Monday, June 19, 2017

Fearful Fall

Fearful Fall

Trepidations, palpitations

Streaming free fall

Clairvoyant consciousness

Carrying me down

Where hellish depth ends

Bottomless pits begin.

To the edge of fear

Where fright is naked before night

The darkness begins to foam and swirl

Smoky fetid demon breath.


I catch a break, some serial lifeguard god

Catches my fall for a heartbeat.

Desperation halts heartbeat.

I stall for time! Even the nightmare pauses

Its rerun reel. Grins. Begins.


The precipice yawns, its maws 

Reopens, ghastly recurring infinite loop,

Too late, screams echo down the spiral

Bottomless chasm open into unending chasms

The never ending loop of reliving all lives.


Indeterminate minutiae specks the in-between.

I turn searchlights on my soul, supra scanning 

For pellucid design. Senselessness is throwing an orgy

Party down the back end street where lamps flicker

And shop lights show ghost ships sailing nigh

Blinking bright halos of angels treading nightmares’

Unabridged waters.


I torch my seared eyes, tired x-rayed meatballs

Till the inevitable mired lighthouse turns its 

Gloating evil eye, revolving upon mine.

Mordor has many names

And Mordor, has multitudinous eyes.

Mordor is mosaic visioned

Mirrored million times.


I have been flash frozen

Flying in flagrante delicto

Into hell’s downward descent.

Now waiting, cowering in terror

Of some unavoidable hit list, where

My futile birth portends my death. 


For death dealing mercenaries

Blind visionaries piloting planes

And prophetic madmen, who utter death threats 

Issuing warrants and license

Pontius Pilates who wash their hands of blood

With an easy elegance, offer me up as kill

On first, last and limitless strikes.

No escape except the imminent present.

No future but as star of Methuselah

Older than our creation date. 


Watch on, warriors Gods of multitudinous arenas

Angels in arms, nightmare of Gods infamous permit, 

Our cohabitation in halls of abomination.

Lions lie with lambs, jackals prowl, where rabbits hide in snake holes.


Kill human reality

With such chilling dreams.

© Amrita Valan 2017
References to Mordor from JRR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings

Dark light

The Sun swings easy

On his chariot through 

the skies, sure and steadfast blessing, 

Provident light trickles through my skin, 

Seeps into my eyes, infiltrates brain cells, 

Burning bright.


Have you ever imagined God's burning bush?

Speaking to you, crooning songs of a universe?

White fire in the wind-borne mind, the Messiahs 

Drive through movie theatres in reverse.

There's no end to pain, there's always rain

There's always light, trailing dark robes of

Monad night.


Wonder why darkness is not a thing itself?

Why darkness is not mere absence of light?

It is what holds all light within itself,

Releasing Nihil into the mighty night.

Black is not a colour, nor monochrome,

But the entire palette suppressed.

White fire is liberation of infinite spectrums,

Every unforgettable joy and impossible regret.


The Sun won't hide its quantum drive

Its energy drives and rides our solarium,

An invitation "Be alive! “Be golden white!”

A being radiant, gathered by darkness

In the end, then, to sultry darkness

The grace of brilliance lend.


© Amrita Valan 2017


Saturday, June 17, 2017

They Never Said...Goodbye, So Arrivederci


They Never Said… Goodbye, So Arrivederci


They never said farewell

Arrivederci always, till…

Please come back again.

My gold autumn leaves

Shake,

Twist a crisp sigh

And make it into a song,

A paean.


Your leisurely footfall,

Soft swish of her organza sari

rustles in the faraway hall.

My memory vault glitters,

Sunshine preserves of 

Tranquil limpid clarity.

I recall how we bumped

Noses under the table

Playing "chor-police"

Thief and Inspector

Such perfect accomplices 

In hide and seek of blazing

Life and all-consuming death.

Of those glorious meals

Where all hands helped

Make a joyous love offering.

Cook me some soul food 

Again.


Play that deserted harmonium

Desolate upon floor’s indifferent bier, 

Gathering dust of abandonment,

Under grandma’s dressing table.

Black and shapely ebony, varnished 

Brass handles. Gleaming dreams of

Yesterday.


I lust for the life forces

Forged by intimacy.

I turn the rusted wheels of time

Backwards again.


Unite our voices

One more time,

In a choir,

In a tribute,

In a moment.


Let us bring alive the nightingale's

Pensive longings,

That revives dateless ages,

Let us live in timelessness,

Set us free of mortal cages.


Faceless angels, beautiful spirits

Free forever now to roam worlds 

Unknown to Men...

Dreaming about 

Days of magic,

Names move my tongue

Inviolate potent spells,

Good luck charms,

Never say goodbye, 

Arrivederci my talismans,

We will meet again.


Utterance is a yearning,

A shuddering relief, till 

They return, 

Oh! Fulfil me again.


© Amrita Valan 2017


Thursday, June 15, 2017

Skin and bones

Skin and bone dolls

Flesh formed

Lie cold blue veined

Still life form.

We are alive is a wonder

When all life is

Acceleration towards endings

Each beginning is a fast track

Culminating in arrival.

Well, I wonder

How joy must be produced

Squeezed out forcefully

From the reluctant teats of life.

Which seems a purpose

Utterly futile,

If all we do,

Is move through time.


But my gaze hazes

Over the distance

I see little dolls scampering,

Scurrying about,

Anxious precious urgency.

Boredom is an art form,

Real life is not,

A movement through time

At all.

It's a movement through

Acts.

Each infinitesimal moment

Holding potential,

To do.


Doing is the passage

And passport

Actions adding up

To rich accumulation.

The numbers are endless

Without moderation

If we give it up,

Slow clap Time!

Like rich illusion,

And only perceive

Our movement

Through actions.

Joys rich enough

To squander

Time to be bought

And brought asunder.

There are no end times

For a life of action.

Even death shall become

A progression.

© Amrita Valan 2017


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Lilac Cemetery

Weekly Challenge SLOP (Serious Lovers of Poetry)

 Lilac Cemetery 

Let me sleep tonight my beautiful
Topside down
While you recline quiet and still
Underneath the dirt
Velvet blanket in between
Your certain death
And my insipid life.

Velvet alluring lilac salute
To final sleep
How the mossy gloves come off
When we wade too deep
Six feet under the dirt my beautiful
While I warm your marble epitaph with my
lurid thoughts.

Silken and serene their fetid covering
Who knows what dreams beneath
Are breeding?
The sky high blue lies
Come crashing down on me.
Prettier than  lilac fields of memory.

