #ANewAphrodite, #GreekMythReference, #Moonandtides, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #RebirthoftheEarth?
May 2, 2017 Original Poetry
Daughter of the Earth, OR: Why the Goddess Has Left Us
©May 2nd, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
When the earth split open, and she
Lay, beautiful and dark-haired,
Lotus-soft and star-eyed,
Born of the Plough, born of Life,
Did they know who had emerged?
Adopted by a kindly King,
And later, won as a prize
By the Righteous Prince who
Had bent the mighty bow,
Sita, the Earth-Girl chose jungle over palace,
When her Prince was banished there.
Her Righteous Prince, a toy of Fate,
Left his kingdom, ruled by duty above all –
Duty to his heartbroken father’s promise
To a jealous second wife, his other mother.
Could he have disobeyed?
And if he had, how could he be
Rama, Prince of Dharma,
The Righteous Prince Incarnate?
In the beautiful forests of Panchavati,
Surrounded by blooming creepers,
And golden-eyed deer, happy with her Prince,
Protected by him and his brother,
She lived for a while, asking nothing,
Receiving what Mother Earth gave,
Until a golden deer drew her gaze,
And she sent Rama to obtain it.
Why did she choose to covet beauty,
When it was enough just to behold it?
Rama, ready to please Sita, pursued the deer,
Shooting it through the heart.
The deer, a demon, changed
Before Rama’s horrified gaze, calling out
In Rama’s voice, “Lakshmana!”
And Lakshmana, charged with guarding Sita,
Urged by her to heed his brother’s cry,
(Though it was not), drew a magical line
And said, “Stay inside, do not cross
This line will protect you from danger.”
He left, against his will, against all instinct.
Why did he choose to let her
Bend his will to her own?
At what cost, obedience?
Approached by the ravening Demon-King
From Southern Lands, Earth’s daughter,
Stepped over the line drawn in the earth
By Lakshmana. The protection broke.
Why did she not choose to stay within it?
But if she had stayed, could she have been
True host to the disguised Brahmin,
Ten-headed Ravana, the Demon-King,
Who had come seeking food?
Captive in his winged chariot,
Flying over kingdoms, finding herself
At last in a garden, where demonesses
Inveigled her to give in to Ravana’s advances,
Sita chose to sit apart, sighing, weeping.
And when Rama, hearing of where she was,
Sent Hanuman, his loyal emissary,
That Monkey God offered Rama’s ring
As proof of who he was,
Offering to fly her back to her beloved.
She gave him an ornament from her hair.
She said, “Tell Rama to come for me.
I shall not leave until I am avenged.”
Did she have to choose this path?
Did she know that if she’d chosen
To return with the good Monkey-God,
She might have been spurned?
And so, war commenced.
Destruction and gore, and severed heads,
Wailing wives, burning buildings,
Scenes of carnage and horror unpeeled.
Bears and monkeys, and the Righteous One,
Battled for Sita’s honor.
And Rama’s army won, awash in blood.
Did they have any choice in any of this?
And if so, why choose death over life?
And when the time came to return home,
Her husband stepped forward,
But people clamored for proof
She had to be pure, chaste.
Their muttering grew loud,
And the Prince said, “My wife should be
Above reproach, Purity herself.
I cannot take her back, not after
She’s been in the house of another man.
She has to prove herself.”
Did he choose to ask this of her
To offer proof to his doubting people,
Or to himself?
She read the doubt in his eyes, and
Her own eyes burning with the heat
Of ten thousand suns, she stepped into
A prepared pyre, and stood, praying,
Unsinged, surrounded by flames.
Agni, the Fire God, himself blessed her.
And she was thus fêted: Sita the Pure!
Why did she choose to prove this?
Was not her word enough?
But soon, muttering grew again,
And the people demanded proof again.
And again, Rama chose to listen.
Was he truly the Prince of Dharma,
Or was he Rama, the Weak God?
