focus

two roads diverged at a junction, as i drove

my Ford Focus wagon on the snow
stormy afternoon: one was highway 651
and the other the Grizzly Trail

with no car behind i slowed down to pause

but was sorry i could not travel both, turning
then, to one looked a white carpet with no trace
of tired tires, or tracks of worn out trucks

with only a discrete distinct focus in mind:

shortest route, quickest way home!
and in any case i was no Robert Frost
to take the one less traveled by!

now, i doubted whether i should return

to the trodden black path, until another overtook
my focus: a deep desire to learn the art
to drive also in the slippery arctic, the Polar Trail!

knowing the way to a colored

an insecure immigrant
can be slippery and cold
altering, again, my further focus

© henry victor     10.01.2003

loss of my land

i was proud of my land

water clogged and swampy

cost me a small song

but providing a great opportunity

to establish my nonconformity

i cherished the three trees that came

with the swamp: a young Palmyra palm

a Neem, and a Wood Apple

supplying me shade and hope

i saw the trees growing faster

as i fertilized and poured plenty of water

from my own well sunk in my plot

that i, with my own hands, proudly dug

now i think of King Coconuts i planted

watered, and carefully cared

from assaults of those crawly beetle

attacking palms, my babies thrived so well

and of these assets i constantly muse

day dreaming of this past slog

i, at the end, exchanged for a nose stud

causing, within, much anger of the loss

© henry victor     14.02.2003

songs

 

stranger’s friendly gesture, an associate’s

gracious act, a closer relative’s kind word

a gentle smile are those that indeed

in me provoke a song of delight

a simple betrayal, a calculated

crucifying, a determined denial

and with that an atrocious desertion

in me provoke a song of protest

words of wisdom, a provocative thought

a challenging message, an alternative

vision for that poor perishing universe

these provoke a song of inspiration

© henry victor     27.02.2003

daring to act

daring determination of simple folk

to perform greater humane services
to humble and broken humans, attracts
my attention and into songs i break

four friends of the paralytic man

ascending the roof to dig, to open
and let down the cripple to receive
healing, indeed, is a heroic act

stopping, stooping down to the half dead

on path traversed by the ghastly beast
and waiting not for a tax receipt
before donating to the inn, sure, is neat

© henry victor     23.02.2003

she is outgrown

she is, for my love, outgrown

no longer, with my love, can i own

in any case, in my yard i did not seed

her; for certain, she is, a sturdy weed

now i must let her go, her kind

for her to multiply, and my mind

with heart, and soul together bind

and let go my memories all behind

and like a drift-wood me flow forward

making sure, the river bed does not hold

me back tempting with a toddler like hug

until beyond that ocean, surely i, out-log

© henry victor               23.08.2017

pissing

 

the white man laughs loud when that Iraqi

muslim fundamentalist says that Moses

did not murder the Egyptian but Moses’

breathing that made man fall like sukiyaki!

the white bastard smilingly agrees with me

when i spin a yarn mockingly the dumb

Americans did not drop a nuclear bomb

but slipped from hand of pilot on Nagasaki!

the white rascal thinks he can hoodwink

all the time, and all the inhabitants

from east of Atlantic to Hiroshima

where he keeps pissing to create link!

© henry victor     07.03.2003

posied to live

 

lion stalking for that running gazelle

leopard living for throat of a zebra

heron motionless at the edge of the pool

with quick beak prepared, poised to kill

hawk with deadly talons held closer

to heart, watching in the grass below

a large enough target to a quick plunge

and equipped to hold, poised to kill

surrounded by impulses for violence

i wonder whether i should simply

surrender to that principle: nothing

lives unless something is poised to die

© henry victor     03.03.2003

three four nine

three four nine that number  compose

for someone else, to me, too have made

we are into digits and no more

for want, i type a numerical code

earlier integer was only for creatures

behind bars, considering them much less

than persons, but today all figures:

for we are no more humans with souls!

our figures those days had a fine face

and good sounding exclusive forename

but now the appliance knows our face

by plain numeral, or its combination

© henry victor     11.03.2003

reappearance of variety

sparrows bathe in front of my home

announcing the arrival of spring

i pulled to roll my curtain on pane

letting in joy birds bring into my hut

the absence of varied colours around

earlier made body shiver and freeze

so i closed all cold and social increase

with it i shut out light with my blind

now with the reappearance of variety

in shade and shape, the extra energizing

i receive for my path and my dancing

locking up tightly the monotony of winter

© henry victor     15.03.2003

mount tops

many a mount tops i like to climb

to meet with Buddha, Jesus and Muhammad

also their kind, to stay there and forget

the varied valley i desire much

many a mount tops i like to climb

to float in air or to be transfigured

and erase the old wounds and memory

in mind and soul i had desired much

many a mount tops i like to climb

to ease my burden and drop aged

and excess baggage, to be envisioned

with a greater cause i desire much

© henry victor     03.03.2003

flight of hatchling

my life is like that of an eagle

taking care of her newly born chick

feeding in nest on top of the hill

away from all human habitation

i also carry mine to the mountain

to push her down to build that lasting

courage to enhance the flying skill

beyond boundaries of human limit

when hatchling knows her own to wing

and dive deep down into valley below

i will free self to soar high until

i’m lost above the drifting, dim cloud

© henry victor     12.03.2003

adjust

i have not resolved until this date

whether i should unreservedly speak truth

or when necessary conceal unkind truth

when real is uncomfortable speak deceit

truth is very real and is often cruel

even now it is the cruelty of fact

that makes me speak in a parable

to carefully conceal what is in heart

truth makes in me a little scratch

and it hurts within me much

that truth i refuse to speak out

making me to hum this new adjust

© henry victor     04.03.2003

battles beautiful

 