Prettier than you
Dearer than all
Is my beautiful one
Locked up in her obdurate vault.


© Amrita Valan 2017


Like you always will

Like You Always Will, Remembering my Eighteenth Year 


Return tonight like you always will

Fellowships of a kind,

Eighteen years that bind

A girl into late womanhood

Wed the heart and mind.


No, I'm not blind, I see 

Where this is going

I know we're both

One of a kind.

And it never ends,


Like it always will, when 

The heart can't heal the mind.

Eighteenth year, rain leaves 

Behind some kind puddles

And some tawdry trash

Littered lots and empty thoughts.


The anniversaries of angels

With clipped wings.

I'm going dark side on you

Fair Adelaide no more,

Spruce up your magic wand

And summon me anew.


I have nothing left to give

I have nothing to forgive

Annihilate me, I'll self-destruct

It's all the same to me.

My children perhaps of a lesser

God

But human beings, they can be,

Angels embodied nigh, I trust 

They'll find their own kind.


When eighteen, I pray for them,

Fighters be, confidently keep counsel,

Keep it together, let them be. 

Don't be left stranded at crossroads

Branded by faux destiny.


Return to me again, so,

Like you always will,

Sweet melancholy music

You hurt me still.


© Amrita Valan 2017


Thursday, May 25, 2017

Double Jeopardy

Double Jeopardy 

Friday's Aphorism Prompt on SLOP

Fluttering eyelashes

Shrug off grief

Metallic cascades of glitter,

Mascara down sordid cheeks.

The sodden stuff of life

Weighing down the mind,

Heavy straws pulled,

Wrong choices,

Strong passions,

Avenues of double jeopardy.

There's no tracing back

The crazy garden path

Let me make the best of

The worst of it.

Pluck a crimson flower

Where my heart bleeds,

He loves me,

He loves me not.

Opaque future

That even Time

Has forgot.


Promises I will not miss

In my heart weighs heavy water,

Frothy blood splattered areoles

Hiding vacuums of unease.

Confidence faked, eyes slant up, reflecting

Sunshine, perfect decorum feigned,

Smile please.

© Amrita Valan 2017


Tuesday, May 23, 2017

A World That Is

A World That Is


The world on this

Hot summer evening

Is a searing bordello,

A nomad's land,

A war zone,

A slaughterhouse,

A field seeping tears,

Blood, bones rancid sweat,

Defeat and despair.


Far too many die in vain

To fulfil heinous, 

Murderous purpose.

The Government

Swats us flies for sport

Letting loose hellhounds,

Hackles raised on an

Unsuspecting populace.

It's all dumb charades

And masquerades,

It's all charnel houses,

Unholy massacres in fancy dress.

Dressed up in righteous garbs of

Liberators, on rescue missions from

Arcane arks, Jihad, KKK or IRA

Petty terrorism, corpses piled sky-high

For highest stakes.

In a world of fake, sponsored news

Death's fatal encounters are real,

The rest, prepaid or misled views. 

In the world of propaganda, smoke and 

Mirrors, the slaughter of innocents,

The children is real.

In a world of Crony capitalism,

Vote bank fostering, red herrings

The rape of women, their enslavement

Is  real.

Only the cause, only the realpolitik

Fabricated. Backroom deals. 

Unreal.

Fantastic claims, fabulous conspiracies

Clouded causes, deathly effects.

As the bodies lie scattered in dreaming comas,

I am more than afraid that their deaths

Have not really been, in vain, 

As tweeted, as proclaimed. 

In grave tragic tones, by eminent men.

Somewhere in a petty private caucus, a

Selfish cause served; a mercenary aim gained.

More truly wicked than you or I can imagine.

Higher up than you or I can contemplate

For some phantasmagorical mythic beasts

Deadly horsemen of the apocalypse,

Corpses are tumblers, logical numbers

Clicking us into slotted fates, 

Positions allotted, for their 

End game.

© Amrita Valan 2017




Monday, May 22, 2017

Mother

Mother


Mother is my first friend

My first love

My first guide

My first lady

She, who held my hand

To cross the street

Who made each meal,

every bedtime,

A gentle treat.


Mother

Is my frail soul now,

Trying to guide two sons,

To the right path,

The living brilliance,

Breathing radiance

That is life,

If lived truly

From the heart.


Mother is frail and

Her soul needs mine,

To sustain her strength

To live, to abide,

With pain and misery

That age and sickness brings.


I am sickened to my heart

That the relief she seeks,

The Gods with who she fervently pleads

Do not listen, hear, or heed. 

When she prostrates her head

To each deity, every idol, 

All the divine pictures mounted 

on the walls of her homestead.


I must be strong though tears come,

It was mother…

Who named me “Amrita.”

The indestructible one.

Ma, I bow my soul to be the arrow

On your heart string.

May God use me my mother, 

To alleviate your suffering.



© Amrita Valan 2017




Friday, May 19, 2017

Et tu

Fool for Words.

Was Judas a hypocrite?
When he gave the famous kiss?
Was Shylock a devious knave
Bartering his soul
Over a pound of flesh?
Was Brutus false to his friend
When Caesar's life he put to an end
And was Lucifer really so treacherous?
When he wanted equal footing
With God, alas?

We will never know
And can't forget, for...

"The evil that men do
Lives after them...
While the good is oft interred
With their bones"

Truer words than these Julius never said.
;)

So et tu my friend?
Is this how it ends?

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Smoke on air

Ravaged wizened canny soul
Eyes reflective of the whole
Of life lived upon this earth
Anguish agony, of home and hearth

Hope and faith that ordeals bore
Tears spilt, withheld within the core
Sending SOS signs smoke on air
A certain cynical guile, an yearning
Perhaps, only God can hear.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, May 18, 2017

God be with ye

Feelings....
Sigh...Is this a poem?  ,,🤔

Feeling kind of sweet
Like mellow pumpkins
(I certainly fit the body type
And am an unabashed foodie!)
Feeling  really sweet tongued,
(Must be the gooey eclair
Slushing in my mouth)
Can food be erotic?
If music be the food of gods
Then dreams are their ambrosia
And they're crushing
On my lips raining kisses
In my ears.

And I of honeysuckle lips feel free
To shower you some sugary confetti
For I have been up at twilight
And roamed with vampyres and sprites
My heart opened up to
Source codes of light.

Now I am melting embracing dusk
Till the dark soothes my eyes
And makes longing spark.
I'm waiting for memories buds
To open up till eyes dim
And I gain access, night vision,
Supra clarity in Divinity 's park.