Now, banished, she bore her suffering in quiet.
What thoughts assailed her?
Did she feel rage, bitterness?
Did she weep? Did she curse her stars?
Then, when her twins were born,
Rama found her, wept with sorrow
At having let her go. She wept with him.
And returned again to rule by Rama’s side.
And once again, people muttered,
Over and over, the demons in their hearts,
Voicing susurrations of suspicion.
Were his people worth this much pain
Should she choose to prove herself
Again and again?
She saw the doubt again in his eyes.
She closed her mind, stopped her ears,
Stitched up her torn heart, and made
Her choice, the only choice born
Within her, born from her own counsel.
She took a final path, hers alone.
She turned away from the “Righteous One”
Away from her tearful children,
Away from the doubting populace.
Turning to her Mother, she called out
Silently, in sorrow, and with longing.
And a long furrow opened before her,
Dark and welcoming, promising peace.
She walked straight into it,
Mata Bhoomi welcomed her home.
Sita, the Unsullied, the pure of heart,
Born of the Earth, gift of Kings,
Returned to the one place
That was truly hers, hers alone.
Looking neither right, nor left,
Nor turning to gaze upon her husband
Or her stunned, silent twin boys,
She chose her path, alone.
And when the earth had split open, and she’d
Walked into that cleft, beautiful and dark-haired,
Slim and tall, lotus-soft and star-eyed, with
Straight-backed pride, unafraid, eyes dry,
Did they know who it was that had left the world?
Had any of this been of her making?
The world had been too much for her.
This world is too much for us.
Mata Bhoomi,
Save us all,
Save us all,
Save us all.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Mine is a poem in support of Sita. I am tired of the Ramas of this earth.
*In case you want to know more, read a concise summary of the story of Rama and Sita here (you can always look for the lengthier versions in a library):
https://www.britannica.com/topic/Ramayana-Indian-epic
Tags: #DaughteroftheEarth, #IndianMythology, #MetaphoricalGaiaPoem, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Rama, #Ramayana, #TheTravailsofSita
May 1, 2017 Original Poetry
Seaweed
©May 1st, 2017
ByVijaya Sundaram
When everything’s been said.
And yet, I haven’t said it all.
Should I speak?
And why?
What need is there?
Surely it is silence I crave.
All this noise, a railing
Against encroaching night,
Drives a stake into my eyes.
Eyes closed at night,
I wonder and wonder.
Lines from Prez’s “Lady Be Good” solo
Run around like rats in a maze
Within my forlorn cranium,
Where tangled thoughts,
And sudden sorrows
Float like detached balloons.
Recycled lines from songs
Pound against my dovetail joints,
So that the sutures threaten
To come undone.
If I speak, it is to reveal
And yet, I wish to stay secret
A decorator crab, seen and unseen.
Covering its shell with seaweed and seaglass,
Hiding within its little garden,
Hoping not to be noticed,
And yet, decorating away.
The pull and push
The yearning and repulsion
The silence and the speech,
Keep me tied to this post.
Untie me, let me go free,
And when I let go,
I shall walk on the waves,
Then sink below, and I shall
Bury me in sand under the sea
So I will hear the heaving of the waves
The endless sigh, its rise and fall,
And the comings and goings
Of silent, secret creatures,
And be glad of the company.
There, the music will filter
Through my ears, and escape,
Like strands of seaweed,
Floating under a full moon
With shimmering algae.
_________________________________________________________
Apr 30, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
The Return
©April 30th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
She returns every year,
Sometimes disguised, sometimes not,
Talons and teeth sharp,
Eyes brimming with wickedness.
And every year, I laugh
Push her aside casually, knowing
My strength, and weave spells to
Paralyze her advance.
Every year, she returns,
And I say, “This is a spirit
Speaking to me, not me.
I shall slay this demon.”
The demon hides her face
Sleeve held aloft, smiling
She does not fool me. I sense her.
The air trembles, alert.
