Ballads of Noon

Ballads of noon, segue
on my Sunday terrace
Cool neon kite cast high
Heart heaped dreams
Tossed in the catapulting sky
Tritely hope flies.

Deserted crimson flowers bloom
On lips torn at the seams
Prayers like blood trickle down
Walls of introspection.

Hurry kite! Kiss Snow White
Bougainvillea moon
Before Balenciaga night's
Velvet drapes deride.

Before Lucifer falls
Eternally, sacred,
star bright.

As my terrace drowns
In bathos, in wonder,
In mystique and pique,
I'm revived  in
Stellar light years.

Lost all my bobbing rogue kites now
into flash frozen futuristic orbits
Eclectic tomorrows,
Spinning loom of hopes and desires
Eclipsing sin and sorrow.

Surreal agony on
Black wrought iron
staircase
Spiraling hopes to heaven
Masticated Manna dew.

I want to scour the clouds
tonight
For footprints of
God.

Intergalactic
Intergenerational
Integrated, he sits,
His hearth is Glory.

I anoint thee O Chosen One,
King of the Milky Way.
This side of the universe,
This side of my unique
Tomorows
That I borrow,
On stellar streets
Of coronation.

Tonight is cerebral liberation
Ceremonial cosmic
Celebration.

Tonight is uncertainty,
And its
Celebration.

(c) Amrita Valani 2016

Circles of Bias

Why do we always want to appear holier than thou, morally more evolved, more humanitarian than our brethren?
We must aspire to the highest form that humanity can take, and that which is personally possible for each of us, according to the cards we've been dealt. That's plausible goodness. Not fake sainthood.
We can try to be balanced and moderate in our approach to all. And when we're reciprocated we can even be motivated to rise higher in an ascending spiral of spiritual evolution.
But what if our goodness, our democratic humanitarian spirit, is taken for granted, nay even demanded, while at the same time, overlooking and so excluding, (And thereby excusing), a sizeable portion of our brethren, by not holding them up to any standards of morality or ethics at all?
Till the inevitable fall out happens, the last straw is swallowed then regurgitated, with vehement declarations of wars on terror.
So must we bomb out our intolerant brothers and sisters and their innocent precious and helpless children like ants, mercilessly?

Isn't it morally more comprehensible to be gently firm from the beginning? This far and no further. We will not tolerate in the name of faux progressive enlightenment, oppresive ideologies which segregate and discriminate on basis of gender, colour, and finally  religion?
Because that's how the circle of prejudices widen. In ever increasing concentric spheres. The first casualty of bias always being women.

The outrage suppressed finds other outlets.
So those who found out to their cost, being progressive, liberal, welcoming and tolerant, led to dangers of being infiltrated radicalized and slaughtered, want to take a stand, to protest.
But having left it till too late, they have to take recourse to childish exercises of futility.
Like the Burkini ban.
Mock it if you will, but understand the hurt and fear that motivates it.

To Mourn a Loss

To mourn a loss is to face it. To understand its full implications and ramifications.
Ask yourself this.
What would they truly want? All the innocents who died  in 9-11?
Your solemnity and respectful commemoration, or your hard probing questions, your soul searching  introspective and analytical queries, or your wreaths and condolences?
I think they would want us to question.
Relentlessly and fearlessly.
To safeguard their only possible future, in the lives of their children.
A dying prayer for us to honour, that this won't be repeated, ever again.
And their tragedy deserves discussion. Hard analytical discussion on every forum,  and platform.
It begs a fair hearing. From everyone on every side.
Not a one sided incitement to violence but a constant occupation of every mind that dares call itself human.
To be human is to be moved by inhumanity.
And to react against it by unleashing not weapons but thoughts. To source out problems and then seek solutions.
How do you do it by lighting candles, but wearing blinkers? 

Ask yourself pertinent questions.

Where did Osama Bin Laden receive his terrorist training and his formidable arsenal of weapons?
Where did the Jihadi pilots live and train prior to their suicide missions?
Why despite discovery of the Munich cell and the thwarting of a prior truck bomb attempt on the twin towers, were no preemptive actions and security measures taken? Say in the form of think tanks that  foresaw and guarded against possible air attacks, by missiles, bombs or planes? Not an impossible theory in the wake of Pearl Harbour or Hiroshima-Nagasaki.