So this blessed eve, till evening falls,
I watch the lone crow
Solitary unconfined
Upon a distant wall
Solo survivor of mythic despair
Some over the edge siren's call
Haunting the air.

I watch a trail of cars
Beetle by..
The old man dozing
By his fruit stall.
Busy working world
Oblivious, insight
Is all.

And in the corner
Of my vision
Curtaining the romping air
Trail of yellowed green leaves
Wave me,
God be with ye fair.

It will be the prettiest time
Of my life,
Though years will pass by
This fruitful moment stays ripe
Fresh and fecund
Dripping promise
honey upon my homely walls
My heart twirls in the breeze
Like ripe wheat in the open field
I rejoice
In this power I feel
The power of staying still
This potency
To do anything.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017


Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Amrita's Dream

Vanilla ice

Soft stubble
Hint of grey
And I am sold
What so far seemed
A laughable thing
Suddenly is no more
And Much more
Than reality.

You're so kind
A Sunbeam upon my soul
Sweetness has never touched me so
Always a soft spot a frisson

For the ones gone rough
At the edges
Defiant dreamer, borderland of bad.

My soul genuflects.
Praying. 

Rain of blessings.

Sourced the dream.
Happiness is effortless dominion.

Willingly pleased 

I am detached, kind.
An unobserved observation.

I shiver at the thought

Of this chance of a lifetime
That I must allow
To pass by.

Ours is not
The Time.

Yet some sweet moments
Are predestined.

I care  Not crave.

I rave and rejoice this meeting.

I'm not ravenous.

Or craven 

This addiction is
Fulfilled.

Thank you.
I have known you.
And been known 

If this be love
Then it's blameless
Pure and blessed.
Snow White.
Delicious vanilla lingering
Upon chaste ice.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Sunday, May 14, 2017

CTU poem continuation


Lyne Beringer

Anybody want to continue the story?

If you go around
To a room in the back
Head down a flight of stairs
You'll find a mysterious woman
Waiting to sell you her wares.....

Beware
Enter not in truth
Nor of dare
For in the darkness
Hidden in the back
Lies her lust spun
Spider's bed
If you must enter there
I regretfully must say
You've become her alluring
Ghastly prey
Where you'll be caged
In your self made rage
Fed up by her romance
Her lonely Blackmoon dance
So enter not on freewill
Nor by chance
Accept not a single dare
Interest not in her wears
Ignore the mysterious woman's
Seductive stares

© Markus Fleischmann

Or else ignore the truth
And take on the dare
Perchance twas fate
That sets this blind date
With sweet strange seductress
Woman of mystery
Or siren or ghoul
Below dark stairs?

Find her on faith
Forgive the error
Of her ghastly ways
Perched on her shoulder
Be archangel
Always
protective talisman
Guard her soul
From hell.

And if her fatal face
Her dreadful charm
Pins you down
Her hapless prey
Pray her soul
Be yours to take
Tis no harm to
To break this
Seal
Even though it
Brings about
The end of days....

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Take me in

To write
You need must wield a pen
Shower ink from mind
As clear as rain
Where will I
Find my music then?

For sodden
Sorrows cloud my heart
A vital need to write
But no heart to start
How can I touch you
Make you feel my part?

Can I show you
Through Instagram
Upload a video
Of my bleeding brain?
Can I show you how
Sanity denuded my soul
Would you shudder and pause
And swipe the screen
To wipe away the unseemly stain
Perhaps my revolting pain
Should remain unseen?

Take my angel hair
Plucked out from this demonic sink
Of a thousand thoughts
That gurgling overflows the brink

Each a string to pluck
Upon my heart.
Pushing sanity
With each beat
And start.

I pull out bunches
With bloodied nails
Spiritually in my coccyx dwell
I cannot rise
Shall my poem
Be the stuff
Of lies?

Or the haunted lizard's
Fallen tail
An omen potent
Enough to fail
And yet release
The life Within
A flick and swish
A dying wish

I'm a woman
Who would brush
Off fate
Yet court destiny
By hell's deathless gates
Can I convince
Despite my countless sins
I'm as pure and free
And deserve to be
An entrant
Through the pearly gates
Just as much
As those spotless angels
Who're all going in.

This makes no sense
This text too dense
My soul in a seance
My mind the lens
That flares the paper
Where are written
The timeless dares
Truth eschewed
For glamorous food

Brooding upon the
Dark side
My hypnosis is
Near complete

I am listless lost and hovering
Will you still understand
And let me in?

Naked upon the rocking chair
Of fate
I am swinging past the pearly gates
Take me in my unholy state
For I have confessed
Exposed myself.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, May 12, 2017

The Humanist Beast

Truth is I am so angry... By the bloody minded relentless ridiculing of Hinduism in toto, by this dangerous new breed of  "Humanists".
Why?
Because of a few of its flaws, the whole of it must be demonized.
Why?
Because it's fashionable to make fun of the Hindus in the name of the hindutva brigade.

Why?
Because it's relatively safer than attacking the fatwa/jihad/Daesh brigade.

Why?
Because it's easier to tear down with sarcasm than to recreate and reform with patience.

Call yourselves Humanists.
I call you out as intolerant megalomaniacs who think they have a monopoly on Truth and Reason.
No empathy. No Humanity.
Period.

The Humanist beast

The Humanist beast
doth attack
And tear in shreds
The truth he cannot stomach
Yet needs must
Truly dread.

They hunt in packs
Quote dubious stacks
Of half truths and lies
Out sourced ignorance
Spreading concocted news
Spin doctors
Of vice.

With no lack of assurance
They pretend faux tolerance
But cannot accept genuine
Difference of views
If you're not preaching to the choir
(Of angels they think they're)
Then you're simply no use.

And instead of pausing to give
The benefit of doubt
They pompously post
Insane unbalanced poison
Then haughtily declare,
Over and out.

The humanist beast
Feels free to slander and shout
From their cloistered clouds
They mock everyone,
Except the ones who irresponsibly tout,
That the houses others built are crooked
So should be pulled down,
While their pathological pretences
Are hallowed ground.

The humanist beast
Hasn't a reasonable human heart
To use his rational mind to unite,
Not cast Barbaria's
stones that hurt.

Oh the Humanist beast
He wants the world to be
A better place.

In feral pursuit of this
He loses both,
Reason and grace.

He nit picks and mocks all
Those are the hallmarks of a fool
What he cannot understand
He must always ridicule.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Ahm Clex so right about the Like Button on fb being " also for choosing sides in an argument without commenting."

