I dread these days
where the weather changes
and my new found family
falls away.
Each year it begins the same
colors changing, the air cooling
I cringe inside hoping to
hold on to each member.
Ultimately I am left alone.

Bare, naked, exposed
to the brutality of the
cold winds flowing
every which way as
thick white fluff surrounds
my base, lengthening
my chill for weeks.
Every now and then
I am filled with hope
as the sun rises.

Beams of light are everywhere
warming me to the core
as the icicles melt away.
Continuous showers provide
nutrients so accessible
that eating feels easier than breathing.
I am strong and passing
life on to my new family.

Small buds are now
open in full bloom
creating safe havens
for friends whose songs
tell tales to be passed on.
Each day someone new
comes by to rest in my shadow,
eat from my leaves, or live
among my new family.

Life is so precious
for look how we cling to it,
enduring all manner
of outrage from fate.

We soldier on
with spirit indomitable.
when life puts a little
Too much on our plate.

Our days are uncertain
Our term here is limited.
We waste precious hours
passive, asleep.

Time keeps its own pace
and its laws are immutable
It refuses to bargain,
no matter how much we weep.

Time, which costs nothing,
yet more precious than diamonds
We've no means to save it
for time will not keep.

I really like my muse, I do,
despite her incessant chatter.
It's just, at times, her timing *****,
when sleep, I'd much, much, rather.
It's true I love the verse that she
compels me to compose.
It's ever so much nicer than
my forays into prose.
It just that when it's four A.M.
and I would rather sleep-
She pops in with a word or phrase
that's just to good to keep.
So, obedient to my muse.
I reach for pen and paper.
I dare not lie about in bed
or make plans to betray her.
For so prolific is my muse
who comes to me each waking.
I dare not tick the Lady off
or even keep her waiting.

the clouds bloom
like mysterious flowers
seeming  to survive by soaking up
the tears of the waiting multitude.
they churn the wind
causing it to blow through
my every cell
filtering through my every pore
as i abandon any hope
of maintaining some adult-like dignity
the puddles call
the rain falls
and i let myself go

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   10.07.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

Lightning cracks and thunder shrieks with great fright
The rains pour down with penetrating pain
Type o' storm that keeps Noah up at night
Tides flood streets like an angry berserk train
Still the albatross is yet to take flight
Outside thunder, lightning, and floods in vain
For in my heart lurks deserts, lonely drought
Will these rains quench my thirst? My heart has doubt

That boy ain't too much to look at.
During sports, on the bench he sat.
In any game, he'd always lose.
But ****! He sure could sing The Blues.

In school, he barely made the grade.
His memory was sure to fade.
In weekend dives, he made the news.
'Cause ****! He sure could sing The Blues..

All of the pretty girls around
Chased him in the clubs in the town.
He's not the boy fathers would choose.
'Cause ****! He sure could sing The Blues.

He couldn't grasp the fame and crowd.
His nerves lept as they screamed so loud.
Got his courage from too much *****.
But ****! He sure could sing the blues.

death is laced with colours no eye can see
i saw it yesterday
resting on a twig
on a cold manhole cover
against which it looked so alive
-- it seemed to be comforted
brown wings pulled close, tips almost touching,
against the tiny white shell of its chest,
speckled with black
a tiny beak welcoming the chance to grab
at an interminable silence
--neither ugly nor morbid
but gently pretty,
the presence of death
affirming life.

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   06.07.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

sudden excitement
and a rush of joy
fate handed it over
to us saying
now is time for more.
the possibilities
overwhelming as I
grin thinking that its
time to finally move in.
until words of fear
zap all pleasures
and your mothers
control lays thick
like wet feathers.

Everyone has to have a cell phone incase they get attacked by a bear or a street gang today. You know what we did in my day, if we got attacked. We died! That's what we did. We didn't need no stinkin cell phone.

the light streaks
on my window
bamboo leaves brush
like manicured fingers
across its glass face
i feel so still
even in the midst of the
morning rush
that my senses pick up
but do not assimilate
simply looking at each new sensation
with some careless curiosity
then putting it away
as nothing

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   21.06.2013
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish