Friday, December 29, 2017

Turn around

Pearls shine brighter
In golden light
This evening they glimmer
Basking in concealed
Light.

The frothy dance of lace and frills
Posies and bouquets,
Sleek corsages,
Creating crafty frisson, romantic thrills
And everyone is smiling, 
Doing face time
The pearls wink and blink
Grace aloof,
On my throat, a kiss divine.

I see that you've noticed them too
Catch you staring in the hallway mirror
Adjoining the den where the tribes have gathered
The wreaths and tiaras the brooches and clasps
The bow ties and tuxes the posh would be wasps,
Host and guests align
In primitive ritualistic tribe.
With their showcase rites
Their discreet diatribe.

My pearls are poetry
The kiss of bliss
Each reminds me
Of mystical peace
No I will not miss
The display or show
I can stand apart
Watch the eternal ebb and flow

The gilded gowns, pretty pouts
The suppressed moues and petty
Frowns
The clinking glasses the trilling lasses
I do love it this window dressing,
But these pearls are pressing
Too pure, upon my throat
Calmly aligned in chaos inchoate.

Thank you for the music
And musicians
The whole band too,
The Muse won't reside in
This merry soirée,
And so I must go.

Moonlighting porch beckons
Pearls bobble and dance madly
Releasing passion's power
Drenched in silver ivory fumes
Poetry's potent doom.

Freed afloat on wishful clouds
Wistfully I dream this night
Of immortal turn around.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Forsooth

By the Coffee Table

The familiar side table
Bearing glass framed photographs
Root identifiers, delineating
Source and well spring
Of present company.

The mother sweet, demure, diminutive,
Chiselled elegance, undiminished with age,
The daddy so  dimpled yet majestic
Cross between Don Juan and sage

Two doe eyed sloe eyed brothers
Searing  smouldering intensity
Crackling through the frames of time
Broad shoulders and tapered torsos
Their noses,
ever so slightly aquiline.

Like twin pillars of familial gate ways,
Daddy the mighty arch,
Or they, the mighty muscled thighs
Of Colossus,
Daddy the proud head leonine,
Mummy, steadfastness sheltered
the beating heart  inside.

And then the wedding pictures
Loveliness protected, coy and shy
Graceful gazelle ready to tie the knot
Affections bondage,
Brings forth my sighs.

The groom handsome fella
Complacency sitting comfortably on his shoulders broad
The lucky guy, who got acceptance
From Father's pride and joy
The prized suitor,Prince Charming
With golden ring,
A really suitable boy.

And eyes fell in perfect harmony
On the baby photos,
In the bottom right corner's
Sweet spot...
The cornerstone of marital lore
The inevitable essential afterthought.

Baby was a bright cherubim
All rosy cheeked with love
Her doll's lashes guarding
Precocious flash of eyes
Open and trustful
Ready for her due
Adoration.
A picture perfect life.

I was no fortune teller.
But upon the coffee table
I saw bliss
A speaking tableau
Of harmony Wed
To Serendipity's kiss.

Not all families are alike.
And no two are same.
Photographs release details.
Pictures are tell tale.

Smiling my veil
Of smoky confusion
I spoke under my breath,
And so,
they lived, forsooth...

Happily ever after.
For some,
Fairytales are truth.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Paen to Survival

I have been told I can't write poetry by an acclaimed Indian poet. So that's one bubble burst. Nevertheless let me write. For I can truly do nothing else.

If I say I won't write
My ego's dictates
If I just mute down this
Hopeless heart aching pain
Now tell me my friends
For I hold out my pen
What purer ink shall this
Pristine sheet stain?

I promise you birdsong
If that's all you'll have
The glorious joys of
Flowers blossoming love
I shall out etch out such rainbows
Carrying all my dreams
Let each colour dress up
The theme of your schemes
Let none jag out or drizzle
The hushed pain of my scream.

I offer you the agony
Of the Other, not my own,
It does not do to dwell on,
Ones own flesh and bones.
I shall show up the cost of
such desecrated Lives
That nevertheless struggling
Survive and thrive.

For all you like is victory
The survivor's odds
The psalm you sing always
crowns the fittest of the lot.

But,
Just a quick thought
Let it also,
not be forgot.
The words Jesus brought.

The meek and the humble
The lost and the defeated
Through faith and through love
Through forgiveness and mercy,
One day,
In God's net shall be caught.

I sing you my pain
Not to ask you for alms
Look at your neighbor
Offer one your balm
Your time and your company
Not your riches and wealth
You shall resurrect Jesus again
If you nurse one soul back to health.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017







Friday, December 22, 2017

Thank God

Thank you for making me so difficult
And thank you for the happy smile
Thank you for taking out the uneven blade
And shaping me in a whimsical while.

I never need be a card board cut out
I never need to be a stale cookie in the jar
I can be a me, that is a message and a lesson
Or an undercurrent lost in the passage.

Thank God for the lack of crowds around me
Thank God I can evade the pack of wolves
Surrounding me
I thank you Creator whoever you may be
That you created me to be solitary.

I may be a square peg in a neat round hole
But I think my four (or more?), corners and all
Allow me an edge over the smooth pretty Pegs
No bother at all about being Ken's Barbie doll.

I create a small space in my loneliness
Somewhere between sweet sanity and grace
And it's Brave not bitter, it's fierce to be free
Now and forevermore,
I want no one with me.

If He or She or It who made me
Comes forward to my face
I will bow my thanks and regards
From my little bit of space.

It is fun to be me, myself and I,
Where my identity, is  something,
solely I define
Where I change for the better
When I understand my worst
Where nothing but I matter
When I, put others first.

For compassion is born of grace
Grace is born from dark 's embrace
Without pain's favor,
There never has been
true happiness.
Thank you for these riches
A Magi's wealth no more no less.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017



Supra Lune



Sweet surreal evasive as the moon
Wandering overhead
Off tune half beat marching tune
In the morning of my future
I spy no friends from Luna
Free of mind and light as air
Brave  and always fair.

Sifting silk waters of the shadowy harbour
Green leaves their palms adore me
In the night of multiple pasts
I sojourn oh how they contour me.
I see my old friends holding mirrors
And each they seem to deplore me.

In the presence of such anachronistic tales
I simply want to cast off the veils
Of pretentious lure, of sweet allure
On the walls of presence to meld.
In this moment, this token now
This terrible gesture, this fest somehow
of living somewhere, someway I will bear
Thank God for this belief
This relief, no one else required
This sole blessing acquired.

In the evening of siphoned breath
I am rationed to a sword in its sheath
Beautiful steel will never reveal
It's edge
But gilded handle of gold I clasp
Tomorrow I will kill the dragons
And free my lady by the lonesome sedge.

Sometimes the lines are nonsense
But the feelings are not.
Sometimes in between two words
Some unspoken meaning is wrought.
This is my offering born of the
Silence and the dark
Kindest solace is Inspirations' spark.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017


Thursday, December 7, 2017

Bazaar street

Bazaar Street

Slurry sultriness
Gleaming wet
Pavements draped with
Goods.

Slinky belts and unabashed bags
Smattering colours
Hoodies and tee shirts
Jackets and scarves
Goodies galore
And glowering bros
Towering over browsers
Survey the potential purveyors
Like unshaven predators
Eyes sparkling at possible kills

The flower seller's nose stud
Blossoming possibilities
Boadacious blood hibiscus,
Virginal jasmine and chrysanthemum
Or passionate Marigolds.

The strident cries of women hawking
Fare
And the repressed boom boxes of men
Growling,
"Sister, mother, come here!"

A few packing boxes of soft drinks spill over from the sweet shop into the road
A red faced man balances a look sides
Crate on his head.

Cookies crazily jog in motion to his hair
I wait for them to fall

Never happens.

Bazaar street

Bizarre beautiful adventure
Smiling with smelly dentures
And demure allure.

I pass over the soiled gutters the garbage and
breath daintily the faintly foul air.

Not for faint souls
But brave heart buyer
Of bacchanalia.

Bazaar street all smarmy and dressed-up
For Diwali.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Moods

Moods

Dawn's blue shawl has undertones
Sublimated vermiliion shades.
The woman impure who creeps back home to her twilight glade.

Dawn's wearing tattered blue today
And white cotton threads are showing
The aged crone cries alone
This morn of dead reckonings.

Dawn's draped in dreamy blue velour
Windy ripples in satiny folds.
This pretty maid has sprung from magic glade
And her days in gold foretold

Dawn creeps out of night's deathly shade
And grins a ghastly  frackish white
This old hag is no more.
Dead before first light

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

In the End

In the end
It's over.

That is why we think
In terms of beginnings
And endings.
The in between is very important
However
Utterly confusing
Bewildering
Trivial and trite and petty
Wisdom profound and deep
Wishful nothings
Settled for somethings
In the Middle
We find ourselves
Eligible
To try harder
Beyond endings.

Utterly confounding
The problems compounding
Trysts  with Trust
And tortuous torments
And then
The end.

Beyond beginnings
Beyond blue Dawn's
Pallid whispers
And vesper endings
Bloody ashen

We are found
Going round and round
Foundering in busy non being
In the middle.

If they don't all add up
The people the places
The notions emotions
These surreal surroundings
These sunny resoundingly funny
Non happenings
What is the matter
With where we are going?

Where are you
And Who is it
I fondly refer to
As "I?"

Fair play
Foul penalty
Life surfeit
With loneliness cursed
Cruel inequities

And yet the game
Goes on

Same as ever
As the day you were born
Same as ever
Larger than life
After you're gone.