Monday, May 08, 2017

Nascent Life

The sky is dappled
Dark demonic shapes
Take possession
The air is light sepia silver
Toned
Golden shores pounding
In their flesh and bone.
Father's arm guides
First born son
Through death disease and darkness
To the living dawn
Step by step
On sleepers slope
Tracking a nascent morn
Of glorious hope.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Death's Deception


Death is kismet
The missing piece, in
Life's jigsaw puzzle
The final peace.

Sombre nights spent
In unease
Trying to figure out
the ethereal whisper
In the languid breeze.

Stripping the soul off
Beauty's face
Laser gazing
Through time and space
My eyes do burn
Shadows deeper fall
I cannot this mystery
Penetrate.

Beautiful in the
Wicked night
Hangs a question mark
Eloquently tight
That squeezes summer's hearts
With wintry pain
Deathly beloved
Is Absence then.

I know you not.
Whom I must know.
I escape into you
From Time's deathly throes.
I can't outrun my fate
To find you
My final friend.

Your name upon my
Lips
The birth cry of the babe.

Death the kismet
The last escape
The wormhole
Whose other pallid end
Could perhaps be Light
Or even blacker hole
Necromantic romancer
Of hopeless souls
Tell me your amazing story
A groundhog's day tale
Caressing the broken  heart
That in your icy embrace
Must learn to fail.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017




Thursday, April 20, 2017

Big Fat Dream

I am a poet who morphs into her subject.  I have to be true to my heart. How I truly feel.  I admit I could be limited in my views or understanding. But never insincere.

Big Fat Dream

I will beat this baby
This raw pink
plaything called life
I'm the ultimate suave player
All jazzed up
To survive.

I'm getting on with the game
Getting ahead
I will earn me some instant fame
Work double shifts at
Movie halls and restaurants.

College at night
Burn the candle bright
Frayed nerves
Toasted telomeres
At both ends

And just so you know
I got the degree too
But big brother was
Watching,
Told me
I need to set some folks free
Fight the little man's fight.

Since then
No more classes at night.
Conscription then training
Programmed for enlightenment
Now I believe
Might is right.

I will enlist
And land on
The little man's shore
In the name of defending
Them
I will do so much more.

Rage rage rage
Invincibility undressed
Torture tear and rape
I will lose my soul instead.

Kill kill kill the killers
Kill kill kill the believers
For the holy oil
Baptise my soul
With foreign blood
On fried foreign soil.

Bring me back home
Lucky if I'm whole

But the hole in my heart
Will never go away
The wholesome American boy
You sent away
Is all grown up
A shadowy Jekyll and Hyde man
So Cross my path
And hope to die
Catch me
If you can.

They say I have a disorder.
Post traumatic stress.
Tatooed across my chest
I have my highschool
sweet heart's name.

Kelly married the big boss man's son
Tired of waiting for one who's gone
Running on empty
For yet another
Dead end country.

He
Who owned those chains of restaurants
While I shackled my soul to
Uncle Sam
To earn me some fame.

Big fat American dream
Go back from where you came
Big fat American dream
No safe word for your lies
Your twisted contorted games.

Amen
For I have eaten your manna
In vermilion deserts  with no name
And I have watched so much
Blood being shed
Wine tasting by another name.

Now I'm back
Vampire seeking vengeance
I'm back
here's a deathless stench
To my nights for
I cannot sleep in the dark

The moon of doom
brings out my fangs
I cannot forget the little people
Who could not fight
Nor understand the sides
Their demonic plight
Forced them to align
Like I couldn't ever understand
How  greed and gluttony
Fear and mistrust
Combined with profit
Makes sense
And sends Lambs out
For slaughtering
Pretending righteous innocence.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017.

Day 20 Glopowrimo

Day 20 Glopowrimo
A Pantoum

My heart skips a beat in the night
Every night in the small wee hours
I wake up wanting water
Unable to sleep in the dark

Every night in the small wee hours
I juxtapose a monstrous montage
Unable to sleep in the dark
I run photos of endless visages.

I juxtapose a monstrous montage
Nightmarish parade of faces
I run photos of endless visages
Shuddering with love's old caresses

Nightmarish parade of faces
Sweet homely merciful gazes
Shuddering with love's old caresses
I relive blessings, like curses.

Sweet homely merciful gazes
People who flowered my prayers
I relive blessings like curses
Now I  am helpless to repay their care.

People who flowered my prayers
The garden they tended in weeds
Now I'm helpless to repay their care
In my desert I can't heed their needs.

The garden they tended in weeds
The gardener who no longer cares
In my desert I can't heed their needs
The water of life lies in good deeds.

My heart skips a beat in the night
The gardener who no longer cares
I wake up wanting water.
The water of life lies in good deeds.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Glopowrimo day 17

April 17 Glopowrimo

Convert a prose piece to poem.

The Homeless Amateur Indian by Manu Joseph

Open like in relationships
But only of a certain kind
Monoclonal cultured beings
Identical ethical organisms
Rainbow people
Who live in the light
Holding candle lit vigils
Against shadowy evils
That they can't understand
And can't be touched by.

Open to catch phrases
Sustainability and ObamaCare
The core of their views
Is contained in
Newsmakers headliners
Priyanka Gandhi is their
Enlightened dare.

Islands in the stream
Over run with common people
And Big brother watching
Them
Insular by choice no more.

Upstaged
Dispossessed
Where will they go
The nice Billy boys?
The posh uptown boys?

Speaking Politically correct
the lingua franca of the West
Foreigner in their birthplace
Or the Global guest?

The government barks
Stand up for the anthem
What should these nice people do
When the system works against them
Beating them black and blue?
There go the sons of the soil
So comfortable in their skins
They know how to work the system
Who to bribe.
The outs and the Ins.

It's hard to change
When one doesn't want
To belong.

But "everybody needs a home
... Because others have their own..."

Dispossessed disposable
Spiritual inheritors of
Insatiable Wanderlust
Refugees in their motherland
Strangers upon their own soil
What choice but to accept defeat
Or crib?

So the amateur Indian
Gets together with his kind
Valiant moral vigilante
He speaks in aggrieved tones
Everything appears better
Than it really was
That's how the story goes.

What can he do
Can the amateur Indian lie
Gathering his own echo chambers
He can Lament and cry.

These nice people
These posh upper set
Nowhere relevant to go
Nowhere to touch base.

Democracy become
A conduit of human flaws.
Might become right.
Righteousness turned
Topsy turvy overnight.