And ask also this. Why does US policy change frequently vis a vis those they support and those they  target?
From Ho Chih Minh, erstwhile Korean ally to enemy, from Vietnam, to Iraq, Libya and now Syria, when exactly does US foreign policy dictate war on a sovereignty?
What are the determinants for US policies to remain friendly towards a nation? Not an impressive Human rights record or Saudi Arabia would have been bombed by now.
Or China, though taking on this Asian giant would probably be their worst mistake, and so it won't happen.
Is it then oil interest and a perceived potential threat to the status of the Petrodollar, by powerful Middle eastern blocs, which make it in the best interest of USA to keep things in a state of flux and destabilization there?

Why were the Mujahedeen perceived as liberators, so long as they fought against the Russians in Afghanistan, but are now the  terrorists?
Who supplied weapons, to them, appropriated later by Taliban?
The profitable weapons industries of which countries create the killing fields of other countries?
Which country imposes nuclear bans and controls in moderate nations but is yet to sign the No-first-use nuclear policy?
Also,  why such dainty terms as "moderate rebels", by the US for murderous beasts like the Isis and Al Nusra?
Is crucifixion for apostasy, beheadings and rape 
Moderate acts of terror?
I could say all this sounds like a one sided indictment of the US, except it isn't.
It really is a cry for help, to empowered liberal affluent and educated people.
That there's a crying need for change.
And only your questions may bring some change.
It's an act of faith to ask questions, to hold a high civilization accountable and answerable for its actions, because it demonstrates a trust, that the same citizenry has the power to set in motion changes, in opinions and actions.
Or at least never to err in ignorance.
That  a free nation is actually free, to question its leaders, to lobby, to vote out of power, and to give a more humane direction to foreign and home policy, and not be penalized for it

And my hope and prayer is that all our questions will serve as a searchlight on those who cook up mass murder and genocide, with the covert aim of profit and misappropriation,  while holding banners of either liberation and democracy, or honor and vengeance.

The Poem that Escaped Me

The Poem that escaped Me

The mind offers itself up
To mundane moments
Basic fundamental needs
to be met
to keep running on empty
Treadmill motions
on well oiled clogs.

Bur time's relentless machine
Reminds us
that through every point
In space
Through every Android motion
We are losing
Real time.

I  an arrow
Shot by careless archer
Cruelly freed by apathy
into indifference
Cruelty leaping
Towards
own destruction.

Meanwhile in
High indifference,
The mighty Archer
strings another arrow
From its quivering
Quick silver bow,
Quiver full of
Potential strokes
of quasi intelligence.

Pottery wrought
To life,
endlessly
Wheeling through
mindless machinations.

Quite alone and forsaken
Quietly without shame,
I sink into quicksands
Of nameless doubts
Dubious quagmires
Of futile despair.

The swollen life sap
In my bones
warming to your sunshine
Lifts up for one
Last lazy look.

Feckless fair Archer
Sun bright subroutine
What Luciferian function
Do you serve?

Do you remember each arrow
Shot off your flippant bow
Never to return
In jet streams of ebony oblivion?

Lift me up
Launch me again
Through ecstasy
And this time
I will escape
Leap through
wormholes of chance
Into wondrous Earths
Of discovery.

Or gladly sink
Into the altar
Of Mother earth
As my arc
Curves to her
Imperious Gravity.

Crushed cold comfort.

Either way
compressed pain
Changes compass,
The direction of
My arrowhead.

I leave
The way
I came. 

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

Yesterday

I wish for no more tomorrows
but I wish for yesterday
Oh how I wish and languish
For long gone yesterdays.

Tomorrows may hoard fresh stores of gold
As my precocious  pearls unfold
But how distant their sweet future seems
Like an empty unreal kernel dream

Oh the solid gold of stately yesterday
Oh how in my heart the fronds of memories sway
some recorded treasures
Of touch sight and sound
I wish to close my eyes 
Shroud my heart my mind
Draw blinds of safety
Over this thistledown
Soft fluffy wound.

