A little Indian temple in the Golden Age. Around it a garden;
around that the forest.  Anashuya, the young priestess, kneelinq
within the temple.
Anashuya. Send peace on all the lands and flickering
corn.  --
O, may tranquillity walk by his elbow
When wandering in the forest, if he love
No other.  -- Hear, and may the indolent flocks
Be plentiful.  -- And if he love another,
May panthers end him.  -- Hear, and load our king
With wisdom hour by hour.  -- May we two stand,
When we are dead, beyond the setting suns,
A little from the other shades apart,
With mingling hair, and play upon one lute.
Vijaya [entering and throwing a lily at her]. Hail! hail, my
Anashuya.
Anashuya. No:  be still.
I, priestess of this temple, offer up
prayers for the land.
Vijaya.  I will wait here, Amrita.
Anashuya. By mighty Brahma's ever-rustling robe,
Who is Amrita? Sorrow of all sorrows!
Another fills your mind.
Vijaya. My mother's name.
Anashuya [sings, coming out of the temple].
A sad, sad thought went by me slowly:
Sigh, O you little stars.! O sigh and shake your blue
apparel.!
The sad, sad thought has gone from me now wholly:
Sing, O you little stars.! O sing and raise your rapturous
carol
To mighty Brahma, be who made you many as the sands,
And laid you on the gates of evening with his quiet hands.
(Sits down on the steps of the temple.)
Vijaya, I have brought my evening rice;
The sun has laid his chin on the grey wood,
Weary, with all his poppies gathered round him.
Vijaya. The hour when Kama, full of sleepy laughter,
Rises, and showers abroad his fragrant arrows,
Piercing the twilight with their murmuring barbs.
Anashuya. See-how the sacred old flamingoes come.
Painting with shadow all the marble steps:
Aged and wise, they seek their wonted perches
Within the temple, devious walking, made
To wander by their melancholy minds.
Yon tall one eyes my supper; chase him away,
Far, far away.  I named him after you.
He is a famous fisher; hour by hour
He ruffles with his bill the minnowed streams.
Ah! there he snaps my rice.  I told you so.
Now cuff him off.  He's off! A kiss for you,
Because you saved my rice.  Have you no thanks?
Vijaya [sings].  Sing you of her, O first few stars,
Whom Brahma, touching with his finger, praises, for you
hold
The van of wandering quiet; ere you be too calm and old,
Sing, turning in your cars,
Sing, till you raise your hands and sigh, and from your car-
heads peer,
With all your whirling hair, and drop many an azure tear.
Anashuya. What know the pilots of the stars of tears?
Vijaya. Their faces are all worn, and in their eyes
Flashes the fire of sadness, for they see
The icicles that famish all the North,
Where men lie frozen in the glimmering snow;
And in the flaming forests cower the lion
And lioness, with all their whimpering cubs;
And, ever pacing on the verge of things,
The phantom, Beauty, in a mist of tears;
While we alone have round us woven woods,
And feel the softness of each other's hand,
Amrita, while -- -
Anashuya [going away from him].
Ah me! you love another,
[Bursting into tears.]
And may some sudden dreadful ill befall her!
Vijaya.  I loved another; now I love no other.
Among the mouldering of ancient woods
You live, and on the village border she,
With her old father the blind wood-cutter;
I saw her standing in her door but now.
Anashuya. Vijaya, swear to love her never more.
Vijaya. Ay, ay.
Anashuya. Swear by the parents of the gods,
Dread oath, who dwell on sacred Himalay,
On the far Golden peak; enormous shapes,
Who still were old when the great sea was young;
On their vast faces mystery and dreams;
Their hair along the mountains rolled and filled
From year to year by the unnumbered nests
Of aweless birds, and round their stirless feet
The joyous flocks of deer and antelope,
Who never hear the unforgiving hound.
Swear!
Vijaya. By the parents of the gods, I swear.
Anashuya [sings]. I have forgiven, O new star!
Maybe you have not heard of us, you have come forth so
newly,
You hunter of the fields afar!
Ah, you will know my loved one by his hunter's arrows
truly,
Shoot on him shafts of quietness, that he may ever keep
A lonely laughter, and may kiss his hands to me in sleep.
Farewell, Vijaya.  Nay, no word, no word;
I, priestess of this temple, offer up
Prayers for the land.
[Vijaya goes.]
O Brahma, guard in sleep
The merry lambs and the complacent kine,
The flies below the leaves, and the young mice
In the tree roots, and all the sacred flocks
Of red flamingoes; and my love, Vijaya;
And may no restless fay with fidget finger
Trouble his sleeping:  give him dreams of me.