It's not development.
Horror of horrors
Deepest blues...
It is  non Sustainable
The Amateur Indian rues.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

http://www.livemint.com/Leisure/aC2Gmo7PnbVyiYtnazlsPJ/The-homeless-amateur-Indian.html

Glopowrimo for day 18

Glopowrimo for day 18
Poetry to music
Tagore's Tobu Mone Rekho...(Even so Remember me. )

Let me forget
That we shared
Company
And
Let us bring this
To a closure
Do not be afraid
To forget.

Whether I am
Far or near
Forgotten or dear

Old song
Hummed anew
Under your
Breath
Lyrics forgotten
The tune fades
In your head

Let me forget
That you don't recall
Remembering me
Remember nothing
At all. 

Let me forget
That it's bound to be
Forget me
Yet
In forgetting
Freeze our
Forgotten flame
In forgetting
Remember
Remember me.

Let our tears kiss
Oblivion
On the lashes
Of tomorrow.

Let work permit
Movement to
Strange shores

Let memory become
A wound
Rankling
In a dream

Let me forget
That you have forgotten me

Let your last thoughts
Of me
Be
A lovely primal scream

Forget me
If you will
Forget me not
In that final moment
Before memory
Goes still

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Glopowrimo day 19

Poem for glopowrimo day 19

Upon an object

Re hundred only
Ganesha's elephant head
On my wall
Soft white jute doll
Pretty and pleasing to the eye
It was a sure buy

But I wanted history
And I wanted art
Asked the lady who
Made it
Was it rural craft.

She flipped back her hair
With a shy smile
"I made all these things
You see,
I like working with my hands
To create beautiful stuff."

It was a sure buy
From an elegant college
Educated Indian woman
She is who I'll remember
When I admire
My petit Ganesha
White woven jute
Beaded symmetry
Tasseled trunk 
A delight

I will remember
My modern Indian woman
Who will never
Give up on her heritage
Without a fight.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Living

Living

Living beings need to eat other living things
Chalk and cardboard
And foitballs  may feed a Good Boof
But we're not like that at all.

We scour the world
Making it our oyster
Survival is
Making
Meat by association
Not of the fittest
But the weakest.
And what idealism
Can our deoxygenated ribose molecules
Boast of?
Sugar forever searching
Hungry to make itself.
The zenith of humanity
Is biology
Lining up amino acids
Against the wall
Take no prisoners
Watch the dominoes fall
In exact patterns
And making proteins
Making proteins
Or making love
Fold them into desired shapes
Curl deeper
Curve into yourself
We need to race to the moon
And back
In our brains.

Each cell blindly
Copying itself.

The wonder of life.
Or
The myth of
Wonder.

Meat by association.
Chained together
Bio disorganized "isms"
Like Dominoes
We fall.

In love
In Illusions
And disillusions
And fatal errors
From which

We never recover.
Cancer cells of the soul
For all.

We fall.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Monday, April 17, 2017

Laughing Gods

My broken little heart
In embezzled bits and pieces
Has lost definition.

Utterly destroyed
Senselessly alive.

Can you still see the whole?
In this bizzare mix
Of  jigsaw pieces?

Sweetness assails
Darkness drowns
Doubts assault
Fear cripples
And I'm not in control
Anymore.

Failures reinforce
Themselves.

Like breadcrumbs
I have scattered
My soft stuffing
On the water.
Take care of me
Waves
Afloat a bit longer
Faithless desperate.

I too
Have walked on water.

My soul I scourge from
Sticky soot of grimy
Fireplaces.
Poker faced fate and I
Stare each other down.

In the glow of
Stifling embers
I see my marauder's map
With no destination.

Look after my puny
Leavings
After I have
Departed
Wind and water
Air and Fire
Soft are your kisses.

Thoughts random rain
Mind is happenings staged
A duet of dying pain.

And I love that
This too shall pass.

And I love that
This too must end.

Take care
Dearly beloved memories
Somehow
Sometime
Someone else
Will make them again.

Colour your skies
Chalky indigo red
Breathing fire
Into orangewood honey sunsets
Stellar mind bending
Into astonishing morphs of
Ourselves, regards
DNA resurrected.

Goodbye memories.
Stuffing this piteous
Silenced scarecrow.

Goodnight.
No one will make you
Quite like me
Again.

Death
Eternally syncing
Past with future
Flashing through
Muted mythic
Clouds.

Mystical mistakes
Infinite reconstructions.

A part of me
Thanks you
Future carrier
And bearer.

You will do it
So well.

That the I
That could have been
will walk
On water
Again and again.

Heaven Is
Not ever being frightened
Of hell.

We code again
And erase glitches
With conscious
Choices.

Next time
We walk on water
We will do it
For real.

Laughing Gods
We will frolic
And connect
With dolphins.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Easter Sunday Thoughts

Even if he didn't rise
He rose
A blossom in the mind
Of men
Of human sacrifice
Acceptance of pain

Why must a great religion
Depend on the crutch
His life has rained grace
Resurrection?
Not so much.

Two thousand years of thought
No change has wrought
We still fight
For so much
Supremacy
Legitimacy
Credibility.

Jesus Christ
Rise high in our hearts
Not because you rose
Because you gave us
Truth.
You were
Who you were
And didn't hide it.

You took death upon your
Shoulders
And bore it.

You did not deny,
Yourself or Him
Your only cry
Was for mercy
On all

We don't need
Any other miracles

Rain gushes
From core of vision
Lips hush
With such profound blessings
Where in the world
Shall we ever find
Such
Love Truth
And integrity.

He is
The Son of God.
He is the Lamb
Of the Lord.

Setting hearts
On fire
Minds alive
To celestial music.

I look upon him
As a man
A divine traveller
Who stopped
At our shoddy little inn
And made it a shrine
By sharing
His blood and body
With us.

We stand upon mere bones
When we exalt technicalities
And seek proof.

Was the tomb
Empty?
Was it robbed?
Who removed what?

All or nothing
Is not what
Matters.

What matters
Is the Sufi music
Cherished desolate
Sweet and savage
Ravaging my heart
On Friday
And Sanctifying it
On Easter.

Light my lamp
Jesus.
You are
What you are.

A vision
That sears lies
And seal
Of Truth.

Son of Man.
And God.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Easter Sunday Thoughts

Even if he didn't rise
He rose
A blossom in the mind
Of men
Of human sacrifice
Acceptance of pain

Why must a great religion
Depend on the crutch
His life has rained grace
Resurrection?
Not so much.

Two thousand years of thought
No change has wrought
We still fight
For so much
Supremacy
Legitimacy
Credibility.

Jesus Christ
Rise high in our hearts
Not because you rose
Because you gave us
Truth.
You were
Who you were
And didn't hide it.

You took death upon your
Shoulders
And bore it.