i saw sparrows fighting their own sort

though hurting it was so beautiful

after a quick clash they all flew away

leaving battleground unhurt and intact

i saw dogs fighting their own genus

though hurting it was so beautiful

after a bigger brawl they ran away

leaving battleground for a safe use

i saw stupid humans fight their kind

and it was indeed so dreadfully ugly

after fight they still lingered to exploit

leaving bloody, bleeding battle ground

© henry victor     14.03.2003

tomb to kill

dissimilar views he doesn’t handle well

clashing openly like dogs of two kinds
with any who do not hold his outlook
ending in two camps that never assemble

similar visions also don’t go too well

for the like poles oppose one another
as women cutting throat of each other
never leaving space for an additional

single self, survives not on surface

drowning in water too deep
and in no account shows its face
making the very self a tomb to kill

© henry victor     24.03.2003

sailing on words

moods puzzled me those days of no words

and had not mastered rhyme or breaking lines

those days i was a slave to my bad temper

today i sail on winds of my moods

now i long for displeasure and time

knowing my skill to transform tempest

into songs of pleasure that pleases a heart

making soul dance non-stop now

pain in current times i consider precious

unlike then in vain i struggled to sing

for now poetry flows easily like water fall

pushing with force to express all my pain

© henry victor     23.03.2003

John the Baptist

 

John the Baptist grabbed no chair to sit

nor pleased any powers or towers of his times

he was simply a voice from the desert

the strongest reed of the prairie crust

John was the music of vales and hills

and cherished not the herds of cowards

he danced not to beats of country drums

nor cared for the civilized city thumbs

John was a sensitive stethoscope

listening to heart beats of the divine

dancing in the spirits of the poor

resizing, re-leveling hill with valley

© henry victor     02.04.2003

i write a poem

sometimes i quickly write a poem

when a dagger has pierced my heart

or a mercy has reached my soul

making it dance to rhythmic refrain

other times i struggle to pen a verse

when desire to discipline is high

or to daughter exhibit my brain

making her evolve into a genius

on occasion i compose rhyming lines

when my ego is bloated too big

to remain small, humble and modest

making easy and empty expeditions

© henry victor     23.03.2003

a courageous chase

i was scarcely seven! i remember

my father, a soldier, a thunder

chasing a burglar sneaking to thieve

chicken in middle of moon lit night

in that unlit rural village

the following morning others strutted

my father’s foolhardiness

as i chanted his courage

and when my daughter was seven

the same drama unfolded, demanding

my heroic act! but miles away

in this excessively lit hamlet

and i, a frightened chicken, woke my wife

to let the crook know occupants awake

to switch on security lights; others beamed

my wisdom as i cogitated my cowardliness

© henry victor     04.04.2003

invite

it is the dead that invite

me to their table

as the living twitch

their nostrils

whining that odour

the lack of success my body yields

even as my mind

now ploughs chive and garlic fields

to spice and fill my thoughts

with heart healthy food, to dance

beauty despite pain and death

kicking out luck, that chance

© henry victor        13.08.2017

nothing

i dreamt, last night, my fat holder

my purse; morning i heard the masses

calling it hope, the spring flower

to settle before my death my debt

since all i was firmly determined

this noon i opened my wallet

like tilling my ground, my garden

the summer fruits to harvest, only

to find the warden has hidden

all, leaving me with nothing

only the unpaid rising to drown

my mind, my dream, my everything

© henry victor        13.08.2017

   

the fruit

the fruit in my hand

is for love i like to expand

but i hesitate to give

for there is a worm inside

the skin shines with colour

multiple and the wave within me grows

larger but i will, very soon, yield

for the sake of the seed

hidden, deeply buried within

to grow, to give

more fruits for my hand

and songs for all around

© henry victor      19.05.2014

giving up

in my journey others call life

i kept giving up and let go

one by one my desires even piled grief

i naturally tightly held before

where my bed should exist

at the final point i firmly know

i will lose grip of that last thought

knowing that i let go my woe

now my struggle is to move

never to stop to pick or to pile

to be objective of what may impede

so i may forward go with no guile

© henry victor     05.04.2003

extinguishing a fire

a fire is burning within

many times to extinguish

i have tried, with no success

the more i tried dousing

fervently did that flame rise

should i, then, let it blaze

until its own death

buries that flare to revenge

or, should i consume

myself in that fiery wrath

until that little soul

is made pure as the truth

© henry victor

another poet

time moves swiftly like a rolling stream

waiting not for me, or for my pal

carrying with it only the top soil

leaving behind persons in vain dream

i a lousy sheep roll on a warm bed

letting go the moving with no dam

chasing flies sitting on a lazy ram

without to that goal running ahead

at best i cry for that spilling milk

like a poet composing empty words

at worst i’m like those naughty gods

unconcerned for those weaving fine silk

© henry victor     09.05.2003

dominant self

i’ve never understood whether it is in nature

or it’s part of my prejudice filled psyche

that emanates an immoral, ignorant fantasy

of comfort and convenience for dominant self

a trail i see also in acquisitively hungry animals

authoritatively roaming with impulse to demolish

all that contributes to their own inner insecurity

a simplistic solution that diminishes opposition

that challenges my own authority and infallibility

with no space for any form of inclusive thought

discerning only a threat in alternative attires

with implications to slow but sure death to myself

© henry victor     14.04.2003