My
ANCIENT
English teacher told me
In
English class
Today
That we had
To do
A
Poetry
Project.
And
WHAT
did she assign me?
Free verse.

Not just a free verse.
A free verse about
MYSELF.

And I sat at my
Computer
This morning
With my pinkies
On the semi-colon
And
The
A

And I thought
A
Lot
About what to say.

And I thought
"I'm blonde
Should I write
About
That?
I'm
Short,
Is
That
What
My poem
Will
Be
About?

But my
Stupid,
Stubborn
Free-verse
Just
Would not
Come out.

So after coaxing
And
Calling
And pulling
Its hair.
I've just gone
And
Left
It
There.

So, my
ANCIENT
English
Teacher,
Ma'am.
Feel free
To bump
My grade
Down
To
A
D minus.
I won't whine or pout

Cuz my
Stupid
Stubborn
Free-verse
Just would
Not
Come
Out.

There is a boy staring at a glass wall
looking at a girl
her eyes and smile makes his heart go wild
There is a girl staring at a glass wall
looking back at the boy
his beauty catches  her heart by surprise
They are in love but can not be together
because the glass wall will not shatter
like their parents hatred for each other
day after day they look at each other
yearning to feel the other
skin for skin, lips for lips
their hearts never miss a beat
soon pain of separation comes
it nips at their hearts
it is too  much to bear
but they stay by the wall and stare
then the boy pull out a gun
starts to shoot the glass wall
bullets prove to be no match for it
the girl grabs a bat thinking smashing it will match
the glass wall still will not come down
they are not a match for it
the glass wall is just to strong
there is only one thing that can beat it
where they finally can be at peace
death is where they can meet and be free
two shots are heard
with dripping next
the lovers die and meet
in the beautiful world
of the next

There was no one before
who cared or
who would mind...

Until a hand
curled inside mine
and a little voice said
"I'm here, with you, for you"
and inside my head
flowers bloomed
and storms abated
Death was less
than it had been fated

a little voice whispered
"Don't doubt yourself..."
without the cover of darkness
I was less likely to be myself

The hand that held mine
was as soft as warm light
in a grip so tight
no one had ever cared to hold my hand
before the one that held it just right

Upon My Pillowcase
Soaked With Salty Tears
Is Perched A Diary
Filled With Forgotten Fears...

Alongside The Terrors
Ring A bell Of Gold
Inside A Marble Tower
My Story Will Unfold
Pale Stars Trail Behind
A Long Forgotten Path
Memories Are Erased
And Unto Me Is Wrath...

The Room Echos Now
With The Haunting Voice Of Me
Calling From The Diary
Reaching Into Night To See
A Smudged World
Where Without My Sorrow
Without My Love
Life Sings Bitter And Hollow...

I am lonely...
Even though you can't tell...
I am reaching out...
For what, I don't know...!
I will continue to sit in silence...
And hope that someone may stumble across...
Me and all of my emptiness...
But they only hope that they do it in time...
Otherwise I will have drifted too far...
And I may let go...
Of whatever grasp of the world I have...
As I slowly fade out of the lives of everyone...
Unnoticed...!

We sit on your porch in silence.
You take a drag.
I take a drag.
You blow the smoke in my face.
I smile.
"How do you feel about the L word?"
I stare back at you.
"I'm madly in it with you."
I smile.
You smile.
I take a drag.
You take a drag.
We sit on your porch in silence.

like a whispered prayer
your touch meanders
over my fevered forehead
gentle, yet strong
through my disorientation
and delirium
it’s the only thing
that feels real
and keeps me going
for this, life seems worth living
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
        28.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish

a woman of substance the magazine proclaims
and what are these "substances" may I ask?

Its her grit and determination
her will to succeed
to overcome and defend her rights
if need be
loving and nurturing are not her only duties
she can also break your heart or break your bones
messing with her is not a risk you need
she creates her own space
she finds her own niche

She may be a social butterfly, a business woman,
a sports star, a housewife or a maid indeed
but a woman of substance is one of a kind indeed
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
  09/08/2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish