fishing within

i sit alone

in my abandoned farmhouse

in front of this great silence

far away from people

busy doing this, that

and all those i do not do

and i do not have to do

in that quiet stillness

i thank you, you who have so well

concealed yourself

as that snow covered soil

but only making me feel well

your patent presence

i noiselessly thank you

the most mute

for those noisy, nameless

black-capped chickadees

who so faithfully visit me

and mine and share my gifts

of sunflower seed

without prying into my privacy

i thank you for the frozen winter

that justifies my sitting

to fish within my self

this deep unclear pond

my own creation

who’s content for me to conquer

this one life is inadequate

for the soundless surmount

providing me another opportunity

in your eternity

and in the presence of your vastness

of time and space

i lose all my anxiety to hurry up

to grab any garbage

in any case i cannot, to your territories take

and therefore i am grateful

to the boundless space i enjoy

and i pray that you throw me

into the unrestricted space of the distant star

and not into that icy world

of the speckled trout

henry victor     18.12.2002

her loneliness

her phone springs to induce a ringing

on my lips to say hello when she is alone
and feels the absence of all that chattering
inside her home; until then i am left alone

like the garbage bin left outside freezing

in the winter night dark and very long
with an occasional racoon scratching
my side to reach inside but not too long

before abandoning me for the waiting

with hope of seeing some brighter light
natural and warmer, that un-burdening
of my soul before my death, surer light
 
henry victor      01.01.2015

dolls roll in my brain

continuously and constantly you hit

on my face and expect me to hold tight

on to your pet’s leash and your doll

but i have to let them go despite your growl

without you your pet and doll are mere memories

that fade as other pets and other dolls roll

into my brain as newer snow keep falling

on my sun-deck, older to leave, fast melting

neither you nor me are to here stay stagnant

at present, but like yesterday evaporate, forgotten

forever, and we are none but that snowman

of the Halloween not there to see the spring

henry victor       29.12.2014

Christmas 2000

That wailing and weeping

Now, not in ancient Rama,
But, right in our midst
Not Rachel, for her children
But, helpless fellow creatures
Refusing, all consolation
Cause, they are no more
That’s Christmas of Christians
Deaf, dumb, and blind

Forests thousands of acres

The gardens of Eden damaged and destroyed
For holiday decorations
And cosmetic Christmas worship
For printing of comical carol sheets
And hilarious, hypocritical greeting cards

Turkeys, with other fowls

And innocent animals
Butchered, in millions of tons
Slaughtered mercilessly
For celebration of
The creator’s love
For pretentious Christmas fellowships
And for the feeding of hellish greed

Oh did you hear that

Wailing and weeping,
This time, not in ancient Rama
But right in our midst
Not Rachel,
No, not Rachel, for her children
But, helpless fellow creatures
Refusing, all consolation
That’s Christmas for Christians-
Deaf, dumb, and blind

Henry Victor      25.12.2000 

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

 

 

 

 

 

To My Eternity

Your whistling

I clearly heard

Your colour

I see not

Your name

I know not

But

To my eternity

I take you

Note: This poem was published in Songs of the Street, Volume V, edited by Arlene Williams & Ron MacLellan (2002) with the following editorial note:

Henry Victor is a published poet with two collections of poems No Tears (1998) and Frail Floret (1999). He uses poetry to promote more humane values, social justice, cultural pluralism and communal harmony. He believes that his task is to give “some voice” to the “voiceless”. “To My Eternity” was the winner of the “The End of the World” category of the Songs of the Street poetry contest, which was sponsored by Inner-City Pastoral Ministry. Other poems by Henry can be found on pages 19 and 46.

Insanity

Yesterday

With might and main I laboured

To diligently learn the art

Of lengthening simple shoes

For the ever expanding

Tiny feet of my little daughter

 

Today

I am frighteningly tormented

To discover the contemporary wisdom

Of conveniently cutting feet

To fit useless foot-wears

Made by the reigning professionals

 

Disagreeing

With the modern overnight professors,

I am very assertively informed,

By their cowardly counsellors,

Is plain insanity

Fit enough only for dismissal

 

Ethnic cleansing

In the political arena is easy answer

For those wolfish rulers

Greedily striving to firmly establish

Corruptive power and stinking business

Instead, dealing positively, the prevailing pluralism