subtle presence

your subtlety in your work

transforming sorrow and pain

to joy that, eventually

overflowing like the water

in the athabascan fall amuses me

while your hidden-ness remaining constant

with your patience, never short lived

like a water-fall but like a long river

continuing, with certainty to ever expand

to grow, to nourish another on the way

to give, and never ever count the cost

remaining subtle even in a merge in the ocean

henry victor     20.06.2010

my prison

i am slightly tired

more, want to complete

task entrusted

nay! i created

for my self

knowing i know not

to jay-walk

but i will find

a way out

of this maze

that surround

else, like a gnat

caught in the web

to a spider

i become the grub

either way

i will soon be out

of my present thought

my prison

henry victor       17.02.2019

living without a title

do i call this a loss

of fund

faith

and face

or an opportune moment

for a new construction

to live

not as a living dead

but to walk swift

altered neither by praises

nor curses

moving to reign the moon

expecting not

an angelic intervention

when i fail

or, to name that my fate

cherishing not the first place

but stay human watering

a sun scorched plant

in this parched land 

henry victor     01.09.2002

free ice cream

with a blank brain

and a plain paper

i sneakily stand

for name and fame

a lot greater

like kids running

to the ice cream vendor

with no cash, or coins

but abundant desire

to lick

a poem to stick

like an ice cream

of no price

henry victor     02.09.2002

dogs barked

dogs barked a lot last night

i know they saw

which i refused to see at night

as i rolled on bed at night

i also pulled to hold tight

my blanket

my eyelids too

closing very tight

my eyes though feel not

the sleep i much desired!

at dawn, from my bed i’m out

and in hand an empty wallet

but

with eyes

now

wide open!

henry victor     18.08.2007

cataloguing

the longer i wait to be hired

my mind wanders from peaks

majestic to silent lakes

and sunny sandy beaches

my mind also walks through bushes

the elegant elephants walked my trail

to make my soul, rushing faster

from the scorching sun, there so typical

yet, the stronger ironwood

and the sturdy satinwood

the costlier ebony, and other softer woods

including the saner neem

grew with the aggressive buddha’s bo tree;

the delay in hiring could make my heart

resent and renounce the cooler shade

of the shimmering poplar

and the silent weeping willows

the majestic oaks

with the cosmetic russian olives

and the friendly birches

© henry victor      27.07.2001

towards my home

i discarded

my comfortable couch

the cot i snoozed

and my job in university

that provided

me greater security

before i began packing

to go

on my way

i learnt the need

to leave behind much

i had been hauling

dropping further

my academic gown

i secretly cherished

with pride

i then omitted

shaving my beard

with rhythmic regularity

also omitting

trimming and grooming

my hair  

that was of no use

for my journey

steadily ignoring

the lust of my flesh

feeding not

much my body thirsted

and hungered

after a little while like a python

constricting my mind

i continue slithering

henry victor     16.08.2003

psalm 151

my pleadings like smoke

came to you and you listened
my prayers like fog
were before you, and me, you assisted

my days now stay strong
like rocks of Rockies
my nights are peaceful
like lakes in mountains

my heart leaps with joy

like a dancing deer
my plate is full
with extravagant bread

my bones are strong

like the Indian iron wood
my past wrongs you blotted
all out of my sight

i now soar high, and higher

like an eagle in flight
i sit with poise like a king
on throne with no guards around
 
i sleep like a log
the whole night in my bed
i am busy like a bee
the whole day collecting food

in the day of my anguish

you hid not your face
in my distress i called you
and you speedily responded

© henry victor     11.10.2003 

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

hoe, rake, and wheelbarrow

the hoe, the rake, and the wheelbarrow

my constant companions of yesteryear

provided me healing to body, mind

and my soul – transforming also land

the hoe, the rake, and the wheelbarrow

those simple tools with greater output

fed bigger mouths, with larger bellies

grounding me on the very real ground

the hoe, the rake, and the wheelbarrow

pen and pencil of the humble poor

writing on pages of mother earth

for me, the scholar to read, to live well

© henry victor     25.04.2003

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

dung-beetle

i lack no inspiration

but that comes not with fuel
to adequately excite my will
to spark a fire that starts my soul

to push my destiny in that direction

that i desire to move
actually to fly high, like that eagle
with no spark plugs of aircrafts
or, that of a smaller motor cycle

hence like a dung-beetle i crawl

always backward
far, far from a highway with fear of speed
pushing that piece of dung
into my little cozy tunnel

constantly cherishing

the droppings and depending
on my single skill to smell

 