Sometimes, the demon
Creeps up behind me,
And sometimes, alongside.
And sometimes, from above.
But what do I do now, when she
Advances slowly towards me,
Fangs longer, talons extended?
Her laughter tires me so.
____________________________________________________
Today is the last day of NaPoWriMo 2017, and the prompt was to write about something that recurs.
Thanks for reading!
Tags: #Demon, #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram
Apr 29, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
Chasm
©April 29th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Chasm fracturing
Amidst unity on earth
Time to build a bridge.
But if the bridge falls
And we plummet to the earth,
Let us learn to fly.
If we fly upwards
Let us splint the fractured earth
Mend broken places.
If we fly downwards
Let us greet the earth with joy,
And begin again.
_______________________________________________________
Today is Day 29 of NaPoWriMo 2017. The prompt suggested choosing one word from a favorite poem – in my case, “Kubla Khan” by S. T. Coleridge. The rest of the prompt is below:
Today, I’d like to challenge you to take one of your favorite poems and find a very specific, concrete noun in it. For example, if your favorite poem is this verse of Emily Dickinson’s, you might choose the word “stones” or “spectre.” After you’ve chosen your word, put the original poem away and spend five minutes free-writing associations – other nouns, adjectives, etc. Then use your original word and the results of your free-writing as the building blocks for a new poem.
Tags: #Chasm, #Coleridge, #Day 29 NaPoWriMo, #Kubla Khan, #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram
Apr 28, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
Spring Days
©April 28th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Sunny and gold
The light unfolds
Like lotus flowers
In morning hours.
Damp with dew,
The days are new,
And sunlight spills
While I stand still.
______________________________________________
Today’s prompt was strangely difficult for me, because both the poems I came up with before this one above were either didactic or trite, and I hated both. Finally, I settled on this. Dipodic meter is HARD!
Here’s the prompt:
Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem using Skeltonic verse. Don’t worry, there are no skeletons involved. Rather, Skeltonic verse gets its name from John Skelton, a fifteenth-century English poet who pioneered the use of short stanzas with irregular meter, but two strong stresses per line (otherwise know as “dipodic” or “two-footed” verse). The lines rhyme, but there’s not a rhyme scheme per se. The poet simply rhymes against one word until he or she gets bored and moves on to another. Here is a good explainer of the form, from which I have borrowed this excellent example:
Tags: #dipodic verse, #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Skeltonic verse
Apr 27, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
Remini-Senses
©April 27th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
Jasmines stir up specific yearnings:
Mornings after a rain-drenched night,
Loud birds, hopping from tree to tree.
The smell of sambhar and murungakkai,
And kathrikai curry, and kootu,
And karpooram and udubatthi,
And the ringing of the brass bell,
Sandalwood-scented parents,
Red-gold-bordered veshti-ed Appa
Pattu–podavai-wearing Amma,
Performing their morning devotions
Before the family gods and goddesses.
The sound of baby brother
Calling for our mother.
Jasmines stir up deep desires, too:
The feel of satin-smooth skin
After an warm-oil bath on Sundays.
Sunsilk Shampoo to mask
The earthy fragrance of shikkai.
Mangoes heaped in baskets
From our mango trees,
Fleshy and succulent,
Dripping with juice, as I eat
With pulp-covered fingers.
And the coconut-man’s harvest
Of our garden’s coconut trees,
Sit, inviting the sickle.
Stick a straw in, and suck
Suck all the coconut milk,
And I’m satiated.
Jasmines stir up sweet innocence:
A dream of romance,
Someday, the man I love
Will arrive, and we will sing
And live and love together, she thinks.
And all the while, this girl-child
Goes about her schooldays,
Reads and reads, and sings
All day, plays games on the terrace,
Teaches imaginary children,
Rows an imaginary boat
From the parapet, onto which
She leaps, goat-nimble, unaware
That she might fall, unafraid
Of all that is to be.