The joy is intended
Resonance of faith
Birth child of doubt
Of criss cross
Heavens
Patterns in our eyes
Kaleidoscopic visions
Beyond endings.

Beautiful is my
Blue measured tranquility.

Beautiful is this brooding
Dome
Of name fame
And gloom.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

You Live

You Live

You do you know,
Or
Even if you don't.

Live on sweet Lei
Your life was too short
Yet the sweetness of it
Spread into deserts
Of loneliness.

Gentle kind reminder
Of what Humankind
Was meant
To be.

Not bursars  of self interest
Not borders guarding isolation
But Guardian Angels
To unknown destination.

Live on Lei
In my dreams of love
On astral shores
Of searing tender white light
Where timeless sands flicker
Stardust under shifting feet
Waltzing, traipsing
To half understood
Melodies,
Sweet nothings
Crushed dreams
In dance eternal
Encapsulating
Earthly time trapped lives.

Lei live on
In my spirit
In all the sweetness and love
I'm capable of.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Private Parlance

How should I write
About my feelings
Which only want
Sacred nurturing
Private parlance.
Language singes my blood
My veins sing hallowed
songs
Beautiful reed pipes
Trilling epiphanies
In despair.
How shall I Dream
When living nightmares
Prick my flesh apart
Mottling bloody thoughts
Racking the brain box apart.

How shall I cry
Tears evoke mirth.
Helplessly hysterical

I shall hang up
My lifeline
Murder my muse
My amusement knows
No bounds.
My horror
Is guilt
Profound.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Sepia in my Memories

You are sepia in my memories
That's all the light my heart cage
Can hold
Bewitching fascinating intimate half shadows
You are my return to Eden
You are my vision of Hell.

Why are you so lovely
When you will not last?
Why do we peddle in dreams
When dreams are all we have
Where fruition too
Becomes
A memorial service
A dream remainder of
Our gated lives?

But wait for the penny
To drop
The other shoe still falls
Should we have an eternity
To live and to cherish
To treasure and to hold
It wouldn't do at all
We wouldn't know
What we have
When we have it all.

We wouldn't have enough
Though we survived
Each winter and fall...

Time is my lovely sepia dream
A photograph in shadowed cream

Reminder of cold parting
Death be it
Our pleasing hurting.

Pleasure hunters
Treasure seekers
Our chests hold troves
In trust
And perpetuity
The myth
Children we bequeath
It at last.

Loving legacy
Sepia lives
Dreams don't die
As your
Old memories
Come alive.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

We are Ageless Angels

Withered hag and crone
These are the names given to girls
As the years roll out
On the tidal shores
As graceful gazelles
Find doe eyes dimmed
As voluptuous women find their
Curves grow lean
And oh their skin
Now translucent papery thin
Evanescent youth, rolled up,
Like leather scrolled
With life's parchment dreams.

Sigh...
The stars respect us
They hold our dust
And twinkling ask us
To still hold on
To dreams,
Through the numbed silence
Space time
Screaming silver mind streams
You Must.

Age is glorious
Benevolence
Munificent paen, survival
Stellar accomplishment.

And so
Weighed down
In earthly years
Brimming woes
Overflowing
Time's limiting spheres
Heaven holds hard and fast
God speed,
We are
More than our petty fears.

The universe
In its eternal palm
Lightning strikes
Of chance
Too vast to contemplate
Too freakishly uncontrollable
Light blue sabres dart
Stars speed us on
We love faster
Grow stronger
And live lustier
Dustier
Longer
Our flowing light waves linger
Charging the eaves of
Heaven's glowing domes.

Hags and crones?
Happy our hearts, mellow
With love's graven memoirs
blessed and cursed
Is loneliness.

Pity...
Is our grace,
Mercy ingrained,
hands outstretched
Offering solace.

Timidity isn't fearful
Constraint.
Unlike rigidity
Of turgid masculine aim.

In earth's solar palace
In blue vesper space
We are mighty
Mothers
Of the Human race.

Forget dry lines,
They're ley lines
Of instinct
Won't wither our souls
Heads high
We smile shedding
Psalms from hearts
Of gold.

Celestial movements
In December's notions
Our lives celebrating
Unabashed motion

Foundations, anchors,
Fulcrums and axles,
At the event horizons
Of centuries lapses.

Emotionally endowed
Rich connections,
Showering starlight
Courage and conviction
Carriers we,
Of the ageless
Timeless fire 
Of Constellations.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Second Tier Friendships

Second Tier Friendships
Are hurtful
When they're calculated ploy
And how much warmth you ladle out
And the distance you must maintain
Is carefully measured.

I don't mean I don't have gradations
And degrees of friendship
Evolving naturally over time.

But not those deliberate overtures
Of warmth
Which is reigned in and redirected
Once specifications formerly met
Are found to be limitations

I will not expect
Cryptic codes to be deciphered
I blame none but myself
For my gullibility
Is my guillotine.

I must learn
To keep at arm's length
Flattery is such sweet deception.

I must admit that I have
Lessons to learn.
Choose to love.
Don't love back.

The dear sweet girl
Who taught me this
Will become
Both rose and thorn
In my heart
Of aching pain
And remembered bliss.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Monday, October 23, 2017

Writing on my wall

Who am I writing for?

Numero uno
for myself.

Secundo

For those who mirror
My feelings and perceptions.

Yes I don't
consciously write for everyone.

No I don't
want to write for the man on the street.

Unless that man or woman is

A  little bit like me

A little bit lost
A little bit wild
A little bit free.

People have rules
And conventions
Strictures and structures
That govern their lives
And so they
Claim their poetry.

Disciples of discipline
I admire
You

But I cannot
Adore you.

Form
You adorn my
Emotions
Not the
Other way round.

I have written triolets
And villanelles
Cleaves
And sestinas,
Dizains sonnets
Habbies and rondeaus

They
Gave me form, structure
Precision.

And the great joy
Of creativity
Sublimated
By conscious
Conformity.

And yet
There's something more tp
words weaving
Thoughts
Thoughts breathing emotions
Subliminal Revelations
God given trysts
Challenging
Personal frontiers
Impromptu
Rendezvous with
Poetry
Intimacy
Sacred and personal.

There I cannot
Compromise.

To hell
I'm ready to go
Hugging poetry's
Wild broke back ride

I write
To be me.

I write
To be free.

I write
Love and Grief
Melting molasses
In my brain
Running sweet syrupy
Dreams
From saddest refrains

Those are Creeds
That cannot be read
By causal eyes alone
By minds honed
To tread paths
Like trimmed notions
But through lenses
Of sun gazing tears
Prismatic orgy
That pulverizes Fear.

I will be
Me.


Offering
Myself

To
Muse

And
Reader

Who cares shall
Decide

Is it
Truth
Or dare

That's my
Poetry.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017





Sunday, October 15, 2017

2014 write Pink Ice Re edited

Pink Ice Paradise

Pink is the skyline over busy cityscape
The dusty gray building tops, the monolithic skyscrapers, metallic gleams of glass and chrome.

The kites are silent performing acrobats of the sky
And mysterious missionary birds fly in perfunctory V shapes
Pilgrims to cleaner climes.

The sky is build in progress
Stacking decks of icy pink cottonballs and lacing with golden froth...
sun backlighting the horizon
Creaming existence in a sultry glow
An exquisitely dressed look of urban Indian woman
Not a hair out of place..

The chirrups are muted
Alone a recalcitrant bird sings a whole chorus of protests
The cars relentlessly honk it down
Soon there is a settling silence.

Children swagger or stagger home
Bouncing ball against bat or carting stone satchels of primitive schoolbooks...sunken anchors of knowledge.

A few women stand, coy nose studs dazzling as the fall against each other with pretty petty laughter.

The prettiest raises her eyes to survey who is watching and meets the reproachful scowl of the old caretaker of the neighboring modern blue Church.
Our friendly neighborhood conscience, bland and watchful.

I look again at the overturned hemisphere above us, the bowl has turned pale violet...
The awesome light fractionally faded, a softer look donning its face.

A faint star silver blinks on the brink of nothingness
One long resolute wink at existence.

I wonder how many light years away...
I wonder
About men on that solar system
What would think
If they saw this world,
As it is today.

Is someone there watching my world from 'his verandah'?
As it was before the great  dinosaurs and dolphins arrived
or departed?

We stand moored in isolated insularity in our respective Presents
Witnessing each other's Pasts.

Vastness visionary as always
A spatio-temporal boundary wall
A prison for dead ages
Silent preserver
Of our ways.

All rights reserved
(c) Amrita Valan 2014 and 2017

Monday, October 9, 2017

I am We.

Intolerant hearts
Aching with mercy's
Shuddering compunction
Learning to release
Uneasy Inhibitions
Momentary stretching
Elastic horizons,
Then withdrawal,
A Springing back
To distraught rigidity.
Fluid flexibility
Exhausted
Like tautness
Of flesh.

Intolerance rampant
Rage of the amygdala
Keeping us trapped
In distracting warzone
Patriotism' feather fine
Delineated boundaries
Keep on making
Never ending
New otherness.

Differentiate.
Separate.
Hemorrhage.
Detonate.

In your hangover
Of horrors
Lying in your own
Safe haven
Licking ugly wounds
Guilty tongues
Lash and lacerate
Silences.

Forget viscosity
Of venom
See each gorgeous
Sacred babe
Lying in easy
Posies.

