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

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

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