the evening shadows of my psyche
stretch out  towards you
at the days end i await your arrival
when the world begins to stir
toward home or to the tavern
and the evening lamps sing
i seek you out
to walk alongside me
on my quiet path
with gulmohar carpets
and dusky branches
watching over us.
tarry awhile, walk slow
lest the moment flies by too fast
what else is there left to do
but share this nameless bond?

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   09.01.2013
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish,

Carved into a mould
just like everyone around
You tell me I am beautiful
I guess your voice is a nice sound
You see beauty is like a tree,
that grows in different ways
Like me for what I can't control
I guess I'm just a phase
My words ring hollow nothing,
I yell but no one is around
Look through into my mind
I've been waiting to be found
Beauty is a funny thing,
crippling in a way
See only what you want to see
and keep the rest a bay
For a pretty face is only that,
impossible to be more
A person can't be everything
unless she is a *****

She spit
He hit
She swore
He tore
Her heart.

Across grassy cliffs,
on dark nights, let them stray far
from the path they choose.

yesterday’s tormentor
is todays peace-keeper
strange are the ways of this world
stranger still are my own perceptions
now here, now there
they prance about

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   08.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

the silky silver song of time
slips away through my fingers
mirroring the stars above
my mind makes moth trails
in the wind – swaying
to the tune of love
you are the day and light
i, the darkness and the night
between us hangs our world
with wordy crayons we fill
the blank spaces
never bothering to stay within the lines
your eyes they bore within me
mining me for answers
but some questions are born
without a destiny to find
purposeless they loiter
and are laid to rest among the flowers
that bloom in our silences

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   08.01.2013
   Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

If in a way I find myself
it will be in a deserted place
where mountains exude nasty rocks
and people need their space
In a world of sickening wounds
we all have our scars
and if I try and find what I've lost
It will remind me of what we called ours

So many scars.
They litter my arms like phosphorescent trash.
They are the evidence of my blades sorrow and my extreme lack of balance and grace.
But the white unmarred flesh around them, shine with a beautiful glow.
The blue pulsing veins that sliver and slice through my limb beat to the rhythm of my heart.
They remind me of the unimaginably gorgeous and amazing life I have been gifted with.
Then I focus back on the scars and realize that I have wasted so much of it.
No More.
My blade goes down the bag.
And my friends and family are now my artificial grace and poise.
This is all I need in my rehab.
It is all I can to to start picking up the memories of the Scar Tissue Trash.

I pray for the strength to to the things I do not want to do
I ask for the courage to guide me to my everlasting home
I wish for people to love without intention
I need to feel the way I am supposed to
I know that all of this is ridiculous

gun unslung
hanging by his side
swaying with his step

his step thorough
leaving sand behind
floating like particles of dust

dust now forgotten
as his step imprints
upon broken glass

glass shatters more
crumbling
like the cities of Israel
beneath the feet
of falsely declared gods

gods that now drive the mind
with intrepid pace
towards the unsuspecting

the unsuspecting victim
of such malice
that can only be embodied
by death

death
only defied by those
who can truly consider themselves
wholesome and true

and yet the truth struggles
to stop this relentless growth
of pride and self righteousness

and thus the marksman
raises the gun to his target

his breath steady
his heartbeat in his ears

a resonance that he despises
his imperfections are his enemy
And if not to be perfect then what else?

he pulls the trigger