Blood blooming flowers
Of  a sane moment
Of tolerance.

They accommodate
Two separate genomes
Classes, cultures
Sub stations
In one nonpareil
Existence.

Ne plus ultra
I'm really uneducated
Uncouth
And they are
Really
Wise Magis
Eternity's wayward
Angels.

Is it
Difficult
To combine two
Diverse things?

Two divergent minds?

Two separate bodies?

Love making
We do it
Everyday
Casual
Causal
Intensity.

But
Our
Insurgent
Insular  lives
Were made
Effortlessly
Out of the
Mitosis and meiosis
Of our differences.

How much of my mother
Can't you tolerate
Dear Father?

In my veins
You're both
One and the same

Sublimated
Essence.

Ecstasy
Of union.

Epiphany
Of transmigration.

We're all
Humanity.

We're all
Life.

We are
Petty
Majestic
Eternal Conflicts
In resolution.

Let us rejoice
Sing off key
Verging outside
Neat circles
To edgy incompletion's
Spiralling ascents.

Celebrate Differences.

That merge.

To unite.

In Love.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Anushka

You shall stay
Young in my heart
My friend
As I grow
Gently old.

As my tears
Dry up with the years
Your words
Which cannot numb
My pain
Will crystallize
In heart cooled
Of ardour
To befuddled
glacial peace.

They will flow
Slowly through my veins
Like blood blooming flowers
And of your whereabouts
Keep enquiring
In vain.

Iron willed rosy crosses
Tormented
In pain.

So tell me sister
Does magic really die?
For to me
You are the elusive
Myth
That I could swear
Should have lived
On
Beyond this vale
Of Love's
futility and tears

Many poets will sing
Of love
But none can ever please
Me
Or with  ease and grace
Comfort be,

Where in space time's hold
Can such a source of
Joy
Disappear like
An odious trick?

Say my friend
My dear mage
You'll be back again
On shadow drifting clouds
On wafting summer breeze
A myriad moonlit dreams
And reclaim your life's
Shortchanged lease.

Arise from the ruby lips
Of the gaping words
Of your own glowing books
Not as visionary sylph
Or Sylvan dryad.

Poetess and sister soul
Forgive my anguished grief
Arise like
Raging stigmata
In wounded lovelorn souls
If so you wish.

But let my words
Find space within your
Dreaming will
I resurrect  you
With my pleas.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Sometimes reading poetry

Sometimes reading poetry
Of my friends
Or some famous poet,
I feel so joyous
So happy, I could
Die
And go to
Heaven.

Minds are loveliest
Without bodies attached
Pure minds
Etching ecstatic intimacy
Of the soul.

Where the most
Physical act of
Throbbing passion
Its ebbs and flows,
Transmutes
To sublimity.

Holiest of holy acts
Is Being
Flesh and blood
Bodily presences
Witnessing the universe
And powering it,
Releasing
Our purest
Essence.

The core of the
Kernel
The rind
Of the shell,
And the flesh
and blood and bones
Of the whole
This house
Of heaven and
Hell

How poetry
Wraps up
The entirety
Of it All

And gifts us
Majesty
In motion

Thank you each
Magus
Of emotions.

Your imagination

Is my gold
Frankincense
And myrrh.

Bethlehem
Shines brighter
Under your mortal
Stars.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, September 29, 2017

For Sarah

Sarah Lamar King  your photo, shows a special woman. And the more your capacity to feel pain the more sensitive resilient and enriched as a human being you are.

When I look at you
What I see
Are courage strength and dignity
A mother goddess
Is eternally beautiful
She remakes the heart
From love and wisdom
Those who attempt to break it
Are her court of fools...
....
What is joy?
But a resolution of our mind
Travails of humankind to it are
a speaking foil
A perspective that's in itself a balancing act
That steels determination in our tender human hearts
To rise above and beyond the material and embrace
Swear to live through and by
Whatever may befall
Beat on brave heart
We will not falter our pace.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, September 28, 2017

People Power

People Power. 😊

People are born
People grow up
People grow old
But they want to
Stay young.

But young is not
A date of birth
Young is a state of heart

People grow up
They do what they wish
People like to feel
They're not on a leash

But freedom is not
License to kill
Freedom is a matter of minded will

People grow old
People grow bold
Wielding authority
Is now a lifetime's lease

But authority is not mind control
No one is your little Barbie doll
Go and ask your little girl
She'll cross her heart
And tell you all
Her soul.

People stay young
When they learn to be honest
Simple as a child
That's. Always best.

My heartaches grow too tired and old
Threw them out
Long time ago
There's no need
To cultivate the weed
Wild child flowers
Shall always grow
Willy nilly
Through the crack on the
Window pane
Live life
Like a vivid dream
Or a labor of love
It's not all about duty
Or Brute strength
Nor lies and deception
It's never that
sick old game.

People don't die
They just grow young
Smaller and smaller
They shrink out of their
Dress robes and collars
And the ones who shoot straight
They boomerang
Back so far
By midnight we'll see some
Cool baby super stars.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

For Those We Love And Lost And Will Meet Again And Again...



One day we will be free
All our trillion souls
Emptied of the inheritance of flesh
Of heavy steps
And hearts of lead.

One day we will
Remove the shackles of age
And Time that separates
Us from our beloved
Will become vast open doors
Through which
Only love and Light
Will shine.

One day we will be free
Soaring to highest peaks
Of chill icicles cheek
And ecstasy's pristine creek

One day we will
Mingle and merge with clouds
Wear sunlight upon the dream
That was the sleeping mind

One day
Music will cease to hurt
Music will never stop
Ourselves shall be
Rhythmic frequency
An universe
Inside out
Of serendipity.

One day
We will arrive
At every point
In space and time
All at once
And back again
Knowing
Of this
There's no doubt.

And for nothing
Shall we pine
When you and I
And our own true loves
Shall merge in
Love divine.

Truth alone exists
This life canned within
Five senses,
Is only the final mist.

One more day
We shall bear with pain
Till in joy we laugh
Again
And hold its hands
In trust
Pain becomes a gift
A wondrous cross
When we rise above
Our past.

Everyone  is invited,
Within and
Without

You and I
Are just positions
We take,
To connect anew
In novel ways,
And then
When all the ways are done
We redeem our lives
By letting go
The you and me
Becoming Us
Forevermore
Endlessly.

Forever to
Be free.

One day you shall heal
One day will reveal
One day so profound
All we lost
Are found

There's no end
No parting
No end
No starting
Everyone always was
And everything always is
Caterpillar to butterfly
And then ...
Past perfected futures
...
Present continuous bliss.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Yellow roses

Yellow roses
In the afternoon
The world dozes
In weary trance
Sunlight springs of diamond bursts
Flashing sabres and flaming swords
Metallic glints the blue asphalt roads.

I'm ready to go now,
Already I'm on the move,
Through the garden path
Of your untimely woes,
The uneasy death of intimacy
Unearned income
That I must release.

Your verandah trellises
Drooping, with yellow roses,
And honey dripping
Gleaned off the golden sun
The afternoon showers
Of false surmise
The crippling cream
Of exposed lies,
That dazzles away
Gold dappled dreams
Like tawny curtains drawn over
Topaz and moonstone
Monstrous eyes
Yellow roses hideous reticence  hide
False stories
Traveller pack your lies.

A soft sense
Of something unsaid
Of some answer lost
In the back drafts
Of Alzheimer mind
Yes we forget
To prevent disease
Remembrance
The sharpest scythe
Of human kind.

Onto the flawed and thorny
Path
Out through the left of
Rust Worn garden gate
One last hubris look
For a sepia photograph
For my insane mind.

What do I see?
Except a bland world
Of yellow roses
On half drawn blinds.

Over and over again
You'll follow me
Unknowingly we bade goodbye
You'll look hard through corners
Of tear laden eyes
The insane curve of
The road of empty lies.

And forever and far away
In my own time capsule
I will see you sway
And dream of lazy
Hazy afternoons
Where all lies have fled
To the trickster moons
Of yesterdays.

And then, time 'tis, to say goodbye
Upon the blood horizon
Of sinking life,
When, I will I think, spy again
Your elegant roses
Immaculate poses
flinching, wary fearful
faces.

Till the end of time
Fearful coquettish
In the light.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017






My Love Song

Your face is
My bouquet of pastel hues
Your smile is my sliver of crescent moon
Your eyes shed flowers from paradise
In them, there are no lies or vice.

Your mind is like a waterfall
Of compassion and care
From heights so tall,
Sometimes I glimpse
The mysteries of the universe
When you smile at me
And speak your heart.

Your hands glove mine
Like second skin
In your arms
I am no
Separate being
I come alive
Like your craziest dream
My darling one,
Are you truly everything?

That's good and dear
And pure and clear
God's soft sunshine
And deepest diamond mines

A book of poetry
Etches in my heart
You're my whole world
In each blessed part.

I wear you my love
In bright vermillion
I wear you out
With inexplicable love
And watch you alight
Like love's prey in my eyes
And renew your own
In my love's light.

We're each to each
The other half
And Thank you
For all our travails
Are of the past

Love does it always
Though we don't know
How or when and where,
It has its way with us,
The last word
It belongs to love,
Whether lovers be
Ever so near
Or far.

You recede where I
Can no longer see
With eyes, like starlight
From a billion
Light years ago
I receive all your
Ancient mysteries
And my inner eyes build
The ethereal church of life
The heart of your Kingdom
Where I shall thrive.