 

 

 

 

month-end pay-packet

a month-end pay-packet, now, i collect not
but i continue waking before the sun wakes
stretching feet many hours after the sun sets
picking crumbs falling from greased wallets

and buy, cook, and lay tables for animals

sleeping until the sun warms their butts
with only purpose to empty the bulbs
the tax money from hard working nests

do i, then, call mine a living soul, or a machine

paying bills? do i, then, smile and dance, or whine
and kill my urge to plod? do i, then, wake-up
and strike, or yawn in my grave, before i sleep

30.06.2014

to embrace another i go

hurry! and get to bed, rest to wake

early in the morning with evening
now gone, and the hand of daughter
to someone from far to take away!

for i now need to adopt another daughter

or may be a son for a change in my mood
and to pass on my books, manuscripts
and present pieces to edit with colour!

also to soon entomb my worthless bones

while archiving, for further study, shards
worked and handed in my tongue
by Fabricius, Rhenius, and Henry Bower!

02.06.2014

 

ingredients

i prepared a simple supper

but with great love i cooked
that main meat of refined wheat
durum semolina, traded as rotini

an Italian pasta to go with beef, a grace

from a Canadian cow grazed in prairie grass,
spiced with herbs from the hunted tropics:
ginger, garlic, turmeric, and coriander

powdered, with red pepper powder

and red pepper crushed, black pepper
(also powdered), added to the onion
chopped, fennel, fenugreek, and cumin

(all seeds), and the magical mustard,

adding leaves chopped: basil, chives
and parsley, with garam masala, a Bharat
special, sprinkled with hardly a pinch of salt

before adding the slow-cooked African beans
and Mexican sauce: chopped and crushed tomato,
and boiled potato, after being sautéed
in the US canola oil to enhance the taste

of minerals and more already in my pan:

folate, iron, niacin, riboflavin, and thiamine
already mixed in carbohydrate, the main
with Chinese additives: citric, soy, and seasonings

unlisted; likewise the two sealed cans

that curtailed my sprinkling salt for supper
came with corn starch, sugar, more spices
and blackstrap molasses, and a poetic muse

henry victor     04.05.2013

from your son

mommy! you made your slim and sensual frame

into a shapeless bundle, bundling my being inside
you for nine long months, keeping me, a worm, warm,
free from hunger and thirst, marks of the world outside;

and today! you struggle to work so hard to remain a mom
of great affection, cuddling me, as you march to a profession
greater, and your time for me is likely to reduce, to dim
like a lamp gathering smoke soot on her facial expression,

like your mom before you, travelling that path of darkness

prior to teaching you skills to swim, to avoid sinking in a pool,
without that settling in a trailer park, to bike and hike, distances
incredible to inspire me, that i may avoid the way of a fool!

henry victor     12.05.2013

floods and sludge

cooking food, cleaning pots, pans, plates

and other cutleries surged, overflowed
like a spring river in my May days
and nights with no pause even to evaluate

either their relevance, or the quality of my life

that now carried floods and sludge with speed
though i, like brother Lawrence, the sage
applied my heart and soul working to bleed

without counting cost but rejoicing

in my washing feet cracked and dirty
a relevant, realistic imitation of Jesus
than that ritual on Maundy Thursdays
 
that made only my ego bloat year by year
but neither the present work with great love
satisfies my inner person whose still small voice
i hear not very clearly to change my path

henry victor      21.05.2012

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

 

merging

listening to the clicking of the clock

my mind comprehends life’s briefness

reminding me that as i pass week

month and year i’m closer to my grave

listening to the cawing of the crow

my body takes wings to fly to gather

without belittling the other gatherers

to fill belly that marches to my tomb

listening to cooing of the cuckoo

my being dances to unheard rhythm

merging into the world of dancers

until that final closing of the screen

henry victor 22.02.2003