The Wait:
don’t look for love in public spaces
love is shy always
hesitating she comes with flowing grace
to the patient lover
in the end all that is needed
is to look into the mirror –
in the reflection of your eyes
you’ll find her!

The First Smile:
Oh! Say not that this world is mean
do not turn your face away from me!
the lack of a smile in return
was not intended to spurn
but your smile left me so captivated
so caught up and fascinated,
that even as my heart somersaulted,
my lips forgot to smile!

Being Together:
the mist hides my secrets,
of it are born my desires
the arc of the moon expands to contain
every wish of this lovesick heart
the morning but amplifies this-
the sweetness of the night’s embrace
on sleepless pyres were burnt our passions
on winter’s breath our dreams impaled!

Inseparability:*
Love isn’t Love
until one sees
that I am You
and You are Me
so where lies the question
of coming and going
wherever you are
there I shall be!

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

What’s in a name?
I ask because I’ve never known your name,
Like a maddened Alice, I draw hearts on my books,
With nothing at the depth of them,
Strokes of Cupid,
I’ve never known your name,
Never seen the hands that would hold my children,
Nor the eyes that stars gaze at,
I’ve never had your skin brush against mine,
My feet have never stepped on your trail and I’ve never uttered a word to you,
I don’t even know if you exist,
But I know you,
I know the kindness and the serenity of your soul,
The number of time you would forgive me,
The way I would hold you when you need me to,
But I’ve never known your name,
And what’s in a name?

So, what’s up?
Well, if you insist; nothing much.
Except,
Every time I see you,
I feel like our destinies collide,
Like our souls beam promises,
Like a mother and her child,
Like the color yellow,
Every time my eyes glare, they paint you,
Furious and loving,
Our bodies frozen,
My mind undresses you as you take my hand and ask me: What’s up?
You ask me what’s up as if it sums up all the rivers of a nation,
As if it tells of sin and the humor of knowledge,
As if up is where I’m going and rock bottom isn’t drowning my thoughts,
As if my mother still wants me,
As if my father thinks the world of me,
As if my lover never forgot me,
As if you want my answer,
What’s up?
What’s up with you?
What’s ahead of you? What’s above you?
Who watches over you?
What’s the sky like when heaven is nowhere in sight?
When pain eats away at sobriety,
When silence cracks minds and noise breaks glass faces,
What’s up?
I’m just alive,
... Inhale
You laugh because you think I said something funny,
I can’t tell you I haven’t looked up in a while,
I haven’t wondered about fairies and fairytales,
About what’s beyond this cloud, this sun, those barriers,
What’s up?
What’s up isn’t what I know,
What I know isn’t up,
Ask me once again,
Ask me who didn’t leave,
Who hears my words,
Who saw my tears,
When did I grow,
When did I fall,
Do I prefer tea over coffee,
Ask me of a universe I know nothing about,
A heaven my feet haven’t touched,
A thought that hasn’t crossed my mind,
Ask of persons lost, matter gained,
Piercings, physiology, my people’s faces,
Ask me once more,
What’s up?

Where are my fevered nights
Locked away in my writing room

Ink slinging madly about
Across paper, table, wall, and ceiling

Words
           Verses
                        Lyrics

poetry in its purest maddening delight

Where is my furor poeticus

Ecstasy of cursive, print, and type  
Words written in divine poetic frenzies

Where is my muse

Inspiration dwelling in the leaking ink on the pen's nib
Or in the soft click and hard punch of a keyboard's keys

... ... ...

Where are you


Because I know that you're not here

       My ink remains untouched
          My walls remain bare
       My notebook remains unopened
          My computer remains asleep
       My hands remain unmoved
          My mind remains unthought

... ... ...

And I'm still here
         Taunted by the missing
                           of you
          Taunted by your writer's
                            Block

love's office
is the heart;
its administration,
the mind;
while irrationality
leaps neurons
too quickly
to be stopped.

merely

brushing fingers,
                your hand,

(knock
love's door)

or
lacking,

(knock
against chest)

sends you

mad.

his words at first tongue felt
fell like snowflakes melting

his teeth shuddered choirs
were refracting colours

his page flew
like inked summer birds migrating to

his breaths
his breaths exhaled northern lights

Hello.

                 Hello.

Lillies please,
just a handful,
keep the change.

He asked if they were for a loved one

No sir, for Benny, sir. He questioned the King.

With that I turned and left.
As I broke into the outside air,
my eyes turned to the sky.

It was no use holding back the tears.

He slept beneath the tree as his friends and family congregated

To abandon oneself to principles is really to die - and to die for an impossible love which is the contrary of love.

In the minutes before sleep last night,
through stellar static, astral snow,
a poem, half dreamt, was born
and died; I drifted off and let it go.

Just one line survived the night;
that line will have to be enough.
I wrote it down before it faded:
sometimes we were good at love.