the three

he holds you tight under his arm-pit

dancing on waves like a wood on drift
with other drift-woods swimming not
to the shore, to you, the eternal rest spot

the other, with you on the same spot

too swims with speed, not aimlessly float
but deep under water with intent
to whirl the water above with its content

the third he steers the rudder of the boat

pretending to swim with others in the moat
his own dug-out, to colonise you and the rest
the submissive slaves, with no quest, nor zest

henry victor     31.08.2013

 

buying and selling

unlike those days in my motherland, today
in my adopted-land despite its abundance
rarely i find one to give, or to receive
but in plenty are those that sell, or for buying

what cannot be sold is dumped

for elimination with those incapable
to buy, and those who lobby giving
too, will be pushed to the margin

to be marginalized, to be maligned

and silenced like a sheep ready for shearing
in a world taking from, and taking ruthlessly,
acceptable, than sharing with the needy

henry victor     28.08.2013

building your rule

my mind just for a moment, like a bee

on the flower, grazes along your throne, the grace!
yet, i like you to exert, to dictate, with force
the journey, the direction and content of  my soul
 

with its luggage, my being to build your rule
uprooting my heart from amidst that rat race
of erecting larger ware houses, storage space
storing the harvest of abundance with tilted scale

that also renders your seat irrelevant in a world

where Jesus and his colleagues receive a lip deal,
and no more, in a scope where shopping for gold
is, for someone on the trail, a substantial meal

henry victor     14.08.2013

seeing geraniums, thinking beauty

hundred times every single day

i, with simple lenses, photograph
my geraniums in my garden
to store them in the album

that i take to my eternity;

these blooms are my women
whose faces i gaze upon untiringly!
in them i see Grace, a gift

to an undeserving soul

saving me from gloom and harm,
prompting me to pick up my brush
to paint, adding more geraniums

to that invisible Garden beyond

where there is neither toil
nor need for rest, nor men
or women to entertain a painter

henry victor     01.08.2013

my faith

how big should be my canvas

to paint a splendid painting
satisfying my soul, or the Source
the Soul that paints my soul

if it is small as my thumb nail

will it be pushed away
and dismissed as narrowly
moralistic, unduly silly

and what if it is wide, wide

as the world beyond my window!
will this be sacked as political
a revolt against the Heaven!

what if i make it my palm size

connecting dots and lines therein!
will such an art be brushed aside
as too mathematical, merely cerebral!

henry victor     30.07.2013

deserted cocoon

he was the crusty cocoon covering the caterpillar

boneless, yet filled with vibrant life, and belittling
the very source of her security, and the sacrifices
the casing made to transform frailty and un-beauty

later to lighter flight, much fluttering with splendour

of myriad colours as of acrylic paint and clear-coat
for weathering both the hot sun and the wet rain
before seizing the right moment to flirt with another

and never return to the cocoon, the first house

that remains deserted, forever a broken heart, blood
now dried, able to give no more life, mere useless
clothing, like the shed skin of a snake now escaped   

henry victor     25.06.2013

* This poem is dedicated to Fari Lotsali of Eagle Nation Buffet in Pitt Meadows, BC

 

dancing with angels

when in mind melancholy

has anchored like a ship immovable

let my heart hear your whispers

your songs

the un-winged angels coming in winds

both gentle and rough

to unhinge my soul for dancing

after smooth, or jolting shift of gears

altering reasons and changing my vision

lest i sink in mud

that sadness mixed with pity

flowing like water to keep ground soft

and my wings stuck

disabling the soaring of my spirit

toward clouds

sailing on the wings of your storm

on paths high

much higher than above my head

encasing the brain detached

from dancing angels 

henry victor      05.06.2013