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Something happy within me sings
lightly like the butterfly’s wings
as it gently, s  l   o   w   l   y   sways
above
and
alone
on the beach
always out of  reach
of sadness and decay
so full of life
each grain of sand
t-h-r-o-b-bi-n-g  
even in the most
iron heart
the pulse that excites and propels
                                         rise
the masses                        and
                               ­                                                  fall                  like              
  a                   v
                                                    e
w        ­                                                              s

­like a cloud on a sunny day
joyous and
lonely
all at once
what is this i hear
the thunder or spray
the salty wafts
that envelopes
beautyandsadness
that join to create
something so wondrous
sometimes i am like the brine
blue and gray
collecting my thoughts like i
collect shells
sometimes i am like the butterfly
blissful and content
But always i am.

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
18.08.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
AD
Ars Poetica
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
AD
The words of a poem,
should not be read, but felt.

They should enter the mind
not as nouns, verbs, and prepositions,
fitted with appropriate definitions,
that chain the mind to common thoughts
and common feelings,

But as the pounding of a lover's heart
in the silence of a summer night,
Or the sobbing of a child alone
without a light.
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
K Balachandran
River, with blue, black, red or clear, water, speaks force,
by a wordless word, uttered, throughout the course of  flow,  
and the fierce, swirling currents hidden below,
I am that, which shows its urgent need
to commune with limitlessness.

Winds, carry with them, a meaning concealed,
of elation,  an avarice for every whiff of smell,
wind I am, with  full of speed, demonstrated as
a wish to embrace, pollinate and proceed.

Earth, my nurturing mother, remains in me, mud red,
life giving sprout, the deep thirst of blood;  
its nourishing salts, has secret memories from long  distances,
from the very beginning, we as salt of the earth share.
Earth is where I have planted ancestral  memories for ever,
the desire, to touch, kiss, explore, spread roots, propagate.

Sky is my mind beyond myself, 'sky mind' of cosmos,
when, the clouds that constantly in move, blocking the sun of knowledge,
are finally  removed and  all become clear, I am ready to see the whole,
I stand in awe, like a wondering kid, stand naked below, throwing away all my toys,
seeking the answer to the conundrum of my existence.

Fire, the soul of the rock, in the core, the undying spark, that has seen all,
igneous father, the intellect beyond form, that consecrate all my offerings
of body, mind and spirit, flames in my *****, my love for life eternal  as a seed I plant in her,

**Accept every thing I renounce, with a smile 
 in  this sacrificial flames, Oh! holy fire
make them subtle, formless, transcendental, immortal.
"Idam na mama"(This is not for me)
"Idam na mama" (this is not for me ) the refrain chanted by priests before putting each offering in to
holy fire in ancient Indian ritual "Agnihotra"
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
K Mae
Sanctuary
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
K Mae
Moving with you into Unknown
Dreaming what will be
Holding your hand through flowing sand
is my Sanctuary
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
mûre
Therapy is a hospital gown
one that doesn't quite close
leaving your *** rather
perpetually exposed
and your extremities
pink and cold.

These turn of the century revelations
oh- don't misinterpret me
they're grand, they really are,
early childhood trauma
chronic necessity for control
attachment issues, oh yes?

One week, I'd like to buy seven consecutive days
Where all the ships are turned back to the Caspian
With their dead-weight cargo of clean-cut
shining golden bars
To add to the mortar
of muddled ******-upness.

"Looks like we made some breakthroughs today!"

Don't break eye contact.  Bare teeth. Upturn pink lips. Happy Face!

*"Breakthrough. Yes. Great. I feel great!"
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
vircapio gale
on moonstone slab Manmata flames again
from out of ashes rises, gloating unfinality of Shiva's dance
reincarnate offering of endless Self
in Lakshmi's avatar
a fateful prince's heart to lance

and lanced his heart her visage did,
                                                     though with vaster pinions fully pierced was she, in depths
                                                          ­                                                                 ­                 without rivalry~

his lust was sharp to invite solitude,
but easy to conceal,
he imagined cupping her against him,
scoured memory of upward glimpse,
inch  by  inch
with added imagery, invention moulding her
beneath his grasp
from forehead curls along
glowing skin and eyes
to curving, palatially appareled ******* . . .
her open lips . . .  her hips
--but after, merely to dismiss
and even sleep a bit
and quip inside at irony
to be at mercy
of a girl in flowers
when he with arrows demons lay to rest
(though she would, within the selfsame hours lose her wits ;)

in cityscape descried the triad:
gold dome gifts for sky
in shining generosity
Mithila's people overflow with joy
exuding free abundance carelessly--
jewelry loosed on playful street
from overkeen embrace, is left to lie;
loss in ever-present wealth nigh obsolete

musth of elephant, froth of steed,
floral garlands tangle, line and mix
for clouds of honey-bees to lick their feast.
a bustling of virile acrobatic populace--
symphonic mux of chaos tressed,
metropolis of idylls coalesced;
drums, races, grinning faces flinging courtship,
smirking merchants under wigs
bathers splash exotic fish to flit and weave
while ballads sift for higher pitch of love

