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the divergence of roads
is an illusion
a myth perpetuated
by those who fear solitude
but one who has walked the lonely path
enjoyed all its sights, sounds and sceneries
rested in the shade of its motherly oaks
knows that at last
everything converges
every road, every fellow traveller
every other choice
meets at one
single brilliant point

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   08.02.2013
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,
I love how "cleaved" can mean both "split" and "linked". The word is its own opposite!
Shade shifter, turn-me-red.
Master the colors and trick
the disguiser--
morphing electric skin.

Make novelty probing
into the dark
unknown.
Shake suiters with perfect
control, of all the senses.

In a savage land, or a rare
spectacle of courage
no under sea mountain
is too strong.

Or ocean to shallow
to fill the hole,
A schism dares to thunder.

In a serene wave
watched by a moon's
cyclops gaze.
stripped down to a nakedness she's not the hands to cover
plundered by a lover
a rogue who's undercover
tarnished and possessed
in slavery undressed
taken to the gallows with a noose around her neck
the hanging will be public
her snap to death cathartic
and she'll be made a mockery in front of people manic
their illness like a flood
a passion for the blood
they stand and sink their feet into coagulated mud
she was just their silver
some money they could pilfer
pay their dues in stolen goods that they could not deliver
tactfully selected
made to feel accepted
then callously rejected
in treason's name erected
I bet she'd not expected such a glorified demise.
 Jan 2013 Dalton Bauder
REL
i try to wring my veins of all starlight
to sweeten your tea with, but there’s simply
not enough andromeda. i am unchained of rock
whittled slightly but never disdained by crashing wave

vous voulez un petit fleur, no es como yo
i am not to be picked and toyed with. i lay cards on
mats but they are not for the future, only for a self
fulfilling prophecy of broken bones and soot

i’m sorry you don’t have perfection with an apron tied round it.
sorry enough to lay salt on your grave so no green grass
ever grows, and dance on it to punish the crystals
deeper so you can feel it where you are
dark winds of self-doubt
blow furiously today
in their sway i flee
toward those same old roads
where i sure do suffer
self-inquisition

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   10.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,
“writing about a writer's block is better than not writing at all”
― Charles Bukowski, The Last Night of the Earth Poems

Its not writer's block really...I just feel my work has become repetitive and stuck! :(
i’ve got to
              come
un                        stuck
from these words
lost i am -  vegetated
all patterns are identically embroidered
same sentiments in a static loop
the images all insipid
i’ve got to do
something drastic

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   10.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
It's 40 days
I haven't slept
I cannot seem
To find a bed
That tucks away
My soul's unrest
I wander on
A desert stretch
The sand removes
My saltiness
I'm dry and pale
These feet attest
And true fatigue
I'll reach still yet
To drink might quell
The emptiness
But fever plagues
My hollow chest
In seeking dreams
The stones collect
And I find hope
Inside my head
To carry on
I must ingest
The very thoughts
My mind has bred
Everything's been dipped, disguised
the people, nature, cloaked in lies.
two smiles on either shore,
an ocean of tears lies in between
how does one even swim across-
all i can do is drown!

softly treading water
escaping the shards of lost dreams
sometimes my heart shattered
and there are some that i have broken
there is much kindness that i do not deserve
and yet much kindness is due to me
in this mist of shifting identities
how do i navigate-
all i can do is lose myself!


- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   16.12.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
I've been sifting through
fragmented parts of my
life and this puzzle
doesn't seem to make
sense

But I know time
cut the edges and
scaled them to size,
to fit in such a
way that nothing is
wasted

Thus bend and break
still as I might,
I can change only
the number of shapes
I'll sustain, piece by
piece

all of me has already been made
the whole picture remains unscathed
everything will be put to use here
I've been feeling the need to write.
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