surrendering to defeat

hundred thoughts

through my head flow

like a fast flowing flood

one banging the other

with a hard negation

others modifying another

and none static

as an unmovable boulder

my anchors float

and the deck is scattered

shifting with speed

i drift directionless

searching

for strength deep within

questing

for help from far beyond

silently

i wail, whine

and weep

aloud

but nothing happens

except my drowning

deep

in the deepest waters

dragged into the mire

and unable to put my foot

on solid ground

i yell, i fight

and i fear

accepting my defeat

surrendering

to shame and blame

that wounds

henry victor    12.06.2010

flooding of the Blue Nile

an emptiness clouds around

a feeling of losing battle

not just in one front

but in many fronts simultaneously

continuing coughing also causes pain

to flow like Blue Nile

from throat to other limbs

not for nourishing

but for destroying life

above all controlling

the freer expression of words

like a poem refusing the making

making me a poet unpublished

walking into the pit prematurely

i have cried many times to Heaven

above, and deep within

to release me, my little self from chain

preventing my flight into freedom

where i am no longer enslaved

by the little that thinks big

henry victor      01.06.2007

winds and waves

winds, tough, have calm down

waves, huge, have now subsided

i am at perfect peace under ocean bed, buried

© henry victor     11.09.2006

 

loads of love i did provide:

food, clothing, and security

i supplied in hefty quantity;

language skills and logic

i did not hide from her;

travel abroad and to towns afar

with exposure to beauty and beast

too was never in small amount;

yet i failed in my adventure

to instruct and inspire

my posterity in the path to success,

sitting in front of screen with my muse

i craft that crap, the broken line

calling it poetry to amuse

none but this silly self, the swine

indulging in miry excess

© henry victor                 07.08.2004

triumph and failure

when intoxicated with triumph

fame follows as the path winds

through hours, days, weeks

months, and years!

but a little failure, a minor stumble

on a little boulder may rock the boat

appearing as an insurmountable

mountain that can never be conquered

hence the heart hangs

with feet up like a bat

even when much light is around

for mind to sail on wings of the wind

© henry victor     23.01.2004

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

the poet

i saw the poet picking yesterday’s crumbs

his only possession, the typed manuscript

and dwelling in a solitary habitation

with no one peeping through his window

he’s that lonely hill, far from other hills

and songs of praise never arrive at foot;

he has withstood snowstorms and rains

his only staple food and strong drink

he dumps piles of papers at his door

nay! rejection notes, with more jeering

harder than real rocks they throw at

to cover alive after washing with his tears

© henry victor     07.05.2003

a simple pleading

in your world every victory

i see carrying a defeat
wanting more
and bringing more!

teach me, therefore, the art

of living beyond that triumph
that i may spend none to shun
a potential beat!

pack my mind with poise

that i may walk the foot
in silence, paying no notice
to the throbbing of heart!

fill my marrow with calm

that marks that distant cosmos
that i never yearn
to journey, nor to fix!

make my eyes blind

both to tumult and success, detachment
that my heart may cease
the craving for more to find!

 

stand

with an empty pail i stand to cross

the road flowing with speedy traffic
but i know not my path, nor the point
i need to be later at the evening hour!

will i, then, meet an angel to help

me dodge death at the road-side
filling also the empty in my hand
to make my travel worthwhile

and, at last, climb on the stand

to be announced a true victor
even if i am deprived of an angelic
visitation as i continue to stand
 
henry victor      05.03.2014

floods and sludge (again)

cooking food, cleaning pots, pans, plates

and other cutleries surged, overflowed
like a spring river in my April 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 the cost but rejoicing

in my washing feet cracked and dirty
a relevant, realistic imitation of Jesus
than that ritual on Maundy Thursdays

that made my ego bloat every spring;

but neither the current work with great love
satisfies my soul where springs a still
small voice that i hear not clearly to change

henry victor      03.04.2013