Prabhu Iyer

Prabhu Iyer Jan 2013

How is the night treating you? I am asleep,
but not. Half awake, but not. I am hope,
but not. I want to scream, but don't. In this
half-morning, I want yesterday, but don't.
Tomorrow has poured in, but hasn't.

Now these itchy feet. Itchy tips of hair
that rub the cheeks. Itchy heart where
love smoulders. Some sweeter itch:
but, itch, nevertheless; itch in my sleep.
I want to know if this is an itchy night?
The rain falls like an itch on the rooftop.

This is some funny farce of a farcical night.
Tonight, I love the teals more, but don't.
Coots seem darker than the sky, but aren't.
In this deep night, I am love, but not. In this
last 'but not', the 'not' part is small, I mean.

Some quirky notes exchanged on an itchy night - am sure you've felt this same way some time or the other!

Prabhu Iyer Jan 2013

Mourning an absence

Locked doors either side of the stairs:
this empty evening, silences are vacant.
Old helmet on the bench by the door,
glass eye-cover raised: illusive presence.
Light from the hall peers into the dark
room, and reclines on the empty couch.
Spiralling shadows of incense plumes
rise snake-like on walls seeking the roof.
A lone spider ranges by the kitchen light,
lizard across the house seeking refuge.
This lone bird late mourns an absence
in her haunting call, this empty evening.

Prabhu Iyer Jan 2013

Houses of the holy

More and more you build
temples of stone.
Everywhere,
hewing rocks of the earth,
you set about your project:
But,
do you see -
that small bit of rock
would be enough, more
effective for Me to manifest,
all of a fist’s size,
this your hardened heart?

What would God's response be, to the hectic monument building ongoing everywhere in the world today, when cruelty to fellow man is rising every day?

'Houses of the holy' is the name of a Led Zeppelin album containing some of my favourite songs - there's no direct connection though, except that I thought this title is apt for describing my piece!

Prabhu Iyer Dec 2012

Modern Art | The Earth Chronicles

The displays

Half-a-commode....
salvaged from
construction-site debris, in an enclosure;

Corrugated tin...
inverted containers,
shop-floor seats, hollow from the inside;

Squashed up...
aluminium coke-cans
and bottle-lids, stashed by the dozens;

Rusting old pair...
of dented batteries -
A-class, from discarded torch lights;

Mounted rectangle...
sketch-canvas
half-a-diagonal triangle coloured black;

Foreground*

Expanse of water...
mirage lit by
a deceptive lamp playing evening sun.

Picture poem:

Inspired by a visit years ago, to London's beautiful 'Tate Modern' art gallery featuring urban kitsch art: I was reflecting on the year past and my thoughts veered to the increasingly difficult future we confront and how this is reflected in incidents of increasing madness across the world, with our backs braced at an environmental cliff.

I've sought to capture the melancholy moods of objects displayed, raising a contemplative sweep of our post-industrial world and the futures we confront, captured by the images of the seemingly crazy display of a half-painted rectangle passing off as art* and the eerie image of an artificial sun!

*'Higher Powers Command: Paint the Upper Right Corner Black!' by Sigmar Polke

Prabhu Iyer Dec 2012

Sweet waters of love

I bored a hole through the rock of resistance
lining the base of my heart
oh the terrible pain -
with the rotor blade of hardened resolve,
to heal, to heal,
until I have reached my soul:
look - the waters of love -
they gush over.
Sweet waters of love,
To heal both you and me.
This axe wound on my trunk
is sore not all by you:
In the dead of the night
I welcomed the shadowy woodcutter;
Now I find recompense.
But now, sweet waters of love,
from the soul -
to heal both you and me.

From my scrap-book: notes jotted down earlier this year!

Prabhu Iyer Dec 2012

The vision | Picture-poem

Going crimson, the distant sky:
ebbing-evening-like gold-tinged
shades all over; Streaks of blue
fly by the clouds in the breeze
topping dew-wet tips of dried
grass, grown late-autumn-tall
into the pallid arms of winter: a
form, a figure, emerges radiant:
half-covered in the ruddy hues,
blessing hands, flowing robes, lips
in half-smile, oh, the eyes of love!

An attempt at a scene-descriptive genre I choose to call 'picture-poetry': the aim is not to provide a fully coherent thought-process or story, as much as to convey a scene or an image.

Greetings for a happy Christmas!

Prabhu Iyer Dec 2012

To Jerusalem

Have you been to Jerusalem, my friend?
Have you?
I must go there -
For I saw her in a dream there,
kneeling before the altar,
and smiling:
that same smile that lit my hovel
and made it a home;
And she vanished
into the smoke that night,
never found, never found!
She was the river that dried up
in the barren desert of my life.
But I saw her, I saw her,
she lives in Jerusalem.
Tell me, friend, have you been there?
How do I go there?