Oh1 Durga, the symbolic victory
Over the worldly evil
You can **** any devil
And  you are the most benign
As you are divine
Shiva (goodness) is your
inseparable half
Mahishasura’s ( Man’s evil) death
Is your valour’s proof
Goodness and valour are made
For each other
It is paradoxical that
Man stands for goodness
And woman for valour
But it is true in divine parlour
Hindus believe in Durga’s divine force
Even others can not deny the cosmic source
Even the staunchest atheist
Can not deny the women’s collective fist

He woke up from a dream today,
To gaze sight at the break of dawn,
A part of his life gone for the day,
As the morning dew drops on the lawn

Precious memories mingled with emotions,
As the night before played in his mind,
A beauty that needs full devotion,
The red tulip blooms for his kind

Tears fill his dazed eyes,
A thought lingers for that touch,
This heart twisted with cries,
His mortal love for a soul he has not seen much

The dark clouds sweep in gracefully,
Announcing the fall of the mighty rain,
This soul sits in the corner of despair,
Afraid of that grey world of calamity

The windowpane becomes blurry,
And so do his visions of her fade away,
In the cold midnight chill,
Leaving the darkness to prevail

He kneels down by his bed,
Gazing up at the darkened skies,
The moon shining bright,
And the stars twinkling brighter

He prays to the nightfall,
As his ravenous beauty dances with the stars,
Her shadow among the clouds,
An apparition hidden among the darkness,

This dark forlorn love,
As the sands of time change,
He remains there still,
An embodiment of his sacred feeling,
Worshiping her, day and night.

Vijaya Balan (2008)

Painted pictures come to life,
Twirling landscapes with subliminal words,
He gestures back and forth with life,
The white canvass transforms into a palette

You stood on the inside,
Wanting to go out,
You watched from the inside,
Wishing you were someone else

He’s driven around in a limousine,
With a stack of green bills to light his cigar,
He’s got it made and does not know you exist,
He dines with pomposity and drinks in gold

You stood on the outside,
Watching him dine and wine,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing you were sitting there.

She was a model, thin and tall,
Brawny and bright with a flair of the fair,
She smiled and danced, gyrating her hips
She partied until she could no more

You stood on the outside,
You wished you had her life,
You watched from the outside,
Wishing someone invited you
To life’s grand celebration

You did not know though,
The model died of drug abuse,
The tycoon was murdered,
And the artist…ahh the Artist!
That was you…that was you first and foremost
You forgot and you deviated!
You re-arranged your priorities

And now…and now
You stand on the outside,
You no longer can watch the world go by,
You no longer can wish,
You in a wooden coffin,
Being laid to rest.

You died yesterday,
Poisoned with affection
By someone who stood by
And watched you from the outside

Vijaya Balan (2009)

Sitting on the bench on a windy evening,
The bus schedule doesn’t seem right,
He hears neither smoke nor that funky horn,
He longs for that journey home.

This trip back home had to come,
He breathes a heavy sigh, exhausted,
The weary look and the blank face,
The ***** cap hides the grey lines,
The silver watch still shows the time,
Tonight, he goes home.

“Mama, she taught me all she can”
“She worked the fields and the mills”
His eyes lit up at the sound of the engine,
The bus comes around the corner,
Dusty windshield with a crack,
Tires that have rode a million miles,
That’s where he’s going today,
A million miles back home

He sits by the window,
A bag with his world in it,
A wallet with pennies for a ride,
A card for what he used to be,
An identity that never matched the world,
Lost and found, stamped on his forehead,
Sitting in the ‘Return to Sender’ pigeonhole

Days of joy seemed short-lived,
Nights by the road seemed cold,
The rain drenched and the sun burned,
He closes his eyes and wishes it would change,
Dreams of a cottage and a convertible,
How they seem to be at a distant

“Mama, I’m coming home”
“Home is where my head lays to sleep”
No more of loud bangs and broken walls
No more screams and cries of the broken-*****
“I’ve seen enough, Mama”
“Of this world and what it can be like”
The misery and disease,
The war and terror,
Decades of violence and they never seem to learn,
An eye for an eye makes this world go blind.