Shuddering alone
In the sopping rain
What exhilaration flows
Through my trembling veins
On such a clouded day as this
You cover up my soul
With your eternal bliss

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Funny Verse

I am sad but you are sadder
You are bad but I am
Bad-der? 😕
If you don't get me
You'll be gladder
Thank you for not
Getting any madder.

Let's fly up on wings of flight
Yes you heard me
Boy that's right
I don't believe in wings of light
Upstroke downstroke
Only feathers  might
Carry us through
Never say Neverland
Hollow bones
And boat shaped man.

Jesus descended
A star is born
So over Bethlehem
A bright beacon shone

Connect the dots
And read all the signs
Today's miracle
Might be
Tomorrow's science

Upstroke downstroke
Parry on
Man is an ape
But also,
Adam's son.

Beguiled was he
A fool in love
Pretty Eve
Should have asked
The Holy Dove

And not that talking serpent
Standing just so
Never that forked tongued
Scaly fellow.

Perhaps you think
You are Hanuman
Prove it monk
Leap across oceans
If you can fly
Un Winged unhinged
Monkey
You can grow a tail
I'll pin it for free.
There was a tribe in the forest
Called the Va-naras
Get the joke do, you
Literal Naras?

So some say they built a bridge
Some say a bridge exists
Some pin their hope and faith on it
But It's not on my bucket list .

The last word
I must say this
Let's part in peace.
You believe what you want
Don't laugh at me please.

😜

Lily of the valley

My lily of the valley
So tenderly does droop
Prettily she conquers
As gently she stoops

I captured invisible fairies
Under her bell shaped caps
Snowy white and Rosy hued
As their slender wands they tap

Tap tap against the green veins
Of lustrous dewy leaves
The droplets are a flying
From invisible cupid lips.

As they trill with laughter
And from lily vines entwine
A throne, a crown a basket
Of verdure so divine.

Oh! my  lily of the valley
So delicately fragile
Hanging heads, like Christmas bells
I shall kiss you with a smile.

Keep on your caps
My bashful belles,
So timorous you sway!
I shan't tie you in a posy,
Nor shall take you away.

But leave god's adornments
Where they suit best
Nor tamper with heaven's deathly nest
Of scarlet berries, fruitful fatal parts,
Never meant for human hearts.

Enchanting lady of the  deathly night
Soft fleshy pink and ghastly white
I will not miss what I hold so dear,
Such fragrance have I learnt to fear.

Blossoming pain of hallowed Madonna
Who could hardly bear to see
Her bleeding son, gift of God above
Come to set mankind free

Sent to earth to comfort a mother's heart
Each drop she shed a flower
None can pluck sweetest lily bud
Each, a weeping woman's tear.

How can I trifle or try to take?
The corrosive tears of Eve's heartbreak.
Remain always demure in diffident dreams
lily of the valley  in muted hues of cream
Delicate, chaste and pure, you bow your head
Till the Lamb returns,
A Lion from the dead.

And mother's heart once more
Shall be renewed
By precious lilies on wreath
Of thorns imbued.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Hinduism...

Mulling over a friend's post which eulogizes Hinduism, from the point of view of a westerner.
And the immediate vituperative response it elicits from, how shall I say it, Hinduism bashers?
Hindus are dictated, to go read their own Vedas and other ancient/holy texts.
Why?
Not to glean the best of their essence, but so that we can hang our heads in shame.
And be ashamed of our roots.

To such I would say, stop with your well oiled,(as in well financed),  vastly powerful proselytizing machinery and machinations.
And hang your own heads in shame.
Books are storehouses of knowledge, treasure from another time and place.
However flawed they may be, if your only purpose in reading them is to negate, disprove and mock, (After carefully culling out a chosen section, then parading it out of context), then you're lettered yet illiterate.
You're homo sapiens but not human.
And baby however religious and pious you are,
You're neither Spiritual nor a Humanist.

A footnote:
I find parts of The Holy Bible, "tripping the light and the fantastic", but my Hindu upbringing has taught me, to revere and extract its core of goodness. Not Mock and bash up a book.

I teach my sons from it, quote it, and shed my tears at the feet of the Madonna and her son.
And I challenge all who proselytize, if I meet him, He won't deny me, even if I'm in saffron garbs and rudraksha.

Saturday, September 23, 2017

People

You were around fifteen
When I was born
An young girl
And it was your time to shine
Bright as a moonbeam
Wild black mane
And lucent eyes
My baby self held in tenderness
For the first time

I never knew you
Except through photographs
So beautiful and so inaccessible
Easy to touch your glossy skin
Between my admiring fingers
But the person as distant
As a lost dream
Forgotten in the veils of night.

It's hard to put a finger on
The sense of people
Passing ships in the night
And the connections we make.
Sometimes all the feelings
Are imaginary.
A heroine build up from fantastic
Castles in your head.

A Globetrotter
A traveller
Versed in many tongues
Who charmed
One in a foreign land
And built her best
On the sea shore
Of a distant land.

From where she would fly
Desperately high
To claw at the branches that
Gave her a watchtower view
Of forgotten land and sky.

I was eighteen
When I faced this paragon
Turning into a mild parody
By slow dying degrees.
Which I defied
Deified with my
Need to dream.
She had lost her sheen
And was a plump homing pigeon
I was still enamoured
By her grace
And those deep lantern eyes.

So I made believe
She still carried starlight in them
And saw crystal fountains spring
Flowers from her smile.

Froth and lace
Woven elegance
Fake rainbows
And prismatic tricks
But eighteen is tender
To hallowed Madonna's
Of three and thirty years

I was thirsty
For her friendship.

For a sign
That I was significant.

I wasn't even sure
If she thought
I was human.
I was indulged
As one would
A kid.

I am standing now
On the rooftop
Of my liberation
To connect redeem myself
By offerings of Libation
To grace
On the cusp of 45
I no longer need
The same validation
Of my existence.

I spy her face
On Facebook
And think
God! She must be sixty.
How?
This was my leading lady
Ever nubile graceful doe.
Why?
Svelte figure soft face
Love lit intelligence
And grace
Nowhere near this tired
Weariness.
When?

Now I realise
Worship
Is an act
Of initiation
Into Time's
Erosion
Of values
Borrowed.
One metamorphosizes
Flies out on
Wings of fatality
With a prayer on the lips
of faith.

Values grow
Into features
And rewrites the face.

On the hour-glass of
Time
We gradually drift in and
Out of shape
Pouring ourselves grain
By grain
Towards tomorrow
Inexorably
Forever we fall
Till the Maker
Forgets
To turn over
Life's urn again.

Tomorrow
My sixty year old face
Will fearfully fascinate
Someone else
Dew in her gentle eyes
Treading water
Gingerly
On the quicksands
Of middle age.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Tears of Purgatory

You want to know what tears are?
What do they mean at all?
Sorrow hurt grief mourning
Or shed over
Simplest of things
Sweet nothings
Dreams memories requiem
Or hunger for what could've been
Yet will never be.

Have you felt pulled apart
By forces beyond control
Human fragility
Fear and prejudice
The mean and petty
The shallow betrayals
That nevertheless rankle
Hurt in your dreams
Make ears ring with screams
Agony that makes ni sense
The monstrous moments
Of feeling
A failure a wreck an oddity
A naked being
Exposed
In utter loneliness
Wretched condemned
Daily exhorted
"Be brave, Go on.
The extra mile"
When strength fails
Bones flail
Eye sockets ache
With the weight
Of dreams slashed
And mangled
Torn beyond
Even your own
Recognition
Heavy water pumped up
By an emotional purgatory.

Are these liquid details
Enough
To earn a tear
On your lashes?

Put it on my palm.
I will accept it
As Holy water.
And annoint me
And other unwanted souls.

Your compassion
Is church
And temple enough
For me.

A simple child dwells
And she is ready to
Smile with glee.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Monday, September 18, 2017

I'm a poetess

Cursing the Auto driver whose jerky bumpy morning ride, lost me the 2 verses that were key to this poem. But here's the best I could do from memory.
It never comes the same way twice.
(If a poetess may pout, now would be a good time.)

I'm not a pretty face
But I am your poetess
Unutterable your hurt
I heal with words
Your truth within my blood
Makes inroads.

The pain you feel
I must reveal
My antennae
Shudders and
Against all demons
Words stand guard.

I write the way
You make me feel
I compose you,
To feel
You're real.

Against all odds
And the apparent front
You put up
To make a spirited show,

But I see only shredded
spots of light
Shining through chinks
In the armour
Of your affectation.

Don't try to fool
A poet
Don't try to earn her
Trust.
Don't try at all
For she's all pen and ink
Ready to spear your sorrows
And speak your sword.

And her blood so muddied
All blue and black
Her mind travels
Through hell to
Watch your back.

And she's there
Ever there for you
Not in flesh
But her words
Will always do.

For she's not real
She's not her own
She is only
there to feel
The ache and sorrow
Burning in
Your bones.

Gnarled ashes
Of your pain
Her poetry is
Your remains.

Her blood pounds
Under the pressure of
Your bones crushing weight
She is the speaking picture
Of your fate.

She's in your head
A scheming witch
She's the blessing
That you'll seek.

I'm a poetess
An auror
A conjuror
A mirror.

To my subject
I become
A siamese twin
A chimera
That lives within

Till the end.
I will not deserve
Your love
Nor shall I
Desert you,

The one
I befriend.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017





Sunday, September 17, 2017

Surrealistic Dawn

I ain't no fool.

