my new home

justin, my three-year old grandson
with his lego pieces built a house
on my coffee table, and a garden
beside, and for my car a driveway

who will cook in this house
from him i queried, for which
he responded quick, ‘thatha’
responding with similar speed

also to my second question
who will eat here
‘justin and thatha’
with no doubts about it

henry victor     12.11.2012

Note: The common Tamil word for grand-father is “thatha”.

the struggle

to remain a little longer under that blanket
in the space heated with my own body heat
i preferred but struggling against, in the same
time, idleness to live the ideal of an early riser

i win the battle but with an empty trophy
i wake but to empty trash for collection
to shorten a word to fit into an empty page
to re-naming empty, un-rhyming phrase as poem

do i complain, then, to heaven the unfairness
picking crumbs fallen from the table when
the partying is over and the music is stopped
as i still secretly hope the distant water to be real

for too many mirages i have witnessed
after driving many miles through the land
of opportunity, a journey I began leaving
my mother land to book my six foot space

henry victor     22.10.2012
 


 

an emerging poet

as i carefully chewed my snack to digest, to chew
it thinner and tinier than the sesame seed
i had just consumed, i noticed my face on left
side suddenly swelling, covering also my ear

prompting my daughter to drop me in the emergency
clinic where wires connected my beats to a heart
monitor that informed a confusing signal, also, confusing
the young doctor in his early stage of a long journey

my three-year old grandson, an emerging poet
next day narrated to a friend the story of a monster
from that broken building hitting his grandpa
on face and he took the old man to the hospital

henry victor     20.10.2012

next

men in turban sometimes i see
two other times i see three four
or even five seated around the picnic table
my rest stop beside the walking trail

they chat a chant in an alien tongue
effectively excluding others speaking
the language of the adopted soil
then i saw these men sitting on table

announcing another set of values to drive
others away from vicinity; they moved
one day to lay aged frames on platform
instead placing picnic food like others

as i probed what’s next they
vacated to the ground to sit around
playing a pack of cards one man even
waving as if inviting me to the game

but in heart i pondered who’s next
after my brother Rex, followed by mum
and dad, had crossed to the other side to play
that game none had come back to name

28.08.2012

nature’s nostrils

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

did the poplars beat paper calendars

in announcing an imminent autumn
aren’t they nature’s nostrils to smell
air from far mountains, or that farther

coast carrying the frost to soon churn

them into soft snow to scatter in a sombre
mood melting human arrogance to move
faster and fly higher than the tallest hills

soon windows and doors will be shut

air-tight not to let grief of the deciduous
to enter hearts of men, women, and children
creating new music behind barred doors

26.08.2012

Note: A painting done by Gitanjali Victor when she was 12 years old.

 

 

fear

my tiny brain frequently billets larger fears
letting the fungi like invisible roots
to enter my flesh, fibres, bones, and the soul
covering my mind with mildew of rottenness

this flesh inside my skull, now, freely gives
away odour displeasing to my inner nostrils, my heart
transforming my psyche to that of a restless dog
running from one day to another with the tongue out

this thorn in my head, the many dreads dwelling
inside my flesh will come out only with a sharper one
the brain boarding a bigger fear belittling my brain
by flushing content with fleshing of a grander vision

22.08.2012

strangers

destiny walks in the familiar mall
with unknown kind and colour
dress, dodging me always
lest i stop to converse with her

forever she remains hidden
to my eyes like the hiddenness
of my own soul so close
yet unfamiliar as hiddenness

of that life-giving life
blinded to my mind, intellect
with neither logic nor vocabulary
to affirm or deny with confident collect

14.08.2012

curled tail

dawning dusk of my life to enhance
a sense of a companionship
in an abode abandoned by a pet bitch
of over three decades i brought in a dog

whose tail was curled like
the mind of a retarded human
that i tried to uncurl repeatedly
but succumbing to un-success

unwittingly also enhancing
loneliness adding extra weight
and cluttering luggage reconfirming
van Gogh’s ‘misery never ends’