You did not deny,
Yourself or Him
Your only cry
Was for mercy
On all

We don't need
Any other miracles

Rain gushes
From core of vision
Lips hush
With such profound blessings
Where in the world
Shall we ever find
Such
Love Truth
And integrity.

He is
The Son of God.
He is the Lamb
Of the Lord.

Setting hearts
On fire
Minds alive
To celestial music.

I look upon him
As a man
A divine traveller
Who stopped
At our shoddy little inn
And made it a shrine
By sharing
His blood and body
With us.

We stand upon mere bones
When we exalt technicalities
And seek proof.

Was the tomb
Empty?
Was it robbed?
Who removed what?

All or nothing
Is not what
Matters.

What matters
Is the Sufi music
Cherished desolate
Sweet and savage
Ravaging my heart
On Friday
And Sanctifying it
On Easter.

Light my lamp
Jesus.
You are
What you are.

A vision
That dear lies
And seal
Of Truth.

Son of Man.
And God.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, April 14, 2017

No Gloves

No Gloves

Was just thinking of something I have noticed for a long time and barely had the courage to speak up about it,  for fear of political incorrectness.

But people in the currently intolerant and absurd political climes,  have taken resort to a weird policy perhaps to assuage a sense of misplaced guilt. That of confusing Hinduism with politically motivated  Hindutva and terror instigating "Hindu fundamentalism" and subjecting both the religion and the malpractices to harsh ridicule.
Perhaps because ridiculing something reduces its potency.
But it also unfortunately belittles the greatness that tolerates it.
It takes advantage of an expected benevolence.

And so, as a result, a lot of high minded secular and otherwise tolerant thinkers have taken to mocking and ridiculing Hinduism itself, of course joined by the not so secular forces,  eager to take pot shots at this religion.

Now I humbly request people to think back to just how far Hindu fundamentalism stretches back really, compared to the fundamentalism of other religions, (think of the three main Abrahamic ones),  resulting in forced conversions, mass genocides, establishment of de rigueur and totally authoritarian theocracies, that treats it's minority citizens as second class chattels and slaves.

Think back to the Christian Crusades against Islam, the witch burning at the stake for heresy and blasphemy.

Think back to islamic persecution under Aurangzeb, Muhammad Bin Tughlaq Timur Lane.

Think of restrictive prohibitions on food and dress codes that current day regimes blithely incorporate as part of the Law of the Land.

And not so much as a titter is heard that women are not allowed to drive motor vehicles in some parts of the world in this century.

Hindu fundamentalism is not to be excused.

But don't treat Hinduism with savage condescension either.

Had you not been from this mainly pacifist  docile body of people, perhaps you couldn't even have practised your freedom of speech.

Because without being brought up in an atmosphere of intellectual freedom, "where the mind is without fear, and the head us held high", (to quote Tagore), where would our  freedom of mind thought and expression have been today?

Sati and the caste system were ugly and reprehensible.
Like the Crusades where a man's genitals were cut off for not converting.
Or a woman burnt alive, for  claiming to have had visions of God.

Religions have shed lot of blood.

But seriously, if we do a competitive and fair study the "bloody footfall", of Hinduism has been far lesser.

I'm not trying to say my religion above  all others.

Be very fair. Think really think, if while critiquing a political party you're also sending out a message of utter disrespect and ingratitude to a religion whose core essence says that there are as many paths to God and Salvation, as there are opinions regarding them.

We have had golden eras of peace in a multicultural India too.

We have had foreign rule under Mughals who assimilated, (despite maintaining their proud identity), and under the British, who forever chose to remain outsiders.

But all along Hindus Muslims Sikhs Buddhists have remained brothers in this "Hindu majority democracy.'
It's a commendable record.

The Hindu Muslim riots were both instigated by the  British Raj during the partition of Bengal and Independence of India.
As part of the Colonial Divide and Rule imperial policy.

Well my friends. We cannot change things till we realize respect is not apportioned out of a sense of compassion and neediness but out of a sense of justice and fair play.

To be the majority in India should not mean Hindus should have to wear an yoke of political correctness and restraint.
Or apologize for exercising their right to free speech.
Or have their opinions ridiculed and mocked in a hysterical mass booing by the intelligentsia.
Which perceives itself as liberal secular and enlightened but in a shallow non introspective manner.
Carried by the tidal waves of history.
Think. How Jesus was greeted with palm leaves on Sunday.
By Friday the same mob was crying, "Crucify him.'
Don't be swayed into feel good look good secularism. Be eminently fair. Blindfold yourself before you balance the scales. Then play Devil's advocate.

I think the only reason I could marry outside my caste community and religion without caring for even a single voice of dissent, from amongst my friends family and kith and kin is due to a hindu upbringing.
And in fact I didn't hear even one voice of doubt among these people.

Whereas my spouse to be had to kneel and beg for "permissions granted", and received flak for my outright refusal to convert.
  When you bend your Truth once, you'll bend it many more times.

The fact is I'm blessed in rich meaningful memories.
Where many a night, my Brahmo mother read out to me from the Bible in my childhood and shed tears at the part where Jesus was crucified.
We were not taught that the Gods of other religions were false demons.
We were taught to empathize with the highest feelings of adoration that other human beings felt for the Divinity of their choosing.

My Hindu father even today keeps the Bhagwad Gita the Bible and The Quran at his little alcove of worship.

That's the true essence of Hinduism. A rich traditional of cultural borrowing and interchange of the best thoughts and ideas from every sphere of life.

An ability to celebrate life, and not just religion.

Hence Hindus don't borrow the traditions of Christmas trees, cakes and Santa only to deny their source/origin,  by incorporating  it into hindu festivals such as Diwali.

They give full and fair acknowledgement tothe original itself,  and joyfully, zestfully participate in Christmas and Easter egg hunts or Iftar after Ramazan.

We don't take offence that people love our colorful festival of Holi which sprung from Lord Krishna's Mythical times, and play it as the "Colour Run" in the USA.

Humanity however,  stands to lose the richness of its collective ancient heritage, the richness of  diverse and meaningful human traditions, when we seek to cleanse it of it's religious roots and make it dull and secular in an  antiseptic uniform manner.

Not to say plagiarism as part of another religion altogether. Without even a mention of roots.

Likewise the recent adaptation, (only in India),  of fireworks, (traditionally burst during Diwali),  at Christmas.

Or the Ostara egg hunt which us now synonymous with Easter.

History will out itself hopefully.

Because the very stuff of legends and ways of life of our forefathers should be  commemorated even in adaptation.

