Uncivilized

Wearing shirt, coat and suit
I viewed the utterly naked
And considered without any doubt
The semi clad as unworthy uncivilized

Arrogance permitted not to take account

Of my excess and unwillingness
To share the great numbers of out-fit
Making the other expose and me greater uncivilized

20.03.1997

posing and protesting

she posed to my camera
with a grasshopper
in between her beak
supper for her baby robin

perhaps protesting

simultaneously
my naming her territory:
badland

affirming assertively

plenty of prey
in good land
her hometown

23.06.2006

drown me!

i keep erecting tall fences
between you and me as i ignore you
in your tattered garments pushing
the shopping cart on the inner city road

and i strengthen that fence

with an extra post as i
pass by you lying on a floor
concrete, cold and hard

and again, this time when my heart

holds you in contempt those handful
in black garments standing
on roadside holding placards

reading: stop racism and promote justice

yet another post i plant
as i pass the asian immigrant
and i secretly drop a thought in my heart

“the cause for my lack of prosperity”

the wall between you and me goes taller       
with my attendance in festive feasts
and my gusty singing in solemn assemblies

while i watchfully uphold my wallet

hence now i pray for your grace
that you dismantle the fences
i have erected, and uproot

those fence-posts i have posted

to keep you out, flooding me
with your charm until i drown
completely, in you, my poverty

drown me in you

i pray now for your grace
that you dismantle the fences
i have erected
and uproot those fence-posts

i have firmly posted

to keep you out;
by your mercy
bring down those concrete walls

i have vigilantly constructed

around me,
even as my crooked mind
and stubborn heart

preventing your providence

attending
to my soul’s deepest needs;
flood me with your charm

until i completely

drown in you
my very beginning
my now, and my end

god in Abbotsfield!

in this land of plentiful abundance
god is a colored immigrant
and his name remains unknown
he rents his abode in Abbotsfield, Edmonton
that stinks with the smell of homeless john

in Beverly the Somali and Sudanese refugees dream

god breaking artillery guns and armored tanks
making hoes, ploughs, and pruning hooks
that their deserted land, once again, may prosper
with North Americans playing no messianic games

in wintry nights these men and women keep awake

by bombarding phrases heard on Sunday
empty and meaningless praise to an unreal god
a service to the poor, supporting with whole heart
structures that keep the rich strong and in control

christmas creed

i believe in Jesus of Nazareth
and in the power of the gospel
to release me from my greed
to serve the poor in their need

i believe in Jesus of Nazareth

born in the town of Bethlehem
born to Mary and Joseph
a simple common law couple

i believe in Jesus of Nazareth

whose birth, singularly celebrated
by humble, underpaid shepherds
as first christmas to the world

i believe in Jesus of Nazareth

who is further marginalized in christmas
that promotes self-indulgent consumerism
and lighting competitions in the world

i believe in Jesus of Nazareth

greatest human model and my inspiration
to a life of simplicity, a humble
service to the cause of global justice

friend and foe

failure to discriminate
the friend from my foe
cost me much
and many times

like my releasing

the rabid dog entangled
with his chain
in my barbed wire fence

knowing not he was infected

and have already killed
all but one Muscovy duck
from my friendly flock

becoming a flock

the Bohemian waxwings
with Cedar waxwings
well integrated into one flock
arrived to announce

the birth of one who breaks

the middle wall, prolonging
their visit until the delayed
snow touched down in Barrhead

teaching me, the wax

in ears will keep waxing
and make me deaf to sobs of neighbor
until i leave large space

for those outside my wall

breaking, if needed
the center barricade of bias
and letting me know

the crown the waxwings

carry, is master’s gift
for crucifying the ego
individualism, to become a flock

struggle in (a stolen) bed

i saw my sister lay very ill in bed
slogging for him many years on bed
her display was disturbed
and saw matter multiplied

grasped at theorist teacups

also visionary wineglasses
instead of hard realities
her hearing was impaired

her memory too was injured

her speech was unintelligible
when she came round to be helped
it was necessary to keep a note pad

that she might indicate in writing

what she could not specify in speech
but her handwriting was bad
and she an indifferent speller

with her husband, Tom

more than a lethargic reader
causing bizarre barrier
between the husband and wife

that i was called in to solve 

administration of mutton
instead of that medicine
the substitution of Tea

for Tom

and the baker for bacon
were among the mildest of my mistakes
leaving my sister to struggle in bed

hurt

teach me to weep
when my heart is hurt
teach me to sleep
when my body is hurt
teach me to creep
when my mind is hurt
teach me to sweep
when my soul is hurt



* Photograph provided by Gitanjali Victor

a battle i won

a battle i won
without fighting my enemies

those thousands of black

green-bugs
that invaded my new home
with no fence
nor other defence
frightening my frail folks
and peace loving self
that too on the very day
i moved in, totally unprepared for a war

but i fought them

not with ammunition, or a sharper weapon
but with compassion
providing them in plenty
their drinking water
their eventual grave

anti-aging cream

wrinkles and deceptive wrinkles
ironed with the magic cream
magically multiply
that clinging of coins in my pocket

collecting also illusions in my mind

whose soul is already anesthetised
for that performing of extra sex
and spicing, that cushioning of my wallet

with it i look for a larger living space

now that i have enhanced  my size
to become visible in radars
that matter in this world

the wise the average and the fools!

