I give you my son for protection of this land,
I give you my beloved, in His mercy's hands..
I pray for you that you stand fast and strong,
that you won't allow for your land, any evil or wrong..
that you my dear will show every one,
that you belong to a nation of the rising sun..
that the land you belong, belongs to the brave..
In dying for their country, who never hesitate..
the land of love, the land of faith,
the castle of Islam, here lived the great..
I pray my son, for you, every moment..
that you live for your country, for it you embrace death..

the darkness can not hide me
i strike with light,
and a cigaret.

waiting for the story.

of my life to be told.

.                  Bad news from doctor                 .
             won't make old bones after all
.                   All goes too quickly                    .

If religion did not exist then man would invent it.

Religion did not exist so what happened, man invented it.

a l o n e
again

i cry salty clear tears

and

bleed my sadness
like a medieval disease

until

i'm numb
*again

this swirling roaring wind that blows homeward from the sea
                                         saltiness with eucalyptus blending in twisting my fear
                                                the knots in my chest and stomach entangling
                                                      ­deadly mocktail of emotions surging
                                                         ­ with every  howling whoosh  
                                                        ­        a new green life falls breaking
                                                        ­                      life prematurely ending
                                                          ­                       storm violently shaking
                                                         ­                           every limb of every tree
                                                            ­            an attempt to blow anxiety
                                                         ­               into each living breath
                                                          ­                       a drenched vision
                                                          ­                           of a couple of crows
                                                           ­                        seemingly meditating
                                                      ­                      in the midst of the tempest
                                                         ­            holding their own  
                                                           ­                     in the eye
                                                             ­                   of the storm
                                                           ­                       they find
                                                            ­                         Peace
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   01.11.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish