simply a cento

the globe i observe is crooked

the air i respire too polluted

i’m lost, filled with frustrations

thought of deity too disappoints

it was indeed, very, very beautiful

when i was schooled not in school

then i waited for you to be my creed

under your shepherding for my need

it was in the cathedral, the mother church

praising you they refused me my crutch

making you, living in me, terribly tired

infinite now they are, but soon to be wired

the arrogant rich, as fat bitch, sit to bark

talk, good work, leaving millions to lurk

presently for shelter and square meal a day

wearing garments of patchwork and hay

henry victor     02.08.2002

an emerging poem

the poet steals from a conversation

his soul has with the world

stubbornly refusing to yield

pouring the same into another mould

to conceal carefully from

the world, the co-creator

of the conversation

naming and owning it as his poem

the poem is now a witness

to that chat in a sanctified

sacred and secret cave, poet’s heart

expressing a vital experience

for this a whirlwind is not necessary

a simple occurrence, a little storm

in the tea cup is capable

of vibrating a spirited song

henry victor     05.08.2002

living without a title

do i call this a loss

of fund

faith

and face

or an opportune moment

for a new construction

to live

not as a living dead

but to walk swift

altered neither by praises

nor curses

moving to reign the moon

expecting not

an angelic intervention

when i fail

or, to name that my fate

cherishing not the first place

but stay human watering

a sun scorched plant

in this parched land 

henry victor     01.09.2002

your absence

my morning silence is silent

overflowing with emptiness

empty of disorder and fight

with each other

no quarrels, no arguments

no shouting, no yelling

hence, no hugging

nor kissing each other

shoes in place, beds

spread with no wrinkles

no power 92, no super station

wash-room light knocked off

my afternoon too, the same

continues, also in the evening

and in night for another morning

with emptiness with your absence

henry victor     12.08.2002

stoning and snowball throwing

i fled in fear from fellows

who felt might is right

and lost no time

implementing what they considered

exact and precisely accurate

hunting down

and stoning prophets

following their precursors

hesitating not

opposed and maligned Amos

Hosea, Jeremiah, and John the Baptist

now i sit, silently

with more hurt

and no further energy to sprint

among masses with language of right

tinged with democracy

spending moment after moment

networking with similar color

class, creed, similar speech

and a malevolent ‘hi’

with a filthy smile

while dodging liberties

of alternate voices and vision

these enemies

of modern day prophets

playfully fling snowballs

on heralds of peace

more painful

than the earlier stoning

henry victor     18.08.2002

am i doomed?

in stillness of my heart

to my spirit

i whispered:

‘in the remaining little life

i will indulge

exchanging my lifeless idols

to the living God

of sparrows and swallows’

‘i may regain

my childhood strength

for silliness, swiftness

and celebrate the care-free life

of flying with freedom

and no anxiety’

but my idols heard me

and refused to let me exchange

values, exclaiming

with great revenge:

‘doom you are, with your habits

of craving’

leaving me

to live

grudging my idols!

henry victor     26.08.2002

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