Vijaya Sundaram

Poet, Musician, Teacher, and Amateur Visual Artist

Benediction

Benediction
©May 6th, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

The close of the day comes
From the hill-tower,
Lingers at our kitchen window
Hungry for warmth, for sustenance.
The day’s-end trails purple darkness.
The sky is silent now, after
A long outburst of light.
This is a message.

Fragrant basmati, kadi-patta
Green-chilli, tofu-pyaaz-palak,
Fills our breath, swirls from
Steaming food on our plates.
Clear water to cool our tongues,
Books in our hands, sharing words.
These are gifts.

Between two pillars of rain,
Came a window of blue and gold,
And I walked the dog, earlier.
I was simply there, empty –
An ambulating, seeing thing,
Walking another seeing being.
We saw, we walked, enveloped
In our cocoon of dog-human-ness.
This is a mystery.

Yes, I have striven, wept blood,
I have raged and fought, resisted untruth,
I have known sorrow, and crippling loss,
I have known doubt – so much doubt, clouding
My brain like unending fog –
And even now, as I am lifted
Out of myself, in the simple
Fact of being here, now,
I face myself, and ask this :
Why must I strive anymore?
Will striving lead to strife?
The answer lies in the question.
This is foolishness.

I want to wander among the indolent ones,
In the land of the lotos-eaters.
I care not for busy-ness, achievement.
I will lay me down here, on the mossy banks
Of this river of forgetfulness,
And dream of getting lost, forever.
This is a dream.

The last light fades quietly, slipping
Through cracks in the sky,
My family and I read our books,
Fragrant food put away.
I am satiated, the doubts quiet, for now.
This is satisfaction.

They go upstairs, begin playing guitar.
Music drifts down, and pulls me upwards –
Another struggle, another world, but sweet,
So sweet this struggle, full of promise!
I shall put this away now.  Music calls.
I am tired, and the night is gentle.
Sleep will come tonight, and I will
Welcome her with unresisting eyes.
This is a benediction.
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Keepin’ On

Help me!  I try not to despair.  I weep from sheer horror and frustration and sorrow for our sisters and brothers who are brutalized, shunted aside, stuck in prison for minor offenses, beaten, tortured, killed.  I try not to give up on people.  I try to remind myself that humanity can be good, IS good, and that one must keep trying to make things better.  I surround myself with reminders of heroes and heroines who made, or try to make, a change.

How can I write and sing when all this goes on?

And yet, sing and write I must, we must, for that is what mitigates the sheer horror of living in such a society.  Fight and march we must, for what else can we do?

So, I say these things to myself, but it’s hard.  Yes, yes, all those things, like meditation, good living, all those things are there for us to do, but they are not enough.  Playing with my dog … that helps.  Loving my family … that saves me.

And my life is GOOD, and I have nothing to complain about at all.

Keep on keepin’ on!

Out of Water and Out of Air

Out of Water and Out of Air

©October 6th, 2014

By Vijaya Sundaram

 

The fish sails,

Head half in, half out,

Floundering, diving,

Coming up again, diving

Neither in, nor out,

Neither here nor there.

Suffocating in air,

Drowning in water.

Tail lashing back and forth,

It sees the golden disk

Of sun from below,

Comes up eagerly

To drink in the light,

But gasps, as the rare

Air hits unaccustomed gills.

Writhing in terror

And ecstasy, before

It sinks back in,

Singing of the light.

And unformed lungs

Struggle to grow

In a body too light, too

Easily pierced by bait.

Surrounded by fish

Which flow easily, like song,

Through that twilit world,

At ease with body and fins

Unconscious and joyous

Twirling in sport,

Racing away in terror:

Prey chased by predators

Chased in their turn, it

Swims on and on, raises

Face to the light, sinks back in.

 

Is that all there is to this?

This constant striving

To no avail, for no purpose?

This struggle, this wriggle

Through murk, and to lurk

In dark spaces, with waving

Fronds that invite, but bite.

 

Is this all there is?

Don’t tell the fish

That struggle ennobles.

There is nothing noble in it,

Except in the minds

Of those who would weave words

To lead the blind.

 

Where is a world for a

Fish such as this?

Struggling at the confluence

Of air and earth and water,

It makes a bubble-dream.

 

Where is a world for a

A fish such as this?

It twists and leaps

And looks up skywards,

And dies, it dies, full

Of desire and pain.

 

And when it dies,

Will a new Creature emerge,

Straddling air and land and water,

Poised and cool,

Master of all it surveys?

 

Or will the creature

Look around, and yearn

And weep for something

We cannot yet see?

Neither land, nor sky

Nor water nor fire

Will quench its yearning.

 

And so, it goes.

While the air and sky,

And land and water,

Swirl darkly, promising

Nothing.

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