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