enslaving my soul

with rising of the sun

common ravens

ring-billed gulls

and on rarer occasions

the lesser loud black-billed

magpies

living in the broader margin

carved by ambitious likes of mine

and me

come to my window

they sing sweeter songs

of sturdy sovereignty

made possible only by a mind

willing

to crucify the bloated ego

without concurrently proclaiming

a pseudo puritanical life style!

as i stop my soul

to listen to their call

to abandon ambitions

i shut my eyes

and plug my ears

(as if someone beside me is snoring)

and bury my body

deep into my comfy bed

shutting

also, the window

refusing a musical light

and lessons provided

by thoughtful birds

my winged companions

by this i enslave

my pitiful soul

in personal

but tainted imaginings

henry victor     22.08.2002

continuing misery

maybe you are not really there

and my coming to you is to go nowhere

or perhaps, you are indeed there

but deaf, with my speech to go nowhere

maybe you are certainly not deaf

but a different language from yours, i speak

it is possible you and i speak one language

but to you i remain an alien due to my accent

combination of all the above too is possible

but it is the elimination of the cause i expect

at the end, however, still lingers my misery

with none, not even you to make it less

henry victor     21.08.2002

gulls and bullies

 

i observed three parasitic jaegers

among seventy ring-billed gulls

and confused the jaegers

to overfed juvenile gulls

ambiguity surfaced from the apparent

hospitality of gulls; learning later

i realized gulls regurgitate their meal

a pattern among bird parenting!

i have now learnt to forgive jaegers

forget bullying of these creatures

and observed, now, my cookies

frequently emptied by my daughter

she is well known for her skin color

and cherishing not my cookies!

i was misled in admiring

hospitality of my girl

i learnt it right, but a lot later

watching closely a guarded secret

my daughter under threat

appeasing the caucasian bullies

henry victor     25.08.2002

   

to publish my poems

to churn words on paper

chopping them to create lines

chipping again to create a stanza

and to clip more to make a poem

none ever employed me

and i wait for no one’s approval

though, occasionally, a fear

of critique escorted my dance

henry victor     02.09.2002

stop to breathe

‘creative writing’ has become my breath

while relating to people to find something

common like the ‘Good Samaritan’ sympathetic

to man stuck on road from Jerusalem to Jericho

speaking hence to Amber, Ashley, Arsha

Brian, Brenda, Bethusha, Beeby, Benji

and other children screaming and shouting

as they run to the ice cream vendor

and i stop not so much to fix the jammed

ice cream car, knowing well my ignorance

of motor mechanics, but to feel the pain

of man stuck on roads

and admire his patience and persistence

to make the machine work

though he carries not the tools

but a heart for children of rich shy folks

drowning in self-sufficiency

considering themselves more important

than a bard who stops to record

the pulsating heart; nay, to breathe!

henry victor    02.09.2002

free ice cream

with a blank brain

and a plain paper

i sneakily stand

for name and fame

a lot greater

like kids running

to the ice cream vendor

with no cash, or coins

but abundant desire

to lick

a poem to stick

like an ice cream

of no price

henry victor     02.09.2002

the scarecrow

you were hardly seven

amusing me with heaven

with your success in tricking

me with a hilarious scarecrow

that Tina, our pet dog

mistook for a prowler

in our garden of shoe-flower

barking loud with fear

at a scarecrow with shoulders straight

wearing your torn frock for dress

and a curd-pot for head with face

chalked on it, your first artistic creation

henry victor     09.09.2002