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