14.08.2012

leech

leech, that boneless, the loss

of purpose inching to suck
all the blood from my soul
has begun munching my mind

already weakened by a lack

of exercising, a disciplined reading
with dishing out to followers
acquired wisdom, the sweet cake

being stagnant too long in one

spot and anchored in a dead
love makes it easier for leech
to bring life to a screeching halt
 
11.08.2012

freedom

knowing not from where i came
or to where i am going, in confusion
i called the freedom to wash feet
of another my servitude

now lying naked with more naked

whom i freely choose letting
them freely caress my sensitive
spots i embrace enslavement

my being is blind to the line

dividing freedom that comes
from embracing a responsibility
but with joy and pleasures, lust

09.08.2012

 

letting go

folly in mind holds tight what is not
his hurting heart refusing to release
energy required to see beyond
the current bog holding being

like a dead elephant with legs up in air
from becoming the flying soul
with power to soar higher heights
than the strongest eagle

plummeting to bottomless
pit, un-retrievable now until
he learns the art to un-attach
the enslaved enslaving one

03.08.2012

generosity

she was very generous
giving her all to me for three
and a half decades like the land
my mother had to sustain us

she sneaked the same to others
as well before i woke from sleep
like sharing a stimulating coffee
in cups that i sipped from

someone else fairer is
the lucky unlucky one
enjoying her all with her
old habit of extending grace

04.08.2012 

picknicking

again the four men like gulls
are loud at the picnic table
crossing my path on the walking trail
that i cautiously chose

listening
attentively to the heart
and mind of my ears
and eyes, my invisible being

now tired of men, women, children
and automobiles
with deafening noise level
damaging my fragile ear drums

in this step fatherly
land these men in mother
tongue make up with such excess
for the scarcity of picnicking

07.08.2012

cardboard box

not a recyclable cardboard
box am i
yet considered a garbage
out there
waiting to be transported
removed
from the face, the familiar surface
with my face already
removed to be carted with neither
labour nor fuel

recyclable cardboard
box if i were
i would not be considered a garbage
out there
instead baled up and thrown in the back
of a truck
along with tons of cardboard
to be carted
for miles to that hydro-pulper to soak
my face, my whole being
giving me a new identity
for a cardboard box unlike me
has a second chance, another life

08.08.2012

furthest star

i constantly smell, hear
and continuously see voices
from beyond, clearly, from right within
my heart; then with the aid of mind
i ponder without funking the infuriating
experience, a life more authentic
making my mortal soul into a state
of dreaming thoughts of divine essence

these provocative dreams
nay, the violent thunder clapping
make me a stormy storm impregnating
my tender being with lightning, lightning
spontaneously gathering around snarling
quarrelling and discord leading
me at the end to Golgotha the empty
scull but hoping that one day though
comprehended much late like the dim light
of the star that is furthest, so at last
my soul shall enlighten innocent children

13.02.1995

Note: Is Justin, my grandson, painting a picture or crafting a poem? His is a piece of art!

releasing the anchor

fear of depth and hesitation
mind’s preoccupation
with shark is only in the shore
the beginning of a voyage
an opening of a business

further in open sea challenge
is to enjoy those gulls mindlessly
surfing, sitting on the ocean

as rowing your little vessel
continues, like a walking exercise
of a man stingy with time,
to cross the chasm

02.08.2012

gossip

poetry is an art of playful gossip
with focus of that chatter
dressed colourfully for mind’s eye
to catch the butterfly

fluttering around like a gossip
in a metaphor concealing the nakedness
with pubic hair jutting out
making head to turn away

02.08.2012
 

conversation

four tall men in five hundred
year old tradition of wearing a turban
were seated on picnic seats
beside my walking trail

did the Punjabi men in conversation
content of which sounded Greek
exclude me for what they knew
or for sake of an art i failed to learn

01.08.2012

optimism

chipped, truly cracked, broken
is my windshield of the vehicle
my automobile that gave my soul
the mobility and the speed to move

that’s my nest, my family, my all
in which i lived, swiftly moved
had my being creating and crafting
my toy toying with my time, my eternity

but George sees this whole in future
un-chipped, un-cracked, un-broken
this hope, or that un-real, the ostrich
total blindness, an optimism