If you're
Seeking absolution
It's not mine to give
Any sort of satisfaction
Ask yourself
Will you feel
Better
If I grant your
Pleas?

Listen close to your heart
Forgive yourself first
Absolution isn't mine
To bequeath.

If you want
A friend on a cold day
To listen
And if you want understanding
I'm ok with that
If I say it real crisp
And clear
You've got nothing to fear!
If only you can learn
To forgive yourself
And earn your gaze
Much needed rest
Some earnest inward looking
Self interest.

Don't spend yourself
Fretting what could've been
Yet never was,
Not knowing you
Was never your problem
But someone else's loss.

Not your circus
Not your monkeys
For you were never
Meant to be
A stranger to your self
Haunted by
What Ifs.

So go on
Open up your doors
And walk right in.
Take no prisoners
Take no one in.

Don't forget to take
That crazy path
Down left of the middle
Right to the centre
Of the crooked heart,
So lop sided
With loneliness,
It could survive only
so many days
For one glimpse
Of her hungry gaze.

Trying to
Dial our souls
We don't Ever hang up
Speed dialling the self
Is an unknown art.

You're gonna need
That operator
She'll (smooth and easy),
Join the parts
Transfer your hidden urgency
And make the
Connection last.

And it's all conundrums and riddles
Yes it's so
Because no one can
Read yourself like you
So don't try
To explain why
Expose yourself
Now,
To your naked eye.

Someday we will
Earn our lives
By learning to
Forgive the truth
And erase the lies.

Don't want you to be hurting.
The pain can only be healed

When you
Touch your lonely self
With love.

Share it
If you want my care.

But truth is
Always
The best dare

Look into the insanity
For the calm eye
And Hold on
To it.

Hold tight
When waves crash
Chopping into your night

Washed ashore at
Surrealistic Dawn

Surrender
Make a new world
This morn.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, September 15, 2017

Thank You

No poetry for the wicked

The mind needs to rest.

Thoughts buzzing on the double

Create a vacuum in my soul.

Magdeburg brain

Leave my heart alone

To feel my feelings

And craft my life

Out of the words

I come alive

Render my dreams real

Tender my apologies

And reapply

For

Another secret rendezvous

Grappling with the wonder

And the mystique

Of the eternal question

Why?

I will I will

My atoms and molecules thrill

With the dare of the unknown

Crown our weary bones.

Star dwellers

We wordsmiths are

Leaving in Lands afar

On borrowed future Time

That curves a smile

Upon a rhyme

Till past meets present

In longing's kiss

And the sum total is this,

A dream
                Of Future's
Joyful Bliss...

I meet my  arrows

Verses fitted upon

My span, my allotted arch of time

A long bow so supine

It's
Stretchy and sublime.

I will bow to none

But all alone

The one

Who guides my hands

Thank you

For this release

Into eternal

Wonderlands.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Monday, September 4, 2017

Feast Of Five Senses

Heaven is in your eyes
When you know it not
And just whisk the day up
Into a froth
Of fancy and dreams
Gentle as a patchwork quilt
Worn through by a child's
Hands
Clutching it to his soul
In sequined night.

The water rushed through
Fierce angry backbone
Of  Leviathan in the night
Coursing sleek black
Muscled waves
Like feral force
Cascading to corner the foe
Inexorable oily might.

The rain was like
Incessant canta libre
Alternating moody minstrel
And shimmering castanets
Weaving dark matter
Wooing midnight.

The woods were
Frozen attrition
With grief rolling in rivulets
Remorseful penance
Until baptismal dawn.

In the morning
I woke up
With Midnight's memoirs intact.

Heaven wept into
My heart freely
Till my eyes shone
Lucid as lamps
Lambent prayers.

The outside world
Was now dry.

If I could
I would hold this daylight
A filtered torch
Lit by thousand lamps
Of memories
And
Nostalgic sunlight.

Thank you
For this feast
Of five senses
Fill up
My heart and mind.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Caught in Time

Caught in Time

Memory"s like a tidal wave
A typhoon these days
Washes me back
To start of voyages
To quiet backwaters
To dreamy lagoons
Before time's sacrileges

I redeem my guilt
In this fluid passage
Where peace and light
Grace and balance
Coexist

Time is like a circle
A gold wreath of thorns
Each spike each arrow head
points outwards
But they're all connected
Into a lovely girdle
A circlet of copious pain
That serrates and segregates
Each memory into thin slices
Creepy pastas of memories crawling
Demented over the rails.

Time is dissected in memories
Like prismatic rainbow light
And each bubble contains me in it
Entrapped engulfed
By a world of sad delight.

The sickly sweet sunshine in static decay
Happiness in void
Nullified today.

The question that begs
An answer
Is unwelcome yet understood.
where am I
Today?

Why I'm perched upon
The beginning of yesterday

Where does my future lie?
Where else
But where all our tomorrows fly!

There's no escaping
The end.

There's no remembrance
Of the day we die.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, August 18, 2017

The Jetty

Eyes blazing she gazed
Into where land met sea
A singular frame
purposive poised
Solitaire upon the
Forlorn jetty
Hair whiplashed by
wanton wind
She seemed to me
Wayward vagabond yearnings
Set eternally free.
(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Finding Me

The boys tossed the ball high in the air
Against the boughs of flowering tree
I hoped one perfect white blossom would fall
Just for me
The tall tree quivered and shook its leaves
'Twas not to be.

The ball bounced mighty against the parapet
And flounced away
While I cowered instead of kicking it back
My eyes bent to the ground

Perfect white blossom eluded me
I found a dead leaf
A brilliant red leaf
Turning yellow gold
I held it to my heart
Gently
To take it home
For keeps.

A finder of treasure
Doth never seek
Elusive flower and fruit
But guards tenderly
That which courts it
Or simply chances
To be.

Finders keepers
True
Only losers weep
Into the night
So blue
For what can
Never Be.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Raja's Wednesday prompt...Marry me

Wonder who it had been written for, did he or she accept? Voices, choices from the past disturbed me in my chest. Hurt locker of memories, opened like a oyster beached, two words sandpapered in my heart, will you, won't you..."Marry me?"
(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Spiky and Prickly

Spiky and Prickly
Two brothers in arms
All thorny thrusts
Of aggression
In potted islands of their own.

Cacti have a quiet intimacy
An arrogance of their own
More graceful than flowers
Embedded upon gracious lawns.

I fear Spiky is impotent
For he refuses to bud and blossom
While Prickly blissfully multiplies
Out of his potted throne.

But Spiky is cozy and content
A surreal thimble
Of sheer elegance
I can quite believe
Why the sheer poetry
Of His Beauty
Mustn't be repeated.

Prickly is a try hard go getter
Less privileged and
Yet luckier
Blessed with confidence
His fecundity
Is truly pluckier.

And now
I'm thinking
Whether people
Or plants
It's truly getting clearer
We need to appreciate
Them as they are.
And Thank God
For they're dearer

When we let them live
And let them be
Just watch the show
How each will grow
And bask in the sun
Of their own beliefs.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thoughts on Prickly.

Bravery sticks it's neck out.
Exploring options
slender stem blossoming buds
Ardent quivering anticipation
Of sunlight and rain.

My cactus grows
In quaint silence
More eloquent than words
Tiny undefeated it abides
Gracing my hearth
And thoughts.

Prickly I called it
Christening rite
To make it feel at home
Freedom is sunlight
And hope
Is well nourished
In waters plumbed
Out of depths unknown.

Life will
Find a way
No need for
A welcome mat
Just sprinkle water
On soil
And believe me
That's love enough...

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Bespoke

Heart so lonely that never loved
But Coveted desired fretted for
Chosen objects collected art
empty misery is their part.

Heart a desert a great fire pit
Burnt out cold and hard as lead
With an acid core of discontent
Disconnected from compassion's shade

A bitter fire that burns like bile
Guilty innards full of gall
Desiring only to possess, devour
Smiling houri Instant guile.

In the end the soul crumbles
Into fine desolate particulate
All that's left
Of elaborate assembles
Deceptions dissolved
Blandness numbs
Blank walls are heart
Which don't cherish the ones
They hold.

Heartbreak hotel's pretty chambers
Walls papered with hearts and roses
Fire place full of burnt-out embers
Repeating patterns of paper posies.

Velvet curtains that curtail light
The mind too tired to contemplate
A dreadful dead weight beats inside.
Lost not in love but loveless fate

Hearts have queens and jacks and knaves
And some of us can still turn in aces
But a fool for love
Is a wildcard joke
And she will do
Au naturel bespoke.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

  

Grief

Grief crushes churns powders
regrets for dreams that died
stillborn, unviable.

The sunlight still the same
The shadows lengthen
Grief leans in
Like the third one
Who walks amidst us
Silent,
Sinuous as a snake.

I will let it
All...Out
Someday soon
With a glorious shout
Heartbreak heartache
Smashed by the ardour
Of my daring.

And watch the sunlight melt
Away
Caramel regrets
The miasma of all
Unfinished business.

I will bask in the
Golden yellow
Of timeless here and now
Forever forget
The heart beat
Of yesterday.
.
I will give you away
Precious.

For your memories
Are too dear
For me.
Too soul searing
To hold
Indeed.

Hiss and sizzle

As you Slither out
Of my way.

