the Korean wheelbarrow

“i’m ninety-four”
“i’m eighty-nine”
“he is seventy-nine with parkinson
for the last eleven years”
“year after next, Joyce will celebrate
her hundred”, i’m told
with some exultation
higher, the greater
i see, tens of men and women in wheel chair
may be around fifty-nine

then, in my heart, i silent-ly ponder

the need to re-invent the Korean
wheelbarrow that no one
would see me in that wheel chair

Note: Here is a little story my late father, when he was around seventy-eight, read it in a Sri Lankan newspaper, possibly The Island, and passed it on to me. He at that time did not realize that I had already read it. I also heard him telling the same story to my seven-year old daughter, who at that moment, perhaps, did not see the punch line!

A son, the story began, in Korea was fast reaching his middle age put his elderly father in a wheelbarrow and began to push it towards the dump. His adolescent son seeing the father taking the grandfather to the dirt deposit, seriously said, “Dad, please take care to bring back the wheelbarrow”!

with shoes on feet

a grab-and-run pack
a small survival sack
with one set of clothes for spouse and self
passports, a file with just few mails
an old diary with addresses to contact
in england, finland, and switzerland

and some currency notes

couple of thousands
in rupees that does not stretch
like the american dollars
they were what i needed most

as the pogrom was in progress

in my tamil homeland
while i always went to bed
with shoes on my feet

no tears

since all tears

have been converted to thick ink

and i have been taught

and trained by pen

none have i to shed in vain

earlier, and even now much tears

have been expended

for purifying my mind, heart

and soul – no! my entire being

also teaching me the secrets

of the unseen and increasing

my understanding of the seen

the continuing tears

eventually turn to be the cement

that holds myself

together with stray birds

those flying with broken wings

the wretched of the earth

henry victor       04.02.1995

An Asian Te Deum

We praise you O God
We acknowledge your sovereignty

The whole universe

and that which is beyond it worship you
For you is the source of all things
For even the sunyatta, the void

To you all people cry aloud

And also in silence
For you, and in you,
and through you is our liberation
The heaven, the mukti, the nirvana

The nature and the non-nature

continually cry to you saying
Harmony, harmony, and harmony

Lord God of every world

The heaven, the mukti
and the nirvana are full
Of the majesty of your glory
For you are our mother and our father

The glorious company of the rasuls,

your messengers praise you
The noble fellowship of the nabis,
your prophets praise you
All the rishis, the sages
All the tirthankaras, the ford-makers
All the buddhas, the enlightened ones
All the mystics
and the activists of today and yesterday
Bring you glory

The ‘wholly’ people all over the world

Acknowledge you
Not only by their affirmations
but also by their denials

God, invisible, immortal, and infinite

You always manifest
through the visible, mortal and finite

O God, the transcendent

You are always near
Even nearer than our own jugular vein

O God you are the ruler

The eternal source of all life and no-life

O God you are responsible for

Both zahir, the appearance of the world
And batin, the inner secret
Both sacred and the profane
Are always yours

O God you are not only the Lord of all

But also the servant

Manifesting in all

And serving all, and through all

We therefore pray to you

To help us discern you
and acknowledge your sovereignty

O God

Save your creation
And bless your handiwork
Govern and guide them forever

Help us to magnify you

Every day and every night
Not merely by our words
but by our deeds as well
For the deeds are more authentic
than the words

Inspire us always to worship you

with true worship
And always to respect
and do justice to our fellow humans

Prevent us from bringing

disharmony in your creation
Help us to affirm
selfhood and create dialogue
between selves

O God, have mercy on us

And teach us to have mercy on others

Let your love and mercy

over-flow in our hearts
And steer our lives
in the siratal mustaqim, the straight path
For our trust is in you and you alone
 

17.11.1985

Note: This was published earlier in more than one place. Here the lines are modified to fit the format of the blog.

making a poem

you keep pushing me from my depth

within my soul, my body, heart and mind
me to will a life of creating lines
breaking, at my own will, those lines

that others like me call it a poem

just like my mother, long ago
put her bigger hand on top of mine
gently, overriding my will, to script mine
 
that in school they called alphabet
thus seeing with her intuitive mind
she liaised with the master poet
submitting her will, in making a poet

31.12.2011