30.07.2012

night heron

roaming foxes

and creeping pythons

provoke not poetry

in night heron

that challenges me

with her silence

and unsung patience

before flying

with splendid colour

of a slim structure

reminding, also, the need

to anchor in hope

of a better tomorrow

a faith in universal care

and abandoning speed

for anxious moving

henry victor     14.01.2002

give give

‘tha-tha’ that sound
the Tamil word for grandpa
from justin’s lips
is the sweetest in my ears

‘tha’ in that dialect
means give, or give me
making ‘tha-tha’ to mean
give, give, or give me, give me

‘give, and give me
your time, your love
and your all
to fill this tin

just for fun
tha-tha’,
dreams my grandson
my little big man

in search

cool, cloudy, windy, and gloomy

yet i drive to Cold Lake
and on road, i see none
except, occasionally, another clown
but driving opposite

still a little snow

not yet melted
and i am sleepy
trying hard to keep awake
while steering my wheel

i’m inside my car

only gently hot
and, like my luck, i just passed
the high way to Red Water
the 700 million gasoline barrel hamlet

but Smoky Lake

the pumpkin capital of Alberta
i did enter
not for eating
but a drive through was my purpose

passing the village of Vilna

copulating scene i saw
while the eagles on roadside tree
disregarded me, a peeping tom
but with dislike towards a villain

once young and fertile

land, after being caressed, harassed
harvested, and, many times, ransacked
now abandoned like that old grandmother
in care centre, are those reserves

discarded cars, buses, and many

disposed automobiles with farm machineries
scattered through the countryside
with derelict log houses and desolate barns
speak loudly of the human greed

Spedden, the little settlement

with two Ukrainian catholic churches
with hardly a space for secular breathing
caught my attention
but with that Chinese restaurant

i continued to speed

in search of what i know not
lamenting not my passing Lamont
that city living country style
perhaps, the undeveloped basement

Elk Island was my hope

in that journey on that wintry spring
a few buffaloes, a few elks, a beaver
if i’m lucky, that’s all i needed
to see to believe in human race

13.04.2004

Stopping at Plamondon

When I'm sick in the city
I drive through the country
To see the farmland outside the city
But this time I did stop at Plamondon
To pay my homage to the Albertan men
Who canonized St. Isidore
The Holy Farmer from Spain
There I prayed for a celestial vision
And angels I did summon
To help me overcome the temptation
To enjoy the return
That I have never sown

04.08.2004

Others May But I Cannot

While millions go without a square meal a day
I cannot pray for more food for myself
While thousands of children die of starvation
I cannot pray for my daily food
While many suffer without human dignity
I cannot pray for God’s gift

Below on earth when people struggle for their existence

Like a worm that struggles when bitten by ants
Looking up to heaven I cannot pray that I be elevated
Like a palm tree that grows heavenward

Faithless women and men pray for more blessings

Instead of saying enough is my greediness
And sharing even the last grain with seven others

14.08.1986

Spare Wheel

Sparsely used second-hand spare wheel am I
Tightly screwed down below the dark deck
Shut out of sight, sitting stoically nearer to street
I stroke, or touch not that passing path
Except in very, very rare circumstances
When one of them becomes indisposed
But only for a dreadfully short moment
Then I am tightly fastened once again
In that very same stealthily secret space
In a planet where sharing is just a concept

Sparsely used second-hand spare wheel am I

Not inside an exciting sportive automobile
But in the precinct of wheeling and dealing of divine

tattoo

she tattooed my face on the skin
of her back
sculpting my enemy’s on her bone
deep inside

but all that i needed from her

was a whisper in my ear
and that she walked to my table
to sip my wine, my pain

squeezed from those grapes

of my joys, that unfolding
of her frame in that grotto
inside the cave of my heart

a re-arranging of cells

in my brain
that dictated my past memory
and future path of my limbs

as they walked to my grave

the real sleep, with unreal dreams
set aside, to my re-embracing
my mother’s womb

