my envy

i envy the log

that disintegrates into the flame

into death

and into ash

reintegrating into her beginning

and final peace

i envy the raindrop

that drowns deeply into the ocean

into death

and into vapor

reintegrating into her beginning

and a new creation

henry victor     01.08.2002

last request

since i have had my share

of pain, painful, and pleasing pleasure

i plead with you to take me

home now to be with you

like me wrapping my mat

after napping a whole night

in case you decide to delay

i do not ask for a relay

of pleasure and pain

but a quiet desk, and a pen

for the flow of my fable, my gory

to transform into a soothing story

henry victor     27.12.2003

growing stature and status

i am growing, increasing in size

with more wisdom, needing for self

yet another leg that third leg

to lift all that extra weight

i am growing, increasing in stature

and status; hence towards a cozy couch

to which i would be guided

with much praise and fan-fare

that comfy bed, to me will provide

an uninterrupted sleep

with neither nightmares of jealousies

nor daydreams of self-pomposity

henry victor      14.01.2007

last act

dying with courage is the last act

i wait to complete, emptying the body

with all its craving and envy to enjoy

the ecstasy of no more misery

then i shall join the multitude

of my ancestors hitherto have departed

to the enviable mansion; happy

they are now with no more tears, nor pain

many men and women struggle to depart

this life with ease avariciously clinging

to this world with ache; emancipation

they see not in healing death

henry victor     29.10.2002

my manuscript

i cannot believe i let you sit there

but i am not surprised

for i know you knew how to push your mother

to the back seat

while you pestered

me for the driving seat

as well!

this morning, i sit here

alone and stare at this picture

for many more minutes

quickly rolling down the many roads

we drove together

at times singing

other times fighting!

i remember

as soon as the deer hit my windshield

you refused to sit in front!

what a thrilling journey

for me to scribble this graffiti

a manuscript

i will take it to the Eternal Publisher

after yet another longer one

but without you!

© henry victor           15.11.2015

Brian Chan, my Edmonton poet friend, first met my only daughter Gitanjali when she was about eleven-years-old and battling cancer. Since then he has repeatedly told me “Gita is the leader of your family”!

For sure, she has been leading the themes and the moods of my poems. She dictates, very lovingly, what mask I should wear at a specific moment. Into her nuclear family of four, plus her pet dog Sophie, Gitanjali has now carefully grafted me as I wait eagerly for the longer journey to my Eternal Publisher with my manuscript!

Henry Victor

not bored

i am not bored but broken

shattered completely, like that bus-shed

in service, now vandalized by a teenager

un-named, an incarnation of indiscipline

i am not bored but empty

with my purpose, from me, stripped

and my use made naked

un-public, souls from me fleeing

i am not bored but dead

living lifeless, walking around

like those zombie in a video game

un-dead, but soon to be buried    

© henry victor        10.07.2015

conflict

 

hand in hand he and she went

to Miquilon Lake in fall colours

there he saw heaven

and wanted to remain

but she smelt hell, dying

with stink; defying

the desire to camp,

thus he and she

my nostril and eye,

walked with conflict

as waves of season

rolled on, and on

© henry victor              25.09.2004

 

 

battling boulder

you roll around me like a stream

with your sleeplessness as i sleep

deep, like a rock hard and un-wet

un-hurt in my soul as souls wait

to merge into the ocean of your love

like my body eventually becoming earth

to earth, and ashes to ashes! for in death

as in life, none can separate my heart

from yours flooding and surging in love

for me more than my daughter does for her

baby daughter; thus launching providence

you let me roll as a brook battling boulder

© henry victor             16.09.2016

death gives life

death, the destruction of the bee

at such a great height

leads not to the end

but yields to a new hive

from the new honey will ooze

boosting novel life!

defeat, destruction of victory

after patient endurance

leads not to the end

but yields a fresh muse

transforming thoughts

into lines, prompting peace

© henry victor     23.01.2004

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

factory smoke

from your footstool, a comfortable cradle

you placed me i hesitate not to meddle

with my ever fattening factory smoke

thicker clouds, i cherish to make

trapping me tight behind those bars

from which neither me nor my princely progeny

will ever escape like a turtle trapped

under her own unyielding roof

thus with my shortsightedness i build

greater momentum to cause first, an hasty

homicide, moving then, to a silent suicide

pushing, further, to a genocide and a globocide

while the sulfuric stink from my artificial cloud

that deteriorating dead carcass shall pierce

through the ozone layer keeping pure the cloud

you send to refurbish my life at your footstool

© henry victor     15.10.2003

two sides

to escape the cost, the pain

i sought the one sided coin

with which i could buy a ticket

for that sailing across my void

a journey from cradle to an empty pit;

generous compassion, i thought

i should transact to live my todays

dodging the travails of yesterdays

but purer the compassion more pain

was on the other side making gain

repeating that Nazarethean likeness

etching in soul, advanced with soreness

© henry victor

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

© henry victor     12.03.2012

winter is great

i thank you for winter
that hides your flower
and with it all colors

i thank you for summer

that reveals your flower
and with it varied colors

i thank you for seasons

that, for sure, makes me value
flowers and colors fill my heart

© henry victor     22.07.2003

Note: Creative colours in the photograph are from Justin Victor (A child artist)!

 

sandwiched

sandwiched between the jagged immortality

and the feeble mortality

i carry within me the great sea

with her pounding waves

on its sandy soil

are scattered shinning shells

where even a silent shrimp

find a safe home

in surrounds of rocky reeves

while elsewhere

with those changing seasons

including the fallen leaves

and broken branches

the abandoned agricultural implements

witness the deer carcass

protected by a coniferous forest

henry victor      11.09.2003

aging of the ocean

when i was nine

i have stood by the ocean

many times, to see her smiling

singing to me songs of hope

as i smiled with enormous amusement

observing her shore, fish that played

and coloured crabs that walked

sideways, all so close

 

but as i grew older

i have watched the sea aging

and now lying, an invalid

stinking with layers of rotten oil

as if she had never changed

her underclothes

and bathed not

for too many aeons

© henry victor     22.10.2003

too much

 

Lord it is cold and my load

is very heavy too and my pride

that overloaded un-substance

slows me in my stride forward

and i with no more will to soul-stretch

desire, therefore, the death, a longer-stretch

ahead of my future that i have no control

over, like my emotion i seldom patrol

© henry victor     17.10.2003

i saw

i saw her

clearly

the only true lover

my death

and i need

no more lovers

i also found

my mother’s lap

and her arm

for my comfort

to lay my head

with warmth

from her body

my own couch

i will lay there

until the city official

pick my cadaver

for fire, recycle

© henry victor       19.04.2016

crab in the kitchen sink

i am a Dungeness crab with my claws

now strapped with rubber bands, my food
and my hiding hole taken away, leaving
me seated in someone else’s  kitchen sink

sinking with my manuscripts, pens, papers

and pencils to my death like a doomed rapist
murderer ready to walk, nay, sit on the electric
chair, soon to be flushed out as staunch stink

but even here i have not lost my control

to give, to give self as food, age old whine
my writing in heart, that poem, my protest
against being a puck in the skating rink

henry victor     09.04.2013

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