the wise learn from mistakes others make
the average learn from mistakes they own
the fools learn not from their mistakes
nor from those others make

still waiting for a kiss

much that i wanted i have acquired
yet emptiness fills my colossal hut
most battles i fought i have won
but a feeling of losing the war fills my heart

thus i sing the song of melancholy

still looking up like that croaking frog
for the kiss of the prince to transform
me to a princess to be happy thereafter

picking tomorrow’s per diem

exposed to earthly elements
and those pains of patterns
the impact of wind, breeze
the rain, snow and sun

like the ground squirrel

i  still ate and collected
my provisions for longer winters
by that stealing, picking

smaller cakes of soap, a towel

a napkin, little bits of coffee
then a little bit of tea, with sweetener
and whitener with dedicated intent

to change the composition, to prolong

my life, when life in tunnel
filled with pitch dark light
moves only slowly at snail’s speed

free

my double bed

keeps my single frame
free and warm

mountaintop experience

i sat there on top of the mountain
unmoving like a rock
waiting as long as thirty five years
for an illuminating mountaintop experience

a transfiguration to happen, i hoped

one such as peter, james and john witnessed
with that man who walked to his gallows
courageously but only with his loin cloth

and suddenly there was smoking

spitting of also a little lava
but only for four days
before that volcano erupted with fire

brimstone, even saint patrick that day

could not protect me from her hot ash
emptying wallet and honoured existence
transforming me to a destitute

and in that new status

i deciphered my summit, my buddhahood
as i discerned the futility of that bottomless pit
i tried hard to build for my comfort

second kick on my face

with that piercing pain in heart
your mother caused with her kick
on my face, i carried
your sleeping son and your shoe
for mending in the mall

on my return and to complete

my mission, i bent down
to tighten and fix shoe strap
but with brimming ungratefulness
you kicked me, again, on my face

submitting to greed

greed i loaded in his little
wheelbarrow, shovelling
from pile unloaded earlier
to spread and press with roller

covering multitude of weed

those related vices promoted
in the name of booming
business to feed that greed

before covering with sod

that superficial sophistication
not rooted in divine mind
promoting humane human

thus risking also my health

directing his soul to sickness
in path crooked but wide
with my silent compliance

wholeness

this jigsaw puzzle, the many hundred
pieces, now needs to be assembled
put together for the unfolding of a perfect
picture, that one wholeness

but who will put this together

before it is either dumped in a ditch
or, cremated to make a handful of ash
to be scattered in hearts of none

should this bud needs to be nipped

without that granting of a go-ahead
to wholeness, a flowering and fruition
the purpose of a being, a becoming

triple w

in that blood oozing out

from my mind and heart

my soul slipped and slid

into your hand that grabbed

me to your bosom, the universe

so immediate, but yet far beyond

that sum total of all my kind

knows, or could imagine

to float, glide with an engine

that require not fuel solid

liquid, or gaseous, but just trust

as that of foetus in womb

waiting to be released to smile

eventually, through repeated protests

frequent failures but with that triple w:

wandering with wonder in wilderness

henry victor     14.10.2011

i offer

at your invisible feet i offer this set

of bones of this body, mind and soul
this disjointed person, myself, like a poem
incomplete, un-poetic with rhythm

evaporated like the dew drop

on the tropical wild grassland
refuse not this inconvenient offering
unsystematic in its playing

of that flute, emptiness, the mysterious

hollow in the middle i missed control
with my licking the edge, the solid
casing that shone and my spirit misled

sun in midnight

i am with me
alone
my tea-candle lit
gently wavering

silence set in

except that buzzing
in my furnace and an oozing
of a little noise
in my laptop, my qur’an
reminding, the working
is perfectly well

peace, yes

no peace, yes
that beyond is mine
my current quest

understanding, yes

not understanding, yes
that beyond is mine
my present food gathering

emptying

that self-emptying
that self esteem
found in jesus
walking to his tree
lifted high, higher than
all social ladder
could lift my soul
i need to climb

if possible

before my sleep
with no dream
and to cover no blanket
wool, cotton or that
synthetic

most ticks

those that itched
my mind and body
earlier
have left me
looking for and searching
other dogs
leaving me to heal
scars they left
on the skin of my soul

i sit alone contemplating

that balm that removes
strain
and stain on my spirit

will i find or not

matter very little to me now
but i am looking
with that midnight
sun
that, and that matter most

toddler of grace

deserted in the desert of the dusk
of my youth to stagger and stumble
on the swamp of unemployment
to become trapped in the trap of poverty

but i am now intoxicated with red wine

that divine love demanding a dance
expecting from this toddler of grace
a demeanour of the man who embraced

his death in loin cloth, leaving elegance

his fabric of glory to enemy
to cover shame, the stink in soul
and with cream covering aging wrinkles

night dreams

my mind is omnipresent god

neither sleeping, nor slumbering

not even in the coldest night
painting dreams, thinking thought

and constructing poems
forever with vivid images

simple symbols and newer metaphors
rooted in my cultural existence

extra marital service

the light in darkness
is my former spouse
who unbuttons her blouse
for neighbour, her breast to browse

as soon as light in light
her legal spouse, leave the house
yielding eventually a full service
of letting him, an orgasm to release

in that corner of darkness
where none except that silence
silently watch her undress
so that, one day, she also undo the marital knot

fear of my shadow

i am no boxer and i box none
due to my fear of being injured
by my opponent’s stronger arm
and better built with lesser fault

my frailty, frailer than my grandson
a little over two years of eating and
boxing, has boxed tightly my shadow
that i fear, unlike my little boy

who is irritated by the shadow
following him, once grabbed his flag
and hit hard my wall, damaging, to kill
and destroy his own silent tracker