15.04.2012

naivety

naivety made me think a relationship

is actually carved from my own rib bone
with my flesh fleshing and blood thickening kinship
spicing with dreams and breathing a vision

such sculpture i thought will survive beyond

my demise and grave, that pit
or furnace, where all are eventually eased
leaving the living to fashion an eternity

reality, however, revealed my stupidity

and re-taught, with hard knock on head
that dead figurines are bought and sold in market
with contracts scattered like sperms, or torn

© henry victor    

perfect pearl

trapped inside that shell

underneath that ocean bed
i a perfect pearl
wait for a hand that knows

both the craft and the world

of commerce to pick me
to transact a sale
filling wallet and my heart 
 
13.03.2012

dance with peace

alone i stand short like that smashed glass
ready to be scattered, to be interred inside
a grave yard with my brokenness
in body, mind, soul, and human ties

but with full of sap, that thick and thin

life affirming and life giving spirit alive
with masks thick and thin discarded
for dance naked with no dress rehearsal

to continue into eternity, a land

absent of ego and confusions
with love reigning and love raining
continuously i shall dance with peace

12.03.2012

new lush life

the winter tree freed

the old summer, divorcing

spouse, to take new spring

 

26.02.2012

the divorced tree

the winter tree divorced

of leaves, naked, yet standing

tall; him i imitate

 
26.02.2012

the naked tree

naked winter tree

divorced now by spouse, the leaves

i stand straight in cold

 
26.02.2012

winter trees

naked winter trees

with nerve to withstand that cold

i whine not my pain

 
26.02.2012

transparent

naked winter trees

i witnessed, witnessing me

i remain transparent

 

26.02.2012

bold cup

that cheap cup crafted

in China, cracked currently

crowding celestial Chai

26.02.2012

yet another cup

inexpensive cup

crafted in China, but cracked

yet crowded with Charm

 

26.02.2012

another cup

inexpensive cup

crafted in China, cracked now

but teeming with Grace

26.02.2012

the other cup

inexpensive cup

crafted in China, cracked

now but filled with Grace

 

26.02.2012

cup

inexpensive cup

crafted in China, i am

soon to be cast-off

26.02.2012

croaking this night

i am locked behind the locked door
with ground outside frozen with snow
and trees around the house are nude
to hide nakedness of that brighter bird

my prying eyes, however, pry on fate

feeling with inside of my palm her form
placing on chest my ear to feel her heart
the pulse that direct my soul in the route

my baggage is heavy and burdensome

with my mind racing to many victories
with no single victory stand to alight
and i, a frog, croak to death this night

20.02.2012

change

with garments of silky humility
you entered my orchard
tasting and eating from trees
i planted and watered

with my own sweat and blood
but soon you cut open fences
of all four sides of my grove
like that military enemy

implementing Tamil genocide

unclothed now you also invited
strange men to my teak bed
making it comical for them

driving me into neighbourhood

new and derelict to be serviced
by the Edmonton food bank
and other drop in centres

11.02.2012

hope in change

change is at my door step
i must welcome her
old lady who occupied my main floor
is leaving my home

i must let her go

with her there in my upstairs
was much whining
and i had no time

to relax, or

take care of my sugar level
and my old dreams were
frequently nightmarish
 
while my sleep was shallow
and my stomach half empty
making me a dog
walking with no purpose

change is likely to clean up

mess the old woman left behind
scrubbing floor and countertops
before thinking of a new menu
 
and a new venue
for dancing and singing
driving further away my baggage
burden of bygone days and nights

06.02.2012

new and evolving memory

those silky colourful curtains on my windows
frail memories to my past days and nights
you tore it into pieces like the crocodile
tearing the flesh and drowning her prey

that zebra, innocent animal who came

to quench his thirst in the African water-hole

this act of scattering a precious person

Justin, my grandson judges as brutal

and wicked considering a monster

like you not part of his new and evolving
memory rooted well in the cuddling
of the grandfather, making him cackle

12.02.2012