I remember eating lunch at my Muslim friends house and blithely chomping beef biryani.
She forgot quite rightly, to remember I was Hindu, (but only that we were friends),  and so didn't warn me.
When her Uncle harshly rebuked her I was forced to spring to her defence, smiling and assuring him that our religion was A okay if we ate beef, so long as it was unintentionally done.

The uncle's wry smile made me laugh, much later knowing he was totally seeing through my not so smooth cover up.

Yup. Many Hindus, like me feel revolted eating beef.
The way Muslims feel pork is dirty.
We are taught very early, that the cow is a docile animal which already provides us plentifully, in terms of milk from which we get so many other dairy products.

That it's one of the first feeds for human infants.
That's a reason for,  almost,  ;) but not quite, revering it as a bovine mother. 
Not to talk of the anti septic qualities of its urine, the use of cow dung as fuel and leather after its natural demise.

But seriously, if Hinduism has been taught in its broadest essence, then  it's understood by its apt pupils, without express instruction, that to "beef" about beef over friendship, peace and human happiness,  is  ridiculous.

Which is why at eighteen it was easy for me to suppress revulsion and plaster a smile on my face.

Which is or should be  the hallmark of true Hindus.
Reason and Amity.
Otherwise the religion you are proclaiming is the very one you're violating.

I am not a Hindu apologist. But a secure and comfortable in my own skin Hindu, who is glad to be one.

I place humanity above my religion. But I expect you to do the same when dealing with me.

If you show bias towards your own religion,  and want to dissect mine or worse malign it,  that's your choice of fake secularism.

But don't expect me to condone it and treat your religion with velvet gloves, while performing open heart surgery without anaesthesia on mine.

In that case I will rigorously scrutinize your claims for authenticity with every rational means at my disposal, without getting offended or upset.

And reserve my rights to defend my religion within reason and logic, without a hint of apology in my ink.

It can't be  expected of Hindus,  to be  guilt driven Messiahs,  harboring Saviour complexes, simply because so far, we are the majority populace in India.

Intellectuals, please do  refrain from  crucifying us for sins all of humanity has in far greater proportions, committed at various stages of history.

Please don't turn a selectively blind eye to issues that you know are tougher to tackle and take on the sitting target.

Hindus are just as human as fallible as you are. And as capable of good too.

But the tact, sensitivity and respect that minorities require, is a requisite if the majority too.

Velvet gloves for all or none. 

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Dedication

I have dedicated my love
Like indigo skies  of dusk and twinkling stars
Like cerulean blues of milky flawless morn
I have dedicated my compassion
I have dedicated my pride
Like clear glorious blue skies on a cloudless day
I have dedicated my search
To cloud patterned blues of ethereal May
I have laid down my soul
Into the womb of dawn
Where the sun and Time
Is born
My understanding expands
As the day progresses
Ever knowing night
Accepts my life
Mystical music
Of fate.

Krishna
Smiled
And kissed favoured flute
With lotus lips
Peacocks danced
Blue embossed eternities
Laughing maidens by glittering  waters deep
Flirted caution to the winds
Carried away by the waves
Of pure love
Fragrant in winds
Of fragility.

Hush...
Before nightfall
The cuckoo coos
Cuckolding Godlessness

At nightfall
The Nightingale
Sings of beauty
That surpasses devotion

My devoted eyes
Trail tears at dawn
For the cock will crow
Your betrayal.

And men
Will forget in their might
To love
Like Jesus
And My Krishna.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Agony of Love

Love had happened
When all you and I
Were capable of
Was gawking goofiness
Or worse
A bland affectation of
Aloofness.

And love had happened
At three minutes to three pm
On a sweaty summer day.

My skirts getting shorter
Hemlines ripped over torn barbed wire
Scaling forbidden fences
Love happened to us
Prismatic ally
Glinting from your comically
Framed lenses.

I was Alice
Fresh and alive
Through your  looking glasses
Dauntlessly flaunting my
Die hard innocence.

Love happened like water quenching
Thirst
Like parched lips blessing kisses
Of iced lemonade.
Love happened like this or that
Charmed child
Of unplanned happiness.

These are the book bags of
Memories
In my little toy cupboard
Glistening white with crimson oak leaf
Trimmings.
I cannot enumerate joys
Of the flesh
That course through bone sap and
Wood sap
From the succulent vines
Of yesterday.

Now I have lost it
The command
The password
The safe key
To Neverland
I was Captain Hook
You a sylph a fairy
I have random captures
Eluding my grasp
My mind is
Lost and found
Lightning strikes
In  darkness
Silver music
In silences
Intense flashes
Sheltered in nonchalance.

I cannot lay claim
Love wasn't a framed
Declaration
It was a dabbling on
The walls
A rambling on walks
Not a commissioned
Portrait
But something stored in the attic
For another day.

Thank you for reminding
picture perfection lies
In the incomplete
The half said
Half deed,
In the emptied cup
Not the cloying mead.

Love is best served
As agony too
The  wistfulness
Of not remembering
But feeling the very bones
Of a skeletal framework
A stealthy stalking wraith
A walking romance
In a garden rarer than Eden
A beauty
That would now require
Insanity to recreate.

Hush.
Love happened.
At four o'clock in the
Evening.
Though you argued,
Like only you would,
If the sun was in the sky
It was only afternoon.

Your mother served us
Sprite in Nescafe mugs.
We drank it swankily
Like wine.

Afterwards,
We climbed the low guava tree
To disperse
Leaves of shed memories
For the rest of our lives.

And
I guess
in our minds,
We softly danced.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Monday, April 10, 2017

Monday's micropoem

Blue hallows through latticed ventricle
Surmounting sacred stalactite arc
From earthly temple
Starry-eyed vista
Selena's celestial panorama
Moonlit Rhapsody.

For a friend Joe

For Joe. :) Hope to cheer you up.

But arise you willl
Because you must
Though weighed down
By this heavy heart
Life isn't fair
It's what it is
A bittersweet cavorting tease

And in darkness what vision belies
Are tender sparks of fleeting bliss.

Answer to the poem he wrote below:
"And so I lie alone in bed
Sorrow fills my heart with dread
For though my head is full of stress
It's also filled with hopelessness..."

Karma


Karma

Karma bites
Karma fights
Karma recreates
Karma expiates.

Karma expires
Karma explores
To expand our souls

To make us whole.


Expectations cease
Karma demands

Slate your Fate

Karma commands

Acute observation
Clarity of sight
Seeing beyond the stage
Maya's gilded cage 

Karma fulfils
Karma brings closure

Balances eternal sheets

Infinity's ledgers.