It’s hard to smile anymore,
Yet, he still tries to manage one every day,
No matter how difficult the day appears,
‘Cause he knew it would have been worse,
He would have been dead under all that rubble,
No pulse beating and no Sun to see shine tomorrow

He’s smiling although his heart aches,
He smiles although his cold inside,
“I’m smiling…and I’m coming home Mama”
“Back home, to your lovely bread and strawberry jam”
He nods of to sleep,
The dark and hardened lines visible on his face,
He longs for his journey back.

Vijaya Balan (2009)

Defining the aesthetics of her today,
Eternally grateful for unrestrained emotions,
Emotionally fulfilled by the harbinger of devotions,
No rays shine brighter every day,
First to rejoice and least to be demanding of my day,
You rose and bloomed, defining our actions,
You shed a tear and more, for your determined convictions,
And I’m standing here, grateful every day,
From dawn to dusk, multiple links communicating,
No shades of grey, for matters of the heart,
Patient when I’m not and balancing when I am,
Tranquil and tenacious roots of passion, illuminating,
Unfolding these lines that attempt some sort of art,
For you have been engraved here, where I am.

Vijaya Balan
13.11.14
(c) 2014

In the darkest hour the sliver of light pierces through,
Illuminating the bones of our truth,
Rearranged and remoulded by the sands of time,
Revealing its raw crevices for the world to see

They say it's darkest before dawn,
In the still of the night, they danced in unison,
Intertwining individuals intercepting fate,
Setting forth a fiery flame for all the pawns in this game

Carnal desire madly racing through their veins,
Pulsing the minutes as if life depended on it,
Passion enveloping the world only they could bear witness to,
As the crack of the moon dragged her blacks across the Jungian skies

They fight for the other like no other,
They will wait out stormy seas and torrents of trouble,
Where does faith lie but if not in their hearts that had been glued back?
For the bonds of love can weather through any matter.

~Vijaya Balan and Shalini Nayar
21.10.14
(c) 2014

Electrons vibrate in the air,
Musty and foul in his lair,
Spiders crawl up and rats march the floor,
He gets a knock on his door

Flashes of memories linger,
His heart pounds with anger,
He crumples in anguish,
Death was his only wish.

The daily digest bore him with the rituals of rage,
The day masqueraded as time ticked for his age,
The radio blurted out static messages,
The speeches were of rage.

He opens the door, infallible and absent-minded,
The figure stood 8 feet tall,
Cloak and scythe, the usual routine,
Red sharp eyes peek out with an icy gaze,
“You wanted to take a shot?”

They found him dead on the floor,
He took up more space than he ever wished for,
Flies congregating where once there was a face,
Today the photos show his daze

He was the star of the masquerade,
The news of the digest,
People marched by in a parade,
The tortured soul laid to rest

Vijaya Balan (2010)

Deviants we are who gathered at this square table,
Dancing and cheering with the elixirs of intoxication,
I stopped and smelled the fresh air,
There was an abundance of it

A parade passed by for the eyes of the able,
A parade of beautiful shapes,
Surrounding a malady,
A deadly lady, the Bella Donna,
With her dilated pupils and seductive looks,

They witnessed a deadly parade,
Everyone met with the deadly nightshade,
And they kissed her for luck,
And plucked her ripe fruits,
And hallucinated with her,
This was a tale of the dead,
And they would never see daylight

Fools who consumed nature's toxic,
They met the lovely 'belladonna',
They were after all, consumers of nature,
And now She consumes them back.

So here we are gathered in the rectangle plot,
The mood is somber under dark grey clouds,
A parade of lost souls under an earth lot,
I couldn't scream no more, as sand filled up my mouth,
I stopped and smelled the foul air,
Whatever that remained of it.
- Vijaya Balan © 2016

The wind swept by in a gust,
The only sound in the deadly night
Rattling the branches and the leaves,
Sending a chill, cold and calm

He stood by in the distance,
Gazing up and down,
Then left and right,
Tonight is the night,
Where the city slept ever so peacefully,
Yet his mind drifted restlessly,
Tonight his mind and world crashed

The deserted street roads had a calming effect,
Why so? He did not know,
The bare shops and empty town painted a lonely picture,
Yet he was content to sit by and watch the picture dry,
He can sit by and watch it dry,
The picture in a distance of him and the world

**** them all,
The leaves danced in the windy night,
**** them blind,
To a melody in his wandering mind,
He sat with contempt and content,
Smirking at the forsaken city,
The lonely house by the beach,
Where the sands no longer shine in the dark,
The dark mansion stood a former ghost of itself,
Where now the paint peeled and the light dimmed,
He felt neither happy nor sad; he knew it was due

**** them all,
The distance tonight was the furthest,
**** them blind,
So far yet so near,
He felt the blood and tears of the past,
And laughed at the fate of the forsaken

He went back to sleep.
Peacefully.
**** them all.

