making of a destiny

you make me by moulding my frequent fall

my crashing from top of the tall coconut palm
my vandalizing those around that, now, come
back to me with the force of a trampling bull

charging on my being with already broken bones

as if you are making solid bricks mixing dry terra cotta
my desires, my dreams, including my pick-pocketing
other’s flaws, mixing with flow of water, my misfortune

like that bath tub faucet breaking, making my wallet

leak while i searched the market for the rare cartridge
to avert the waste of water, much draining into drainage
but me only pocketing pain, a bigger speeding ticket

henry victor     30.09.2013

   

toad not croaking!

 

like that toad my little grandson brought
from the park you sit in my unkempt garden
with fewer flowers, fruits, and overgrown
tomato and lettuce plants now in neglect

here i neither see you nor hear your croaking

except, vaguely, as i parse your speech, breaking
of light and sound in my dreams i hardly
ever remember as the morning sun so deadly

towards my night i embrace, dearly, with affection;

for it keeps my eye lids shut and feet in resting position,
my invisible heart and mind complacent of the margin;
thus affirming your invisibility, a faith in great precision!

henry victor       01.09.2013

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