I have been fulfilled
I have been justified
I crave no more
the wild unknown ride
In my mother's lap and cradle
my own children smile
I couldn't bear it
To watch anymore
Enough to have
Enough to hold
By my side.

Tomorrow foretells
tales so stark
a sparse and austere
Existential dark
A No-morrow
To all I hold dear.

A mother a father
The hallmarks of life
Babies who moulds
A mother out of a wife.

I cannot see more than this
Terror crouches bedded with my bliss
I'm bedded embedded in stone
As the tiger skin rug stirs
Taut upon the floor,
Threat inherent,
Poised, to engulf
This safety vault  life,
Rising howling
The bear grisly
Upon my door....
Blood curdling cries.

No more my days
No more
my gaze fixates
On mellowed memories
Golden haze of timelessness
Yesterdays precious lore. 

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

Winnower

Cinnamon breeze
winnowing leaves
Hushed beneath
Windows' eaves
Whisper trees.

Avenue long
End of song
Pink sunset view
Enthralled blues.

Lone Raven cries
Heart's steely ice
Harsh evensong
Melts my eyes.

Bird goes up high
To survey the sky
Never to return
Till you and I can
Dispel this lie.

Death is Is-Not.
Life
Is an umbilical knot.
foretell then,
O passers by,
Why,
When our lots were cast,
Against odds so vast
Why Hopes don't die
when He casts the Die?

Yes,
Some wayward breeze
hopes eternal breed,
O wayfarer
Does it breed lies?
It says to me,
We were meant
To last...Yet
Though
Ashes to ashes
And dust to dust
The spirit is
Eternal wanderlust.

Something...
Someone...
Somewhere
...
In sweet scented breeze
Reveals  to me
Rivers of truth
Beguiling birdsong
Buds of austerity,
Fragile precious
Utterance
Nothing is ever lost
In nothingness
We must believe

Release
Release
Release
Lies that sicken, steal our ease
cankerous cancerous miseries
killing us daily with
Fatal  Disease.

There is
No death

Death is Not.

Life's umbilical knot

Can't foretell our lot.

Entrances and Exits
Fatten the belly of defeat.

Holy is our hope
The universe
Our entire scope.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

The phrase "Cinnamon breeze" borrowed with permission from my friend and fellow poet Nivedita Lakhera

I Will

Where do we go dear
When the last breath is drawn?
Tell me please
I am in tears,
Fearful of this
last rosy dawn.

Infinity awakes
Infinitesimally,
The world
Stirs under calm
Blue and white souffle
Of chilly breeze,
What bland chilling silence
In this serene ease

The haunting evil question is
Where will I go dear
When this last breath is drawn?

The sun leans
In, honeyed sheets of rays,
Inclining golden planes of
warmth, leaks into old
Raddled skin and bones.

The busy cars creep upon
the endless turnpike,
So many anthill
Destinations,
The games and gambles
of unweary  life.

How purple petals of
Passion lotuses
close in
Sacred at even time
oh the wonder
of cool shades
Images
Indigo evening sky.

Bliss wondrous consumes me
Yet my heart stirs within me
Anxious as a fawn,
The eternal question
Ever is...
Will I be around you still
Dear, when my last breath
Is gone?

Yes my heart,
Forever,
I will leave this lovely place
This golden glade of family
And old familiar face.

My photo will hang
In some quiet corner wall
then, you will recall
And recall,
Splendid memories
In hushed parade
Walking gaunt and tall,
Quiet and silent,
Ceaseless sweet,
Your silver tears shall fall.

Perhaps I will be born again
never to meet you
On earthly plane
I will have forsaken
This golden hold
of each treasured memory.

But  I promise you
from within the temple
Of my solemn  eternity
I carry with me
A treasure chest
All the love
the very best
That was allowed
On me bestowed
With it intact,
I will be born again,
The fulfilled
Fruit and root
Of all the love
My life could hold.

I may not carry your
Words,
our embrace
I will forget forever
Your face, your precious gaze,
But beloved
I will not be denied
The grace of
Our heavenly race,
Only our
Love in abundance
Will seed my future days.

I will, my love
Carry our love
Always.
The forgotten flesh finally
Laid to rest.

(c) Amrita Valan 2016

Humbled and inspired by Amrita Pritam.