Vijaya Balan (2009)

The room stood bare,
And the bed void of a mattress,
Where the rusty fan hanged,
Orange streaks of rust decorated it

Words have no place in this foul air,
The dark figure lay there silently,
The stench of death and misery,
The deafening silence of the night

He was more the merrier yesterday,
When he walked into his usual world,
To play with his roles in this drama of life,
To laugh and smile at the simple joys,
To cry and frown for the downfalls,
Wasn’t he supposed to pick up the pieces?

It hit him like lightning,
Of the past and the future,
Of what was and what was going to be,
Tears formed on the corner of his eyes,
He built his own fortress,
His walls of solitude,
Tuning out from the frequencies of the world
The race to the top no longer concerned him,
The books no longer interested him,
The movies of his stars bored him,
The tunes of his idols seemed soul-less
The phone rang away into the night.

His life flashed by,
The sacrifices and the gifts,
The hellos and the goodbyes,
The world that he ever saw,
Was the world that he got stuck in.

The silence was now all the gold,
The silence was what soothed him now,
The deafening comfortable silence,
The silence that took his life away,
The suicidal silence.

Vijaya Balan (2009)

They fall inconspicuously, these fleeting memories,
Racing against one another piercing the electric air,
Reaching the earth only to marry each other like a perfect jigsaw,
As they meander through the burgeoning of their beating hearts.

Where do beating hearts reside but in our guarded rib cages?
Vibrations tremble through them as our minds recall past ages,
A twinkle in their eyes, indicators of a point in time,
Where their memories converge and haughty hearts beat furiously.

It never came easy this journey, the path once strewn with things they wish they can take back,
Now strewn with things they never want to let go,
Found in one another as though they've always been there to be discovered
By the one that braves a thousand thunders as they clap through the cardiac waves, beating as one;

Fluidly shifting through dreams of despair and profoundly yearning for hope,
Embracing many potential endings ravenously, onto resilience,
Having eternally reached memories, infesting them
Planting new seeds of faith, erasing all that is dark and cold, but maintaining an authority of importance.

~Shalini Nayar & Vijaya Balan
5.11.14
(c) 2014

You build impressions and words in your mind,

Form dialogues and construct a tunnel,

"And that's how I will perceive you",

And that's what you will say day-to-day,

You were raised under the covers of your own,

You knew none of them truly nor deeply,

These empty thought bubbles,

Stop scribbling your lines on them,

Come forth and speak, know the person,

and the thought bubbles will burst with real words,

Ride out that tunnel,

you will see the Sun in a different angle,

and know that She shines for all,

Your world will not crumble,

For the roses, they grow in different parts of the world too,

Stop, smell and smile,

We never need to frown while wearing a crown,

They will rust all the same,

Break down your tunnel visions, we are riding on the same tracks,

We just come from a different station,

And we're all passengers heading our own way,

No harm in checking the scenery on the other side,

Stop, smell and smile.

- ©Vijaya Balan (2015)

He walked down an empty alleyway,

The streets had no name,

He can’t even remember anyway,

Nor does he want to know a name



The roads were decorated with garbage,

Human waste, and humans wasted,

Entrails of a dying age,

None of them ever lasted



Rolling tires and burnt cars,

A bar stood with blinking lights,

This town stands ashamed with scars,

Once an ardent bubble with bright lights



The traffic lights play their own synchronized beat,

With a song that he couldn’t hear,

The brownstone houses crumbled in the heat,

They sang a song he could hear



The town-hall had no living souls,

Everyone had disappeared after the plague,

This is a city with no more roles,

Even the signs are vague



A jolly amusement park with abandoned rides,

Now the clowns lay dead with hollow eyes,

Their smiles still gleaming with pride,

Their mouth whispering out flies



He picked up the pieces,

What he could find in his rotten home,

The door-bell and the number, he shot down to pieces,

The shotgun echoed throughout the dome,



A sign of his departure,

To the next living town,

Whistling, but watchful like a vulture,

Armed and onwards, to the next brown town,



Where the streets have no name,

Where the town has lost its fame,

Where he doesn't know a soul,

But he fills a void in his soul,

When he fills a void in your town,

Know then, to avoid your town,

Your town now goes to sleep,

A slumber that will be forever and deep.

- Vijaya Balan (2014)