Apr 3, 2013 Original Poetry, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Catapult – A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
I watch the sun’s beckoning fingers
Inviting my daughter and me to go out
And play. The lure is undeniable.
I resist, resolutely. I shall not go out.
No, I shall not. I want to be lumpen.
My plea? Too tired. Too worn out.
Not for me the beautiful sun
Nor for me the brisk air
Of near-Spring, teetering
At the edge of winter,
Still tilted in Winter’s wake.
I insist on staying indoors, always
The rebel against that which is good for me.
I used to be good, you know.
I was good. I looked good.
I was young and aware of it.
So, I carefully did these:
Walk, eat right, count my calories,
Be healthy, do lunges and stretches.
Now, un-Cinderella-like, with the years
Flown by, I find that I’ve turned
Into a pumpkin, and do not mind.
My daughter doesn’t mind that we are home.
She’s had her sun-stint earlier today,
With loving and dutiful Dad.
She played with Bella, a beautiful dog
She romped about
On wood-chips and grass,
Happy to be almost at Spring’s door.
I wasn’t there. I was told the bare
Details: Playground, dog, Bella, romping.
But I might have been there.
I saw them all, clearly.
For I hallucinate scenes
Clear as day, scenes which move
Like movies of yore, slow long
Camera angles and panning.
I see everything: My child,
Bella the dog, her fond owner,
My fond husband watching our daughter
Adore the dog, and the blue, blue sky above.
I hallucinate most things (but I know
It’s in my mind), because the stories
Always unfold thus, and all the colors are
Extra-saturated and brighter than real.
Now, as I watch, bemused, nonplussed,
My daughter prances about the house
Cat-faced, with a mask she made herself.
Cow-like, she moos, then cat-like, she slinks
Towards me, catapulting into my arms.
Stunned, I allow myself
To be borne away on the wave of her
Eight-year old magic.
Once, she asked me:
Would you love me if I were a boy?
I shall always love you.
Would you love me less if I were a teenager?
I shall always love you.
Can I stay with you and Dad forever?
I shall always love you.
I love you, Mom!
I shall always love you.
“I don’t want to grow up,” she states
Seriously, full of purpose and intent.
“I won’t! I want to stay a kid
Forever, and be free.”
Part of me agrees.
Another part says,
What of the you who’s waiting to be?
But for now, we stay far from the catapult
Which flings us into the distant future.
Time enough for growing up.
For right now, a child of eight
Claims my entire attention
And dances in the spotlight
Of my love for her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Childhood, #Daughter, #Life, #Love, #Mask, #Mother and Daughter, #NaPoWriMo, catapult, dog interactions, future, Growing up, innocence, Play, Playground
Apr 1, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Indifference?
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 1st, 2013
You want to see pure indifference?
Talk about work to a person who has not slept for forty-eight hours.
Talk to a starving person about morals.
Talk to an angry teenager about duty.
Talk to a woman in the throes of giving birth about the dangers of population explosion.
Talk to a painter about toxic substances in paint.
Talk to an Isaac Newton about weightlessness.
Talk to a dancer about sitting attentively in a classroom.
Talk to a Climate Change activist about the profit margin in polluting industries.
Talk to a caged animal about why it is safe and better off in the cage that you’ve created for it.
Talk to a child and explain to her why she shouldn’t play, and attend to her homework instead.
That’s all for now, folks!
Too sleep-deprived for a bigger, fancier blog-post.
~Dreamers of Dreams~
Tags: #indifference, #NaPoWriMo, Artists, caged animals, children, Children and Play, dancers, dreamers, musicians, Play, Pointlessness, Work
Mar 20, 2013 Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Playground Hour — A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
March 20th, 2013
We were godlings for an hour.
Cold, cold air snapping at our ankles,
Obliging crunch of snow underfoot,
Nose smarting with arctic anticipation,
Ears aflame, feet double-socked, snow-boot shod,
Frame encased in layer upon layer
(A true New Englander now, twenty-four years gone),
I walked mitten-in-mitten with my girl
To the playground.
A pretty spaniel along the way,
Raced up and down her fence, ready to play,
A shy, timorous dog a little further on
Trembled and shook at our approach,
But suffered our soothing caresses,
Terrified of who-knew-what.
While his body was cradled by loving mistress
(“He’s always scared, we don’t know why,”
She explained, reassuringly.)
Perhaps, he sensed we were godlings.
On we went, my daughter and I
To the playground, where she and I
Were the sole owners of a blue-white space,
And the sun struggled in vain to light a void
At once dark-gray and summer blue,
A study in battling contradiction, with
Moon scudding past clouds on the left,
Sun sinking grandly on our right;
A sky-statement that promised warmth
But delivered empty light.
We godlings don’t mind.
We raced up and down the snow-crushed slides,
Fell backwards on crystallized snow,
Gazed up at the ringing sky,
Heard the heartbeat of the earth
For a few, still, silent moments
While six p.m. traffic, frantic and home-fixated,
Ebbed and flowed on a distant shore.
The earth hummed into our spines,
As the sky flowed away from our arms
Outstretched on the snow.
We were truly godlings, light-haloed.
Then, with sudden uprush of glee, we arose,
Startled the still air with our cries
And our crashing feet. Elemental,
We threw snowballs at each other.
Shrieks of joy from child,
Muttered imprecations from mother,
Fun on a swing, meeting the skies,
We played, snow-muted.
Then, alas! It was time to leave.
Our magic hour was up.
Time to resume human form.
Godlings have to deal with time, too.
“No! Let’s stay! Can’t we?” she said,
Sparking rebellious, but subsiding.
“I wish we lived here,” she sighed.
But, she came, obediently, hand in mine.
She knew we would play there again,
Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps all the days
Flowing through her childhood.
For she truly came from the Gods.
And I watch her grow, enchanted.
And so, homeward-bound, we tromped,
Watching the sky unfold
Into deepening layers of color.
And the distant Tower swam into view,
As we sloped, tilting earthward,
Down, down, down to where we lived,
Home, for dinner. How human!
But we were godlings for that hour.
And we shall be so, again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Childhood, #Mother and Daughter, #Original Poetry, Fun, Godlings, Play, Playground, Snow-games