____________________________________________________________
Glossary:
Sambhar – a specific kind of Indian lentil-stew with too many ingredients to explain properly, but it’s absolutely delicious
Murungakkai – a long, pod-like vegetable from the “drumstick tree,” which is used in sambhar.
Kathrikai – a vegetable curry dish made with eggplant, or brinjal
Kootu – a stew with coconut, dudhi squash, lentils, yogurt and other delicious ingredients
Karpooram – camphor
Udubatthi – incense stick
Veshti – a sort of robe covering the lower half of the body, worn by men.
Pattu Podavai – silk sari
This is my second poem in response to the NaPoWriMo 2017 prompt for Day 27.
Tags: #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #SensoryReminiscences
Apr 27, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
A Canine Point of View
©April 27th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
She tasted like cinnamon
On honey cake,
Apples and the sea.
She tasted like cardamom
And curry-leaf,
And tangerines three.
And sunshine and rain
And laughter and pain
And thoughts that remain
Though banished again.
She tasted of kindness
And sometimes self-blindness
She tasted of sorrow,
That threatened her morrows.
She tastes like a friend
Whom I’ll love until the end
And keep in my heart
From the end to the start.
___________________________________________________________________
Today is Day 27 of NaPoWriMo 2017. The prompt reads:
Many poems explore the sight or sound or feel of things, and Proust famously wrote about the memories evoked by smell, but today I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores your sense of taste! This could be a poem about food, or wine, or even the oddly metallic sensation of a snowflake on your tongue.
Tags: #Day27NaPoWrimo, #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram, #Sensory poem
Apr 26, 2017 NaPoWriMo, Original Poetry
So, they couldn’t see …
©April 26th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram
So, they couldn’t see,
These creatures who lived
On this swirling blue planet,
Laden with cloud and wind.
We moved among them
But they passed through us
Unseeing, unheeding,
And when we spoke,
They couldn’t hear.
Sometimes, the strange bulbous orbs
Above their breathing gills
Would turn this way and that,
But we didn’t understand what they were.
We carried our world, and it was
Transparent and pure.
We moved in our membranes
Floating in the star-shine
Flowing over their world.
Sometimes, they would hold an object
In their appendages, ugly and misshapen
(Flippers so rudimentary,
We laughed at them), and the objects
Flashed. We knew they flashed,
For our skins burned.
Sometimes, we appeared visible
To their flashing objects,
And our outlines shimmered,
Red as blood.
Were those flashing objects
The real people of this planet?
Could they see us?
We asked them, but they were inert.
They gave no indication.
Their star grew older,
And their planet tilted further,
Coughing and juddering.
The air grew denser, darker
Slowly, one by one, they stopped moving,
Sagging beneath the weight
Of the poisonous air.
We moved among them.
Their bulbous orbs did not move.
We flowed over their forms,
They gave no sign.
Still, they held their objects
Clutched in their hands.
We flowed over the objects,
Prised them free, and ate them.
They held memories in them,
And as the memories broke loose,
We gasped with pain,
For we now knew who these creatures
Had really been, how they’d lived,
What they had created,
What they’d endured,
What they’d achieved,
What they’d built,
And what they’d destroyed.
And even as we mourned them,
We celebrated their death,
For though they were great,
They had not been able to see
In a world where one’s skin
Held all the vision of a universe
In every cell.
If you do not see,
You destroy.
______________________________________________________________
Today was Day 26 of NaPoWriMo 2017, and the prompt read:
Have you ever heard someone wonder what future archaeologists, whether human or from alien civilization, will make of us? Today, I’d like to challenge you to answer that question in poetic form, exploring a particular object or place from the point of view of some far-off, future scientist? The object or site of study could be anything from a “World’s Best Grandpa” coffee mug to a Pizza Hut, from a Pokemon poster to a cellphone.
Tags: #alien vision, #Day26NaPoWriMo, #NaPoWriMo2017, #OriginalPoetrybyVijayaSundaram