from the moment of the first breath,
stringing events, mind creates time,
tangled with space, it spins a new thread,
history of a being, moves forward,
down the line, events come to an end,
the mind dissolves, body feeds the elements,
the indestructible core, white dove,
transcends to the branch of the tree of light,
*the thread dissolves, in a wistful note,
the symphony continues in higher octaves.

Let me tell you about myself.
I am a mosquito magnet.
I have little scars of itchy memories all over my scrawny legs.
But I think it means my blood is sacred.
I find my laugh unique and one of a kind.
My walk, resembling more of a bowlegged wobble, allows me to stand out against the crowd.
(My walk isn't that bad, by the way, I was merely exaggerating for stylistic purposes.)
What's more, the fact that I am prone to blushing at even the slightest glance my way is kldjaf;ldjfoiad;htija;ji;ajf.
I love it.
My clumsiness only adds meaning to the moments in which I am fleetingly graceful.
Yes, my posture is rough around the edges,
But it signifies that I have been around the world a few times.
At least I don't jut out my pretty decently sized *******.
You're welcome.
I find my lack of arguing skills in the moment cute.
My mistakes are adorable, and my obvious flaws are endearing.
The fact I can't **** an ant without showing sympathy is amiable.

If only somebody thought the same way about me.
If only people looked and analyzed others as closely as I do.
They would see.
That way I wouldn't be the only one loving myself. (Or trying to.)

Weekdays - we wear cattle trails into the green-space because
They taught us the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.
They told us to stay in school.
We made ourselves fit into the small boxes with bunk beds
Like the kind we always wanted as kids.
Now we nod to the cement snaking around the dorms - residence halls -
and erode the grass underfoot, single-minded.

Weekends - we stumble-snake on sidewalks because
They give us a straight line to follow back to our boxes.
They told us to get involved in the community.
We let ourselves spill outside our borders and backpacks
Like our cattle trails will fill out overnight.
Now we laugh at the cement moving in waves - or staying still -
and breathe on the stars, multi-minded.

We hit the prairie
with the windows rolled down.
As the sun started to set,
you took off your shoes-
your barefeet on the dash.
You lit a cigarette
and the glow as you inhaled
revealed marks of a very great adventure.

We let our hair grow long together
because it looked cool
when the wind
ruffled it a bit.

"I wish we could drive forever", you said.

I agreed:
We could have chased the sun for the rest of our numbered days,
because we knew it would be the only thing
we could hold on to.

As every phony girl would say: It's time to look on the ******* bright side. I had a good day today. I have the most amazing friends who I love and who love me. I have plenty of good music filling my ears and plenty of yummy food in my stomach. I have a nice comfortable house and my room isn't as ***** as it has once been. I have an awe inspiring family that is very diverse. My hometown is beautiful and the people aren't as bad as they have once seemed. Maybe it's just that Friday night jazz but I can really dig it. Maybe it'll last to next Friday and the one after that and the one after that. But only if I make a conscious decision to let it. And I love you all and I love myself more than I've ever had in my life, right at this very moment.
And here's some wise words from Dumbledore: “Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

the paper feels jilted
the pen seems to have abandoned him
he misses her tickling caress
she was always an adulteress
frolicking with the fingers that held her

                                                            ­                     paper, pen , fingers
                                                         ­          they were an exciting *******

                                                   ­         if only he knew
                                                            ­                                                                 ­          the pen weeps her inky tears
                                                           ­                                                                 ­             she has lost both her lovers-
                                                         ­                                                                 ­the paper lies too far off, too distant
                                                         ­                                                                 ­                  in her sorrow she is spent
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                         unable to touch him
                                           she was first and foremost always his
                                    the fingers were just a necessary flirtation
                                        but now even the fingers have found
                                                      more fertile ground?

Meanwhile the fingers come
in ecstatic betrayal
sexting with the keyboard
wham bam thank you ma’m
                                                            ­    and its done

-Vijayalakshmi Harish
  26/10/.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

every belief should begin as a seed of disbelief
buried in the soil of doubt
nourished by the incessant rain of queries
that strengthen
and cause the flower to bloom or the fruit to ripen

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                        ॐ असतो मा सद्गमय ।
                                                               ­                                                                 ­                  तमसो मा ज्योतिर्गमय ।
                                                               ­                                                                 ­                    मृत्योर्मा अमृतं गमय ।
                                                               ­                                                                 ­         ॐ शान्तिः शान्तिः शान्तिः ॥

every positive starts off as an embryo of negativity
only the knowledge of the gloom
enhances the wisdom of luminosity
conjoined twins
joined at the hip

cynicism is the parent of change for the better
provided of course
the labour pain is allowed to occur!

                                                         ­                                                      Om,  Lead us from Untruth to Truth,
                                                                ­                                                                 ­          from Darkness to Light,
                                                          ­                                                                 ­         from Death to Immortality
                                                     ­                                                                 ­                Om Peace, Peace, Peace.
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   28.10.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

The echo of centuries-
screams of a tortured mind
reverberate through the souls
of a thousand lives.

The sitar strings vibrate
the ecstatic harmony beckons
life surging though them.

In assertion of existence
the sounds drip slowly through
seeping into the pores
of a clairvoyant history.

And the ghosts in the walls
polish their stifled voices
to speak their stories

Memories ooze through cracks
and are trapped in cobwebs.
Truth hides in dark corners
and seeks hellish deliverance.

Vijayalakshmi.R.
12/11/06

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish