Apr 4, 2016 NaPoWriMo

Rebirth – A Hopeful Sort of Poem
©April 4th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

April is the cruellest month
Taunting and teasing,
Bursting with wickedness,
Squalling winds, blowing snow,
Budding leaves, blooming crocuses,
Cerulean skies, carefree clouds,
Leaden skies, lethargic clouds.

Yes, April is the cruellest month
A harpy dressed as a lady
Full of glee, full of rage,
Full of life, and full of death
Full of bulb-destroying fury.
And yet, and yet …
She brings me hope that
Soon, Spring will rise again.

And when Spring rises,
April will collapse quickly, a
Deflated balloon, a house of cards,
A puff-pastry full of hot air.
And May will arrive, serene,
Beatific, a lady in green and lilac
With zephyrs fanning her brow,
And birds caroling to her,
As she reclines, smiling, upon
A grateful Earth.

And we shall shout for joy
And dance in the green
And make little circlets of
Daisies and pansies for those
We love, and celebrate the
Birth of a New Earth.

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NaPoWriMo prompt for April 4th: 

In his poem “The Wasteland,” T.S. Eliot famously declared that “April is the cruelest month.” But is it? I’d have thought February. Today I challenge you to write a poem in which you explore what you think is the cruelest month, and why. Perhaps it’s September, because kids have to go back to school. Or January, because the holidays are over and now you’re up to your neck in snow. Or maybe it’s a month most people wouldn’t think of (like April), but which you think of because of something that’s happened in your life. Happy (or, if not happy, not-too-cruel) writing!

Tags: #AprilistheCruellestMoth, #Hope, #Original Poetry, #Rebirth, #Spring

Feb 19, 2016 Ramblings and Musings, The Daily Post

Karma Chameleon (Daily Post prompt)

Sow Well
©February 19th, 2016
By Vijaya Sundaram

As you sow, so shall you reap.

Your good thoughts, good words, good deeds are the only choice that you, a moral person, should make.

Not just good thoughts, because the road to Hell or Perdition, as they say, can be paved with good intentions, all the way.  “Oh, I didn’t think that!” you would protest, as your cells break down, and you collapse in a puddle of sulphur and brimstone, because your actions led to disaster, no matter what you thought you were doing.

Not just good words, because your words might be sweet, but you might apply poison from the other side.”I said good things — I didn’t mean to do that!” you’d cry, as they bind your soul to a vast rock, and let the vultures have at you, before they release you back into life.

Not just good thoughts and good words, but good deeds constitute karma.  “I didn’t mean to do that!” you’d scream, as you repeated the cycle of birth over and over again, till you learned your lesson.

But if only ’twere so easy to choose the right thought, the right word, and the right deed!

Every thought is a moral decision.  Every word is a moral decision.  Every deed is a moral decision.

I’d like to choose right, even if it’s painful and difficult.  I haven’t always been successful — I have hurt people’s feelings along the way, and I never let myself forget it. That is my self-inflicted cross to bear.

We have to choose carefully and quickly, but not too quickly, because action delayed is result denied.

Most of us are in the category of minor deviants from the path of truth and righteousness.  Perhaps, our karma will consist of wallowing in guilt, because we are saddled with a conscience.

But what about the truly evil ones?  What about their karma?  If one were, say, a Genghis Khan, or Attila the Hun, would one be reborn as a Hitler, only to die an ignominious death, doused in gasoline, and a gun to the head?  Or, would one be given the only other option, which would be to be reborn as a worm, to be crushed underfoot?

In the end, I’d like to think I’ll not be reborn.  That this is my last cycle.  Then again, my rational side insists that there’s no such thing as rebirth.  If we are reborn, it’s simply matter re-consituting itself, and in that sense, we could be reborn as many things all at the same time:  A worm, a fish, a flower, a rabbit, a dog, a bird, a tree, a part of a star, a part of a black hole, a gateway into another universe — anything!

I like this rational way of thinking better, but I still like the idea of good karma.

So, sow well.  And reap well.  And sleep well at night.

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Tags: #Rebirth, Good actions, Good choices, Good thoughts, Good words, Karma

Apr 7, 2013 Character Vignettes for Possible Novels, Original Poetry

Portrait of a Fake
©By Vijaya Sundaram
April 7th, 2013

It’s in her eyes, you understand.
Her eyes that hold the mistrust, the dark fears,
The resentment, the self-deluding lies.
Too frightened to turn inward and read what’s
Held in the abysmal depths of her heart.

It’s in the insincere smile, the tinkling laugh,
The worried look, the cold self-absorption
That mark her every utterance, her tone,
Messaging deceit too light to notice,
As she slithers forward like a cobra.

She holds her grudges, she clings to anger.
She knows no other way, for her very
Self was build on these, too far from childhood
Take those away, and not much is left there.
Just a void with remnant strands of realness.

So, perhaps those resentments and grudges
Those fake-friendly words and insincere smiles
Are fine as they are, for who can face the
Awful truth of one’s own emptiness and
Remain standing, exposed, and in one piece?

Perhaps it would be better, though, to melt
Away into nothingness, perhaps to
Die and reshape oneself into a new
More real, truer self, unpropped by ego
And held aloft by a true love for all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: #Love, #NaPoWriMo, #Rebirth, #Truth, deceit, Ego-centrism, falsitude, inward, realness, reshaping self, void

Feb 18, 2013 Uncategorized

Event Horizon -- A Poem
© By Vijaya Sundaram
April 27th, 2012

Forever circling, forever spinning
Closer and closer to the core
Seemingly for an eternity, like a golf ball
Into a vortex built for it in a Children’s Museum,
I dance towards the center.
I know the wider circles will narrow
Into an infinitesimally
Small one, and finally
I will drop into that other world
That other universe waiting for me,
The shadow world
Of visions unseen, and nightmares unimagined.
Is it down, though?
Or is it just beyond?
Time stretches into the far reaches
Of space, condenses into a black hole.
And I circle, circle, circle
Well past the event horizon,
And no light escapes.

This is what my life seems here,
Spinning, plunging forward towards the core,
Always spinning, spinning, spinning.
I watch myself from the other side,
The far side of the event horizon.
And I appear to shift and slow down.
Within, I continue just as I always did.
Without, old age chains my ankles, and I feel so slow,
Within, I speed up, a child heedlessly
Racing towards non-being.
Without, I send out cries of light to that other side, where
My old self watches, helpless, while I pitch headlong towards,
But never quite reaching, that heart of death.
My cries do not pass through.
I move in opposite directions,
Watch from two places:  One towards,
And one away from that final plunge.
Eventually, I know I’ll circle, and tumble into
A world beyond that pinpoint of darkness.
Will it all be flat there?
No concentric circles, no Schwarzchild radius
To grab at my ankles?
Or will it always be circles
Within circles, within circles,
Within which the spinning top
Of selfhood disintegrates into atoms
Torn apart by invisible hands?
And as I dance inexorably towards this question,
I see something new
Forming out of that dense, closely-pressed space:
Light radiates from the particles,
Re-forms from those atoms
Into another being, frees itself
From ankle-chains, and escapes.

Tags: #Death, #Original Poetry, #Rebirth, Black Hole, Event Horizon, Red Shift, Schwarzchild Radius