from elevated terrace ladies prance
and watching from an inner spire
the princess spies her prince--
emerald shoulders, lotus-petal eyes
Vaikunta hidden from their mortal sight
but straining recognition there,
a union ageless as the stars
inspired suddenly another first:
Rama's transfixed stare she feels and meets,
strangers locked entwining glances
--fated simultaneous-- electric heat   like
from a planet sparking for the taste of outer space --
the lightning burns its mark ensouled
in blooms beyond her ripe, anthophilous form,
verdant visions planted in the rays of light
between two instant loves
to slip inside the eyelid entrance
and evermore impregnate with a glory ill,
as separation wills,
to colonize throughout with other Being there
phantasmal yearnings of entrancing elegance
--from dawn of time instilled, akashic script
of binding hurt with joy in love's embrace
condemn desire to a writhing term
when not imbibing such togetherness
a worldless crypt preferred

and so as swift as gymnast flip to fall
the heart is gushing toxic lack,
epic ventricles the viscose tug
in fluid inspiration wrote of Sita's
sudden addict gnashing inner plight
while slips the sight interred within the crowd,
as if a sorcerer the cosmic sea to play her destiny:
the waves inside enraged to overwhelm
the sudden coral crust beneath the swell
an unmarked seaside's lavish drown unto the land
and reeling send this fragile ******
into wilting, her floral haze to drooping fell...
        in revelatory crash of passion's oceanic weight...
attendants pamper uselessly
--from swoon to mood irate
to wait until the next appearance of her mortal god
the only one to sate the shameless need
entwining up within a clenching wrack of milky fits
from bed to sweaty bed they take the burning maiden~
the outer sea inflow in calming dusk meant nothing to the agony of new romance
                       sequestered in hymenic fire, dawning brilliant
                                                       ­                                omni chakral pierce in rays,
                                                                ­                                                              tot­ality relentlessness
and therein descry a wholeness
  yet unregained
a hopeless birdsong careless as the wind
in caring strokes of pollen redolence
for forest ears an endless vibrate mate
of elemental ease the simmer float
upon the dukkha broil paths embroidery of karmic
cookery the godly recipe invoked,
gibed her without cease,
****** flare eternal guna coals to stoke
and spite her with their peace,
for her attainment only next to he
the moon communes the message blinding clear
amid the ghee her girls would light in care
to soften her despair -- but only aggravate her state --
and so by dim refracted moondrops set,
in only gemlight, Sita basks in pain
her gaze entrained by night obsessively
while overhead the crescent hook beams
freely in to fertilize her all-too-chastely girdle there,
petals wilting under body pressed to slab of stone
as mounting groan on groan intones her writhing questioning
of whomever he could be to cast her moaning so
a deity in maidenhead unwitting of such otherlife
left by endless, anthrocosmos' whim to ache, and alone
in wonder scream abandonment from aether poise
confusion reigning noisome nescient choice


















.
Manmata: the god of love, who Shiva is said to have burned to ashes with the purity of his contemplation
Lakshmi: Hindu goddess of wealth, prosperity (both material and spiritual), fortune, and the embodiment of beauty. She is the consort of the god Vishnu. She takes her mortal form as Sita in the Ramayana, destined for Rama (who is Vishnu's avatar).
Guna: an element, 'thread', 'string' or principle of nature; the three gunas are (sattva), (rajas), and (tamas)
Dukkha: suffering
Anthro-: as in 'human'

"The impact of the Ramayana on a poet, however, goes beyond mere personal edification; it inspires him to compose the epic again in his own language, with the stamp of his own personality on it.  The Ramayana has thus been the largest source of inspiration for the poets of India throughout the centuries . . . Thus we have centuries-old Ramayana in Hindi, Bengali, Assamese, Oriya, Tamil, Kannada, Kashmiri, Telugu, Malayalam, to mention a few."   -R.K. Narayan (whose prose version of Kamban's 11th c.e.Tamil --originally written on palm leaves-- i'm reading at the moment, and whose advice i've found myself compelled to follow. in no way am i an authority, but an amateur--literally--'in love')

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/ramas-inauguration-facing-the-murderous-gluttony-of-thataka/

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/soorpanaka-the-demon-as-kamavalli-lusts-for-rama-1/
 Aug 2012 Deepsha
howard brace
1966, my first school book review, aged 13.

*It's hard, to say the least when you are bashful
to give voice to all the words you wish to say
for when your restless feet beneath you start to shuffle
you know you'd rather take your chance and run away.

You have a premonition to be elsewhere
to a place they call 'the land of two left feet'
where self-confidence is ****** beyond redemption
where the introvert is king, and not dead-meat.

As the arms of doom draw near to embrace you  
and the ground before you cracks and opens wide    
tongues of flame curl around to engulf you...    
in the scheme of things you're skinned, trussed and fried.
    
You take a sip of water and start choking
as a splash of liquid dribbles down your chin
then the teacher offers you a paper tissue
and patiently she smiles as you begin.

Breaking out into a sweat you feel self-conscious
as the collar of your shirt begins to shrink
then you twist and tie in knots that paper hanky
and wished you'd poured yourself a stiffer drink.

Though you fumble for the words, they're not forthcoming
as you pour yet one more glass from the carafe
and while a tongue that's tied in knots may be amusing
in a mouth that's parched you really should not laugh.

Amid a mixture of derision and ovation    
with that sickly smile still plastered to your face    
you waited for the hard word from the teacher    
but she said 'sit down' and well done Howard Brace.

You prayed that you had never stirred that morning
and rolled your sleepy body out of bed...
of the precious weeks you failed to spend revising
for the Book-Review and the text you barely read.

...   ...   ...
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