Nothing erased, no free absolution

Thank God foro Consequence

Grace through  intent and action.
Humans to Angels
A gradient
To climb
Not
Fate's frail toys,

But

Life the adventurer

out to teach

On a limb

Karma offers that

Second chance
Souls shall return

For another dance

Till dawn's Deja Vu,

I see you now,

You see me too.

No second guessing

Certainties were always

Meant to be.

No Damnation
No eternal judgement

Fate, silk on water

By us

Penned, erased.


Karma 
The vigilante 
Not man-made illusion

No pardon no cruelty
You get 
What you deserve

It's what you see

Cosmic parity.

Give and forgive

To break free.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017



Wednesday, March 08, 2017

Rishra Snoozes

Would it be poetry?
To share my time capsule
Of memories?
Some haunting midnight walks
With my dear friend Tushki
Singing Mary Hopkins
Those were the days my friend...
How I wish now
That those days would
Never end.

Rounders at TT had me
Fall flat on the ground like lead
Vikram Malhotra
Thanks for your memorable phrase
"Amrita has crash landed..."
It still rings in my head.
And ever sweet and chivalrous khoka
(Now that's a toughie to rhyme!),
Lifting me gallantly to my feet
My face flaming red like beet.

Badminton court a noble hallowed
ground
Where the big boys cursed profusely
With words profound
Which we little girls
mimicked
Preening with self conscious pride
Growing a lexicon weird deep and wide.
(But it was very useful later in life.)

By public demand
Now I usher in LEMON RED
Nimbulal's nickname
Or so Rajuda said.
In khaki dour and neat brown beret
Pungent smile on sweet wizened face.

Swimming in the rain
With Tutul
Upon a time
Submerged summer evenings
Of sheer delight

Pulling a few legs
Underwater
Being chased by Big Fish
Diving deep down under.
Cartwheels turned in water
That now seem
like circus feats
So natural then
When we were
Slim and lithe...

I don't know if I should add any more
The risk too great, you guys might snore.

So let growing up days now go to bed,
In all our heads,  adieu,
Rishra snoozes silent in secret gardens
And in dimmed rooms, with dreamy views.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Driven to Death


For those with eyes to see

Driven to death

Insensitivity of kith and kin
Skin deep love
And jealousy within
Stunted parody of ill conceived man
Whose love can't embrace
Beyond own flesh and bone

Victim blaming is the winners' game
Sans kindness, hearts of cold
Hideous stone.

Godmothers, unloving, ungracious
To innocent sons
Dog mothers of rigid Dogma,
And narrow exclusions.

Sibilant sisters
who lay down antiquated law
Enforcing guilt on a foolish
Guillible man..
...
"Don't bring her to Church
She's Un-christian.
Get the boys
They're Ours, ours
Alone."

Half Christians, that too,
Only in name,
Accusations, unfair
Wept into basin of tears,
That my father
Is in waiting,
To change their names...
To make them propitiate
To Hindu Gods...
Who are, but of course!
Demons of the underworld.

Crying buckets of crocodile tears
While dimming the joy
Of precious childhood years
Of two little men who should verily be
The pride and joy
Of both families.

Love skin deep
Jealousy within
Pride envy avarice
Are your deadly sins.

A
Gentle reminder
Jesus was a Jew
And May I ask again,
Just who are you?

He honored the Samaritan
The Prodigal Son
You throw them out
With overbearing scorn.

He Condemned the rich
ALL you value is gold
He accepted the sinner
You would like to
Throw stones.

In God's mansion
Are many Rooms
Of requirements,
Religions,
With multitudinous views.
Cleanse your hearts.
And humble yourselves
To your God anew.

Driven  degraded by fear
I shed humiliation
In tears
This world is hard
Terribly hard to bear.

Tagging along everywhere
An unwelcome other
They should have hired surrogate wombs
And not a feeling mother.

Conspiring to humiliate
Pretending innocence
Dealing death blows
With congratulatory
Handshakes.

Driven degraded
Deserving DEATH
Life is taboo
When you are
A child of Fate.

The skies forever calling.
Forever death defying blue
I hear my sisters
I hear them true.

Weaving words of love
From highest truths above
But
My hapless sons
Keep me anchored
To unfeeling earth.

I can't read
I can't teach
I can't sleep
I must weep
For the death
I can't find
And the life
I can't keep.

My soul keening
To fly above
Lingers lifelessly enmeshed
In this desolate gourd.

Wily men and
Women of strange
perverse desire

In the lives of others
To stroke hellfire

Driven to death
By puny stunted man
I will fly away
Into deathless skies
Harmed by none.

I will fly away
To true sisters
Wielding wands
Of healing words
May God grant
This woman
Her last reward.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, January 13, 2017

Sacrifice

Some bad poetry
Between you and me
My dumping ground
Fault lines
Agape with futility.

We live and we learn
(Or do we?),
It's playback time
When we care to earn
The will o' the wisp
Wisdom passing by.

No age is just a number
When progression
Is Linear entropic
When your number comes up
It just does
You in.
You died.
And that is why
We lived.
Reason enough
For a series
Of tete a tete
Life dialogues
Coffeehouse conversations
Diabolical.
 
So much love
To live
(Or To die for),
Eighty odd years
Are not enough
All those hard earned
Life lessons
Those ample tears
Amorous moments
When spirit kneeling
Kisses reeling soul.
Healing All
Of me that dwells
In chimerical memories.

The hardest labor
Of love
Is Death
Life presents
Us only this
Term insurance.

I guess I will
Never ever get it.
Why I write
the way I do

Why eyes closed in the dark
Lights a brilliant hue, blue
Fire light in the mind
Why mornings dwell
In the chill of future
While evening creeps up
Like a lusty lover
From behind.

There now
My dumpster
Is full-on target
emptied on you
Take what you will.
Take me as I am...
Or as you will.

I call it poetry
For lack of better words
Sacrificing Art,
To describe
The beauty
Of my despair.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

The One

You're the one.
I love having fun with you.
Matching my espresso to
Your cappuccino.
You're no longer
The one.
In my fun zone.
Serious stuff.
Life makes me laugh.
How it turns me on
Thumbs up
Here you are
YOU are the one.
You flip yours down.
No more babes.
Our time
Has come and gone.

So I am following you
Down the boulevard
Of not meant-to-be
Your hair like a steely
Helmet
A warrior's walk
You know your way
But I just lost mine again
Following you
Down yesterday's bylanes.

You are not the one
There's no one.
Who can match
Let me start again
From scratch.

Tearless fearless
No regrets
Je suis contente
I'm the One.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016