Or boil and bubble
Into vacuousness.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Sunday, July 23, 2017

Love and Hate

Hate is not clearly demarcated from love. We are not capable of hating what we're indifferent to. Great love can turn to hate if not reciprocated/betrayed/misused or abused.
Hate is a strong primal passion a driving force that can propel us to great heights. It's well said that the best revenge is living well.
But once that has been achieved and the purpose served often hate finds it has become insufficient/redundant/futile.
Love and happiness can and must, then become life's objective. Or the person loses bearing, meaning and essence of humanity.
In that sense love is greater than hate.
It's the way of Life and precondition to it, but hate is not always destructive. It's a instinct in its purest form.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

In a reply to a FB comment on Delano Johnson's thread.

Friday, July 21, 2017

Simple Fool unedited longer version


I am not religious
I am not deep
I am so simple
In one adage
I believe.

As I sow so shall I reap
I must look before I leap
The world can be
A beautiful place
If we strive to embrace
Peace and grace

Love and light
Winning all the wars
The best of us
Ascending
To connect redeem and
Heal our scars

Kindness above all
To thine self be true
And do unto others
As you would like them
To do unto you

I know this mish-mash
Is a cut copy paste
But in cultural
Echo chambers
Of insanity
Perhaps a reconnaissance
And return to roots
Is what would
Serve us best.

I am a fool for love
A simple tool
Not the brightest in the shed
And quite often
An obstinate mule.

But I bathe in the sun's heat
Frolic in the cool winds
The rain sprays my soul
Holiest of oil
And in such  radiant joy 
Am I
Baptised anew.

I know this mish-mash
Is a cut copy paste
But in cultural
Echo chambers
Of insanity
Perhaps a reconnaissance
And return to roots
Is what would
Serve us best.

I am a fool for love
A simple tool
Not the brightest in the shed
And quite often
An obstinate mule.

But I bathe in the sun's heat
Frolic in the cool winds
The rain sprays my soul
Holiest of oil
And in such  radiant joy 
Am I
Baptised anew.

Simple Fool

I am not religious
I am not deep
I am so simple
In one adage
I believe.

As I sow so shall I reap
I must look before I leap
The world can be
A beautiful place
If we strive to embrace
Peace and grace

Love and light
Winning all the wars
The best of us
Ascending
To connect redeem and
Heal our scars

Kindness above all
To thine self be true
And do unto others
As you would like them
To do unto you

I know this mish-mash
Is a cut copy paste
But in cultural
Echo chambers
Of insanity
Perhaps a reconnaissance
And return to roots
Is what would
Serve us best.

I am a fool for love
A simple tool
Not the brightest in the shed
And quite often
An obstinate mule.

But I bathe in the sun's heat
Frolic in the cool winds
The rain sprays my soul
Holiest of oil
And in such  radiant joy 
Am I
Baptised anew.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Poets Scribe

Some say poetry is the art
Of saying something
Without saying it
That's poetry
As an art form

There's another type of poetry
Perhaps a poor second cousin
Perhaps the real deal
That's the living diary
Of one's light, life
And testament.

I stare at the cracked chipped plaster
Where my chair repeatedly scrapes
The walls of my endurance
My foolish heart trembles
With tears and fears
Will I have
My children's remembrance?

I want to tear apart this blank wall
Of time
My future buried inside
Vaults of deliverance
Oblique angles
Mosaic vision
Chronos, my life isn't
Your Impersonal record
Forgotten without eminence
Let me live outcomes
That make sense
Else scribe my heart's
Intolerance.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Poets Scribe

Some say poetry is the art
Of saying something
Without saying it
That's poetry
As an art form

There's another type of poetry
Perhaps a poor second cousin
Perhaps the real deal
That's the living diary
Of one's light, life
And testament.

I stare at the cracked chipped plaster
Where my chair repeatedly scrapes
The walls of my endurance
My foolish heart trembles
With tears and fears
Will I have
My children's remembrance?

I want to tear apart this blank wall
Of time
My future buried inside
Vaults of deliverance
Oblique angles
Mosaic vision
Chronos, my life isn't
Your Impersonal record
Forgotten without eminence
Let me live outcomes
That make sense
Else scribe my heart's
Intolerance.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, June 2, 2017

A note. Humanism.

A note for my own reference.
Humanists, be human.
Accept that there's an indefinable other component to humanity other than reason and logic.
Call it wistful longing for shades of grey amidst black and white.
Call it spiritual song in the heart which longs to be sung.
Or intuition, emotional quotient, ESP or a sixth sense.

Reason and logic are indispensable tools to understand the universe. They analyse data supplied by our sensory organs and process and categorise and then make sense of the known world.
But an unknown world much to our annoyance/exasperation persists like an itch noone can scratch.
Call that quantum physics, spooky action, particle entanglement, Schrodinger's cat phenomenon.
And these inexplicable things are also essential.
To retain a sense of mystery. Awe. Not in pursuit of a higher being necessarily.
But in the pursuit of limitless infinite  knowledge as vast eternal and unending as numbers.
I don't know is so very beautiful. An honest courageous starting point.
Rather than inventing tin gods of jealousy and dominance.
But please don't let  I don't know be the showstopper.
That's where knowledge begins, where mystery and wonder become the beautiful itch you must scratch.
Please accept that there's a place for religion. As an art form. A sort of poetry that guides and sustains.
Like Einstein said.
"...Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind."

Please don't let the fact that most religions are exclusionary jealous misguided human attempts to control what they cannot account for be a cause of throwing out the baby with the bathwater.
The Latin roots of worldly religions was to bind, to control. The Latin word Religare....Which means to tie or bind.
That's religion at its worst. An organisational hierarchical structure that's close minded, binding, static and possessive.

Religion is about personal interaction. An individual's most intimate most sacred transaction with the world within and without.
It is a coming to terms with all the cards life has dealt us, and stacked against us.

So please dear Humanists.
Be merciful and kind and gracious. Let your brave candor, rationality and logos be tempered with an open mind and humble heart.
That's what humanism means to me anyway.
Connecting with other human beings.

Enough said I guess.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

The question

The sky is very clear tonight
And very close to my heart and sight
The stats separately woo my delight
Please, tell me why?

The scattered feathers of elegant clouds
Cleanse my soul of tattered doubts
Moving planned indeterminacy
Tell me why?

Why shouldn't we, robots, automatons be?
Look up and and down
All seriousness contrived,
Call the soil chemical compost
And tabulate the ions in the sky?

Why paint with beauty?
Why stoke the flames?
Of passionate love and tenderness

Why not like animals procreate
And thrive to survive
At any rate?

Tell me why
We're given eyes to seek
And absorb and adulate
Radiant light
Tell me why
The darkness of deserted skies
Bring out regrets and reveries?

If joy and regret
Are components
Of this corporeal human frame
How can we restricted be
By atoms molecules and
Logic gates?

I break my atoms
In Holy mass
Partake each sub particle
And tell me please
When you have broken
Down, every bit of me

What immutable singularity
It is, you see in me?

Higgs Boson God particles
Fly faster than wraiths of spectral dreams
And at the moment of capture
Mass eludes
Electing to transmute to energy.

Tell me why
You would like to pin
The butterfly deep within
Kill the cocoon of pondering

Tell me why?

For I'm only a caterpillar
Yet I dream
That I may be
Sheathed in sequin wings
To fly.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Death Upon Me

If I die let it be in love
I am not afraid to part
I know how hard this life can be
And Death dwells in peace,
in my heart.

As an unknown constant
That numbers our days and nights
I fear not that I shall
Miss this sordid life.

I am only afraid
That the starry skies
Overhead
Will forevermore depart
And that I truly dread.

I am only afraid that
I will nevermore remember
Those so dear to my heart.

Death is a kinsman, my closet friend
To whom I escape time and time again
My anguish express my anger shed
So that I can live in Love's Amen.

For life is love and hatred death
Death can't rob me, of much else
Yet my heart yearns once more to choose
Another sunrise and sunset's  hues.

Life suffocates me with sufferings
Death is a daydream yearning
But my Home is Love
And as below
I pray you Death, be it
So above
Give me another chance to be
Human in sweet Mortality
Caged mystic anatomy.

Or let me live an unknowing bird
Time and again
On fruit bearing tree
My life a song offering
As the beloved sons and daughters
Of Adam and Eve
Soul search in vain for meanings.

The only meaningful life
Is love
True my friends
Be it upon my blood
Or sworn upon my beating heart.
And even that will burn out
On the pyre of Burning Ghats
Sending soft sooty smoke phalanges
Above the Holy waters of
Many/My would be Ganges.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Humanism Atheism etc

Now I'm angry. Really.

I hope I can articulate the reason for this state of mind.

I think I'm reasonably sane, balanced....neither an atheist nor particularly religious. Neither an intellectual nor an ignoramus.

Perhaps you could label me an agnostic or mildly spiritually inclined.

But I do not disseminate my ideas in a hurtful manner.

I leave a little room for maneuver, a little grace and dignity for people of faith.

Sometimes the things people believe test my patience.
But seriously that's so totally 'not my circus not my monkeys.'

I am a n individual. Not a cultist.

With aspirations to be first a human being, then a woman, and yes I have a few cultural- civilizational dog tags. I sprung from the Indic civilization and am a Hindu, and an Indian.

And I live with a desire to cling to those roots which I respect to a great extent. Mostly
Love them, at times revere them,  but also desire to fix the inherent problems of my belief system.

Every system has its petty flaws its weaknesses.

And I wish to tailor it to my personal need to be a good human being first.

Hinduism is loosely structured and multicentric. It's easy enough to be part of it, without being swallowed by the whole of it.

