Oct 2, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 101
Image by Cheri Lucas Rowlands
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Journey to the Heart of the Web
(In the Future — My Day 20 Post)
©October 1st, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram
The future is now. And now. And now!
Half-way towards my Death, I lurch.
I see her lurking in the shadows. Her breath
So cold, her eyes so gray, her face silver
Like stars stretched across space.
She is patient, so patient! Spinning,
Spanning time, hanging beads of questions
On her web, and oh! how big those questions:
Who are you?
Where are you headed?
Why toil so much?
I am silent, thinking.
I am one among many
Unique to those I love,
And to those who love me,
Forgotten by the rest.
I have poems to write,
Songs to sing, a daughter to cherish
A husband to love, a dog to adore.
I have a garden and a novel waiting
For me to nurture them into life.
I have books to read, things to put away,
Flowers to inhale, birds to feed,
Snow to play in, a planet to explore.
This is not toil, though it is work.
And it is joy.
I say to her:
I am not ready for you. Hang back,
Step away from me!
And her voice, cold as glass, says:
I am always waiting. I will welcome you.
Not yet, I say, calmly, hold back.
I have plans. I do not fear you,
But I have a life to build,
I’ll create a tower,
With storeys* made of story.
In the future, just before you entwine me in silk,
In my future, I will write,
And sing, and teach my child.
I will love my husband and child,
And take them with me on
A story-journey. We will travel
Through my stories, and theirs,
Sing our songs, grow our minds,
Forget our fears, drop our bags,
And run through the fields.
And Death is silent. Then, she says:
I shall be waiting.
Her voice is like a desert.
I think: My stories will come to me
From the spring of stories
That encircles the world,
And brings life to parched places,
And I want to dip my cup
In that water, and drink deep.
So, I face my future,
Setting my face against that quiet
Shadowed form, that voice
That rustles, my Death so elegant,
So ice-quiet.
But her voice, cold as glass, says,
I shall wait for you.
I am always waiting. I will welcome you.
Yes, wait, keep waiting, I say.
I think: In my future, I will learn better
How to tell those stories,
And sing songs, and write poems,
I will strip ego, and listen, listen
To all the people I meet,
Sans judgement, sans fear,
Sans ready response. For, in their
Voices, stories live, and in their
Hearts, grow dreams and love.
I will see their hearts, and sing those songs.
And I turn to her, and say:
When you come, O Death,
I shall sing you my song,
And tell you my story,
And we will journey together
To the heart of your web.
And we will be as one.
But not yet, not yet,
I have plans, and
There is much to learn.
And Death pauses, sighs,
Rustles her robe, turns away.
And her voice, cold as glass, whispers:
I shall wait for you.
I am always waiting. I will welcome you,
And you shall tell me your story.
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*In the US, the word storey is not much used. But those from other English-speaking countries will know what I mean.
Tags: #Death, #Journey, #Learning, #Life, #Love, Family time, fear, poems, songs, stories
Mar 30, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries, Essays on Music and Musicians
“Small Blue Thing” by Suzanne Vega
This song blew me away when I first heard it. I wished (and still wish) that I had written it. Her songwriting, guitar-playing, music and tone of voice are (dare I use this word?) perfect.
Suzanne Vega is probably the most elegant, concentrated, delicate and literate among songwriters, whether female or male.
I am, and will always be, a fan. And I am hard to please.
“Lullaby for an Anxious Child” by Sting
I heard this song a couple of years ago or so. It made me cry. Sting is … my absolute favorite contemporary male songwriter, musician, singer, performer. His imagination and musical taste are impeccable.
Thank you for listening!
Love,
Dreamer of Dreams
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Tags: #Music, #Suzanne Vega, celebrities, Dreamer of Dreams, lullaby to an anxious child, Music I love, songs, Sting
Feb 18, 2013 Awake in Dream Time - Journal Entries about the almost real, the surreal and the unreal, Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
With songs and lines from poems jostling each other to get off, or get in.
I find myself singing a song, then interrupt myself rudely with lines from another song, with no idea that I just did that! So, how do I know? My alert, interested, attentive, bemused, flatteringly fascinated daughter tells me!
Mom, she says, Did you know you just switched in the middle of the song you were just singing to this other song? Surprised and startled, I look up from the mundane task I am doing. I can hear the ghost of the previous song lingering longingly in the the air near my ears — and I laugh.
It’s true, I say, I did just do that –switched to another song right in the middle of this one! And I stop to think in the middle of the song which I just interrupted with another song.
I have this romantic notion that when I am on the point of death, all those songs will come tumbling out of me, winging out into the world, and letting the air take them into the sun, where they belong.
And they will make for me a pillow of song, and I will be borne along on them, higher and higher into the ether, scattering birds and planes, as I turn and turn, spiraling forever upwards into the sun, where they belong, where I belong.
And the crowded bus of song will be transformed into a thing of wings and updrafts, scattering birds and planes, as it lifts itself into the sea of melodies high above the earth, making the spheres hum in their orbits. Not a bad way to go, I think.
First, however, I must make a mental note to arrange for that to happen. I have to find my way to a thought so as to record it in the midst of this unceasing singing in my head.
Sigh! Too late. Another song comes impertinently down the aisle and knocks the thought over, and it falls out of the bus. Still, I can remember it. Quick! Don’t let it be run over. I leap down and give it a helping hand. The songs press back, a little ashamed and mortified. The thought salutes, and goes into the world.
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