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
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