Now I need to share a jarring experience.
This so called humanist calls it a Dirty Dangerous cult . And a whole lot of other abusive epithets.

And I have a question.

Is that really the outstanding hallmark of a humanist?

Because then I don't want to be one. This kind of humanism, will,  I fear pit people against each other, and put people off humanism.

But I have some more serious issues.

Hinduism is not without its own evils/challenges.
Unlike Abrahamic religions we do not believe in one infallible Holy Book. We are not obligated to follow Manu Smriti, the Hindu codified laws like say the Sharia.

But yes... We have to anachronistic antiquated yet still in practice caste system, an evil unique to Hinduism.
Reform must occur. It is already happening an unstoppable force from within.
With education and government initiative, since Independence.
That is why we had and still have years of reservations and quotas since Independence to encourage and uplift our less fortunate ones.
With or without ulterior motives on the part of the government...But that's another story.

Responsible maneuvers are needed.

Not other religions jumping into the fray with notions of one upmanship. Calling every evil under the sun a result of casteism, and identifying Hinduism without any saving grace or distinction as a cult practicing caste based discrimination. Unequivocally identifying and then defining Hinduism as a caste system based cult and nothing else.

Wow. That's like saying that nothing else that's good and wise and positive in Hinduism matters except the eminently ridiculous Holy Cow and Varna or caste system.

Myopic deliberate evil propaganda shouldn't be dismissed, just because it's sly underhanded and an  elegantly spun calumny.

Because if not refuted, It's insidious and spreads among the vulnerable, especially our children.

I have had christian apologists claiming Hinduism Must have spread by aggressive proselytizing simply because it's an ancient wide spread religion with anchors as far as Bali, Malaysia and Indonesia.

Hear me out. Those were days of mass migratory waves annexation, conquest and intermarriage with natural assimilation of ideas and life styles.

Not an iota of proof exists that the ancient prototypical Hindus bore aggressive witness with missionary zeal to convert the local populace of any land.

And you know the adage, "Innocent Till proven guilty?"

Well these people have conveniently turned it upon it's head.

Their  "logic" goes somewhat like this.

This ancient nearly 10 thousand year old way of life spread far and wide. Therefore, it Must have been through proselytyzing.
Oh and the reasons they did not convert aggressively in historically documented times?

Must be because they were confused which caste to assign the neo convert to. :)
It's hearsay and guilt by assumption and presumption.

But what is frightening is the fanatical relentless fervour with which it is being preached.

Christian apologists are presenting fiction as facts and proceeding to back each other up not from credible and unaffiliated sources but from each others own cooked up fiction. Without a shred of proof.

An example? St Thomas and his alleged landing on Indian shores, The claim that the great Tamil hindu poet Thiruvallavur was actually a Christian poet.

Heck they've even co opted our own Hindu God/Gods...Lol.

Brahma or Prajapati is purportedly Jesus who also visited Indian shores.
Go figure.

I don't know if I care.

I don't care that Christmas was actually the date of the winter solstice. A pagan celebration of the birth of the sun.
Because Jesus was born more towards Spring.  Remember the new born Lambs et cetera?

Or that Easter is Ostara.
It's fun to celebrate it either ways. And a source of spiritual solace and community.

But seriously guys, acknowledge.
Don't plagiarize and co-opt.
Assimilate. Don't try to erase historical roots and tamper with authenticity.
You sterilize too much, and lose all that culturally enriches you.
Differences give us depth and versatility.
So don't take it away, please

Don't try to rape a religion of its own vital sense of itself, deny all that is positive about it,  and denude it of any claim to goodness.

Let's remember how witch burnings at the stake for not believing used to be a practice.

Quit trying to go to the other extreme. And burn those who hold onto beliefs identity and  pride in their roots.
When you insist on atheism you end up giving humanism a bad name.

End of the day... it's just another ism, unless you forgo all propaganda and vested interests, instead of unilaterally practicing kindness and bonhomie.

A little more joie de vivre as your raison d'être.

And a little less manipulation and hatred please.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017




Glopowrimo 30

Glopowrimo 30

Have you ever really scoured a dirty floor
Scraping out dead cockroach eggs lined up against the wall
Have you found joy
In exorcising dirt?
Have you been cleansed
Purer, closer to God
In that?

I muted the shades
Threw down the blinds
On my brain.

I cut and chopped and peeled
My thumbs stinging
From ugly
Potato peels
Onion and garlic stains.

Golden danced somnolent
Static stone butterflies
In morning breeze
Carved bigh up
on fluted columns holding
Up pretentious mansion
Beyond my homely verandah
Soothing me soft and tender
With insightful beauty's
Vividly startling ease.

Purple wooed the willowy
Jacaranda, slender
Bewitching tease,
And I hummed
In a sudden spurt of
Emetic joyous relief.

Songs crooned
Like holy balm
As I toiled and slaved
Pleasures harnessed
Upon the spine
Of hard work's well earned
Lease.

A burning anthem lit inside
Croaking blazing pain
Into binary channels
Of my bicameral brain,
Blood flooding my optic nerves
Till saline relief
Pounded down  the doors
Of doubt and disbelief.

Every single coursing tear
A caustic courageous pearl
Necrotizing impotence
Cauterizing pain
To pleasure
My unwitting human heart
Hoards such
Strange treasures.

And weary
Cinderella
Who didn't go to the ball
Bereft of coach
While the country
Pumpkin glares
Shed stone tears
At the witching hour
Into black hole basin.

Simple country bumpkin
This maiden's demon lover
The poetess in her,
Trapped,
A maryred gyre.

So Thank God there are
Dirty dishes
By the dozen
To clear.

Perhaps
Hard work a template
For the gene
To mutate and adapt
Transcripting unseemly whims
Till transcendental
The tides of fate
Move us closer to a
Serendipitous spate
Of opportunities
Born of
Amazing dreams.

I can ruminate and procrastinate
Perhaps even expiate
Like the time I smashed
Prettiest  porcelain
In an evil hapless rage
The silent plea of phone calls
I ignored
Helpless to even acknowledge
The all too human demoness,
Harboring soul gnashing umbrage.

Regrets are degrees of
Enlightenment
Hard work the median
The golden ratio
Whorls of Repetitive patterns
Harmonics that
Revive and recreate.

I can cast out my soul
On soft wintry fields
My hands busy
Washing away my umpteen
Sins
Bleeding over the silent sink
I accept betrayals
I surrender
At the brink
Of defeat.

Merged with Cristo
And Krishna
I find Christ,
Mosaic visionary seer,
I swear, hard work
Makes a prophet
Out of a liar,
With destiny l
Have a tryst.

I cannot fear
What I hold dear.

I give the Noddy plates
A gentle smear
A soupçon of soap suds
And watch the breathy bubbles
Break, nibbling away
The dirt that accumulates.

My elegant elbow grease
My sodden lashes
My heavy knees
My aching surreal spine
They are real immediate
And divine.

They open up portals
As dreams align
I'm kinder than I have
Ever been
My fate is flux
A torque in motion
When I give in.

When I
Give up
Give in
I give my all
Transcending
Four ugly walls.

Only then
Am I alive.
Dreaming
Inside the mortal coil s
Of daily toils
Life
I am revivified.

Purplish pink bougainvillea
Violent cool violet jacaranda
Grace dripping mercy on trellises
Garnering greatest focus
When tireless hands
Concentrate on
Possible locus
Cyclical circles
Of completion.

Set free our souls
Timeless Nightingales
Tracing  the eternal
Traveller,
Of both,
The universe within
And without.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Saturday, April 29, 2017

Glopowrimo 29 second prompt

Glopowrimo 29 second prompt

First line... Dew on the digital print
Last line... The colour after blood has drained.

Dew on the digital print
My soul absolved of succubus guilt
I have transferred mildewed memories
In the House of Dreams rebuilt.

The finer details go missing
The cathartic core remains
Soft shaded nuances bypassed
Spiritum vitae retained.

How I stoked your sentiments
Under the resolute rubicon sun
My sins of commission
Your sins of omissions
Like blood on  vellum runs.

A clinical digital print out
Of another imperfect  time
When the well of thought ran deep
An offset world where a lithograph print
Engraved, was a memory we'd forever keep.

Now  you do your dance
A daughter and son
Gracious by your side
I shed a drop
Of sweet requiem
And set the digital print aside.

Moving on with firm
Digital stroke
To another page
Another print
Another world
Upon queued up walls
Thus I evoke
Choice memories
Vicariously,
Impotently.

Wounds
No more
Stigmata for
Repentant soul
A war Glory
In pensive zone
The insipid sepia
After tones
Retrospective mural
Cold blooded runes
The colour after
Blood has drained.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Glopowrimo 29

Glopowrimo 29 My name/legend

Total facts known about Amrita

Mother is a tongue I spoke
Chez Moi on the back of memories broke
An invalid bed
Sunlit memoirs of heart and head
Mother is my
Treasure chest
And why this ship sails.

Father is
Both trick and treat
Lozenges and lollipops
When I was ill
Eye of life's hurricane
Centre that keeps me still.

Father is faith
Life must be bade
To do my will.

My home, thought bubbles
Of memories
Of irridescent hues
Shape shifting prismatic spheres
They sift truth from oceanic
Whitewashed blues.

