when is a work of art not just a work of art?

at what point does it stop
being only a thing of beauty
and transform-
the self
the society
the Universe
                                                                when does it transcend the real
                                                                and become something magical
                                                               helping one fall through –
                                                               the rabbit hole
                                                                the wormhole
                                                                the black hole
                                                                                                                                      when does it become
                                                                                                                                     an unstoppable force
                                                                                                                                     and cause –
                                                                                                                                     a revolution
                                                                                                                                     an evolution
                                                                                                                                     an absolution


                              and at which moment does  it make you stop in your tracks
                                                          stop breathing and exclaim
                            “Gar Firdaus, ruhe zamin, hamin asto, hamin asto, hamin ast!”

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   05.01.2013
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,

I lied about my age
I lied about what I do
I actually go to school
And.. I live in NJ

But I did like your dress,
And those curls you probably worked hard to perfect
Your makeup was impeccable
Complimenting every curve of your face
I was surprised you even talked to me
Oh and
I deleted your number as soon as I walked out the door

I think I saw the moon tonight
Ivory, aglow
Alive and bright, reflecting light
Shone through my open window

I think I felt the moon tonight
With my fingertips just so
I brushed against her dusty cheek
And whispered a meek “Hello”

I think I heard the moon tonight
Voice lighter than a feather
She shared the folklore of the faeries
Who danced amongst the heather

I traveled with the moon tonight
From Berkley to Milan
She showed me the most gorgeous sights
Beyond imagination

I danced around the moon tonight
To melodies of yore
I felt so happy and carefree
I hadn’t heretofore.

I slept upon the moon tonight
She lulled me to a sopor
She lay me back in my warm bed
And tucked me in the covers.

pain
is
an
unusual
gift –
it
helps
appreciate
pleasure
better -
i
hope
for
healing

-Vijayalakshmi Harish
   03.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

where else would i go my friend
in my happiness and sorrow
I climb over that fence
and upon your threshold share
my thoughts – little and big
my feelings – like sea waves
who else listens like you do
to my rants and raves and whines
Who else understands
that all I want is to vent
who else realizes that what I’m looking for
is not a ready to use solution
that I’ll figure it out on my own
all I need is someone to listen
while I’m doing just that
so thank you for being
the window to my conscience
and know this too
that whenever you need
i’m just on the other side of the fence
come over when you wish
and I’ll listen to your tales
we’ll laugh and cry together
till there’s nothing left to say.

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   04.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

What is home without our daughter?
     What then of all those folk we meet?
When her dimpled smile no longer
     Brightens the coming of our feet?
Days drag onward, long nights grow drear
     As time so coldly marches on;
And how we miss her golden cheer!
     When now those carefree days are gone.

Things we prize are quick to vanish,
     Fond hearts we love to pass away;—
And how soon, e'en in life's sorrow
     Yearn we for noisy hours to stay.
Eyes grow sad, fades life's brief glow,
     For golden days longtime have passed,
And it breaks mother's heart to know—
     Gay childhood's day is o'er at last.

Many folk bemoan their trifles,
     Trivial things to pass away,
But a daughter lost to childhood
     Breaks the heart from day to day.
Laid away tired broken toys;
     Her babyish prattle, antics past;
Upon these times we miss her noise.
     She has turned a woman at last.

                  **~Hilda~

Cats throughout our house,
Eyes shining with love and trust;
Childlike innocence.

                                              Folks long to **** them,
                                              Grumbling how many there are,
                                              Thinking themselves God.

I gaze in their eyes
When my spirit ebbs so low
And my sad heart melts.

         **~Hilda~