My beloved
Is a love song
A prayer on paper
A Muse demanding rapier
Who sheds light with blood
Coral red upon foamy seas
Peace and acceptance
Life drunk to its very lees

I am Amrita
I am
Victim and victor,
I'm unworthy gladiator
Thrown in the arena
In the hunger games of life
Scorched by fire that cannot burn
Quenching thirst on the brink
Of devouring deluges
Drowning for deliverance.

How did I begin?

Mystery sighing softly
A whisper begging revelation.
Truth mating destiny.

How will I end?
When river has danced itself dry
Redemption at the sea shore
Shells sparkling
My oceanic lore
When all my labours of love
Have been fulfilled.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, April 28, 2017

Day 28 glopowrimo

Please tell me what she did wrong
On that bright sunny December morn
Hanging out the wash on the terrace
Helping her Mom.

A medical intern
A family's pillar of support
A kid brother's pride
Backbone of a
Hard-working household
Barely middle class
Struggling for a foothold.

To success.
To better days.
That last morning
Maybe 7 am...Or 8?
Her last happy place.

I am choked up.
I am all broke up inside.
I cannot write dry eyed about
Her wild ride.

Close to midnight.
For her then
And now
For my heavy heart.

Sons of Belial
Let loose on earth
Battering her
Tearing her entrails.

The moon wails.
Gaia screamed in hell

But I have taken your
Fearless tale.
Tigress by the tail.
Since that dread
December night
You were raped
In a moving bus to hell.

I have hated since
The life of Pi.
For the life of me
I can't tell you why.

But the tiger's jaded eye
Makes me shudder
Makes my cry
Weak with fear, voided,
Loose limbed with dread.

But ...
Lovely Nirbhaya ever since
That night,
You murdered fear
With your dying breath
With your stubborn
Battle with death.

You fought for all of us
Woman who are caged.
You refused to lie down
And die.

Looked fear in the eye
And lived briefly
To teach us
Fear must die.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Dreams Die First

Because I'm an outlaw. Please pardon me, if you find my language offensive.

Dreams Die First

Salted caramel popcorn dreams
Popping up in my dream machine
Salted away
For a rainy day
In an aching childhood land
Far far away.

Two score tears or more have passed
Happy days are here at last
Time to unpack old yonder dreams
Icy sleet in the air
Readymade  rain it seems.

Raining upon the garbage dumps
Raining upon the gangrene stumps
Raining upon lost ashen dreams
Mind orgasms as the years streams

Thoughts fly away on night's superstring
Sleep  tight strung, an unwelcome thing
This horrible game of thrones
Leaves lovely bones
Life presents
Its own unraveling.

My soul sodomized again
And again
Tearing the fabric
Of my brain
Kill the dirty thoughts
Shoot the messenger first
Dreams leap
Blind with lust
Harbingers of pain.

I will try my best
I will change my luck
I will try my hardest
Life exquisitely sucks 
With such mind fucks.

Dreams die first
Is the lie you are told
They never die
But just get
Tired and old.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Shoes

Jaguar aspirations
Julian incandescence
Shod in cool
January's jitters
Leaving room for
No mercy
No errors

Pretty polka dotted
Wealth, sinuous strides
She leopard
Graceful gloating
Stages an entrance
Leaving no traces
As she slinks shimmering
Across roomful of strangers
Undaunted wild
Beautiful beyond compare.
Untameable enigma
beast without peer.

Power Play in earnest
No harness but
Svelte buckles
Leapordess
Your shoes
Are every man's fetish.

Kill me soft and sweet
in those slinky heels.
No contest,
No rain
On your parade.
Walk all over me
All over again,
Dazzling danseuse
In predatory beauty.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Monday, April 10, 2017

Earthly love

Earthly love

Earthly love wearing fetters
Constrained to orbit beloved Sol
Gaia's embrace is a prayer
The Mighty Ra blesses
With benevolence.

But should earth come closer
Should Sun draw nearer
The pyre of passion
Towering higher
Walls break down
Earth come around
Dancing one last
Spin
Around her Axis
And his pivotal orbit.

To melt down in the fiery orb
Orange red displeasure.
Her children decimated
Love's sanctuaries obliterated.
What price this edgy love
Of checks and balances
Forever and ever
Needing to maintain distance?

Abject blue and cold
Poor earth moves away
Sullenly spinning
Far far away
The ties are broken
Hurting hurtling past
Misogynous lovers
Ares glaring
Jove staring
Through giant red spotted hubris
Neptune nefarious
Sexily silent
The last Frontiers
Of Supercharged Uranus
And devious Pluto
Transversed

Where goes earth mother
In her flight of fancy?

Too cold the art
Of holding court
La solitaire

Holding hands
Was her only desire
But how can soft clay
Withstand fire?

Her tears turned to
Glaciers
Time frozen to
Eternal sorrow
Uniform darkness
Robbed hopes
Of Tomorrow

Sanity is love
That accepts boundaries
Withholding nothing
But that which preserves it.

So the lady returns
To her High station
Of Grace
She will not reach out again
To kiss Ardor's face

Content to bask
In warmth
That's tempered to caress.
So in sweetness and light
May thrive
Her children
The human race

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Friday, April 7, 2017

Dogs of War

Dogs of war
Wages of sin
Profit and loss
Don't count us in.

The numbers odd
Evens out the loss
War must be waged
Profits made
Any which way
The coin is tossed.

War must be waged
For down the ages
Wages must be paid
Balance the ledger
Of warriors-sages.

Earn then
The hard wages of sin
Count your child's tears in
This year's grim accounting.

Use them in glossy covers
Transnational headlines
Be moved to tears
Don't watch out
For the graves dug out
Under our feet.

Trenches dug-out,
Bodies lugged out,
Impromptu graves
For the men who don't
Count.
This world is
A butcher's
Tax benefit orphanage.

...
(Down Route 50 the
Story goes
Pony express
A trail one rarely chose.
Riders of the apocalypse anew
With those young men
You asked for,
In phrase glib and snide,
"Orphans preferred"
You advertised.

What about their brides?
What about their babies?
What about their souls?

Aren't you going to fill those
With bullet holes?

The wages of war
Are profits of sin
Reap the gruesome gain
At skulls Harvest time
Don't count me in.

Understand your
Decimation
Was all to a point.

The common man crushed
The heroes trussed
By laws of the land
Punitive legalities
They couldn't understand.

You're at your table
We are at your feet
Picking up the crumbs
Of our defeat.

War crimes committed
Not just by dogs of war
We let loose
But by those guns
That we funded
War mongers remitted.

Humanity forevermore
Remain unacquitted.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Anger

Anger is just
Another name for helplessness
Hunger in the heart
Hard shell intact
No worries
No problems
No comment
Won't let you
See my
Real self
For your pity
Will usher in
Judgement.

Self imposed
Exile
Anger is just a wall
We build
When hope is gone
That we can connect
Really connect
With others
That we're never alone.

Humankind
Can be very unkind.

Friendship can be
Ships that passed
Each other in the night.

Love can be
A making do.

Anger is only
A defence.
A response too.

Find courage.
Find composure.
Deflect anger
with the shield of
Compassion.

Start over.
Each time
You lose the battle.

Be your own watchtower
Guard with honour
Your progress.

Someday
Anger will diffuse
Into hot tears
That cool you.

Learn to smile
Smokily
Across that haze
Of tears.

You will be thankful
For it.
In the years
To come.

Wake up again
And again
To fresh worlds
New seasons
Under the sun.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

What's up World

Tacky kind of world
Between glossy covers
Reams of emptiness
Shallow subliminal spaces
Lock up time
At the prison.
Your neon orange jumpsuits
Are mental markers
Know how well
You embrace hell
In your cortical cages.

Beautiful dream
Swallow it
Take the blue pill
Dream as big
As the suburban villa
You build.
Park a Porsche
There's always one
To fit your budget
Your need to signal
Status quo
To style icon world.

Logos gone for a toss
The logo is all
Tacky hieroglyphics
On the wailing wall
Pictograms
For picture perfect people
Airbrushed
Photoshopped
Willing sheeple.

Copies of copies
Images of images
The highest ideal
Is Imitation.
Of Imitation.

We've done
Plato proud.

Please tell us
The lint you brushed
Off your jeans
The hair you flicked
Was all your own
Move

Dance choreographed by
Others
Dancers puppets
The spectators puppets
The government puppets
The dreamers
You guessed it
Puppets on a pill
Programmed to confuse
Yet please.

Euthanized before death
Lively anorexic wraiths.

Tacky lights
Fade out signs
This alley's blind
Black hole night.

The coffee's fried
Just right
In burnt plastic cups
Your plans tonight?
Do tell,
What else is up?

(c) Amrita Valan 2017

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Apocalypse

Ghoulies ghosties zombies creep
On full moon nights
Lecherous shadows leap

A hint of foul in the breeze
So fair
The graves yawning up
Putrid rush of musty air.

Ripe rotten smells
Hang heavy on the multi verse
No running away
You're the blip on the radar
Of their intergalactic curse.

Pulsating nights
Supernova streaks
Frenzied gnashing of fangs
Chalk white
Pockmarked
The Grim Reaper
Reaps.

Innocent blood washes up
On foamy brine
Ruby splashes
Under Goth moonshine.

Sloth Feet tottering
Numb Hearts battering
Dead Souls shattering
Exposed nerves on fire.
They've lit the Deadwood
Of a Cosmic pyre.

Endless doom
No escape
Thriller night,
Forevermore,
Doppler shifting
Uncertain shapes.

Ghoulies ghosties zombies loom
Shadowing towering walls
Erasing the light of reason
In sanity's room.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017