Tag Archives: Poetry
5 am day 3 pray
In the Quiet, Peace arrested me.
Here there are no words or requests, just a being, a balance between things you know and do not. A willingness to see more, but after a while my eyes shut so tight I could not see. That was, is the real me, unwilling.
How strong my will is, did you ever guess, how strong.
Give me more
Show me you care, that you are real,
that you walk
where angels fear to tread,
that thru these Times of hate and so much unsaid,
you care beyond the visible things ;maybe some place you broke, even just a bit, died inside and rose again, said what you might never have unless you were Defy’d
these are more than Songs …
How beautiful the Feet of those who spread good news – on the mountains of division, discouragement, despair*;
see, though I speak with the voice of an angel and have not love, I am a clanging cymbal a noise in the wilderness, a desert in a stream ;
if I give my body to be burned and sell all my wares for charity but have no love in all my ‘speaking’, I am no reminder of One who is patient, kind, endures, does not keep account of wrong, is forgiving, does not gossip, nor tears out anothers’ existence for personal agenda…
if I ran every mountain, won every war for the good of humanity but within I have words of hate, what am I what am I –
but if we had this one thing, I think of all we could accomplish against all odds, among these places of derision, hate, division ; we might say to this and that mountain, Go fall in the sea and it would obey, if I had the Power of true love,
(* from Mathew Henry’s concordance, Song of Songs ); this Post inspired by verse in the Bible.
What was wrong : that I was a woman, that I talked, objected, asked questions ? That I am left-handed, that I speak up ….whaaaaaaaaat ?!
” We are different cultures, ” he was now saying and I failed to see how, seeing that I too am South Indian but that my parents gave me the freedom to say it like it was ; there were no sons in our home, except dad and he taught us to walk tall, “Girls please wear pants it’s safer than skirts or that sari!”
Now I had this man staring hatred asking me who I thought I was to say anything at all, which gets me writing this post after all these years. Yes, it takes a while to remember/ know who one is. I’ll say this.
Most Indians are taught two things : One, to try be good and two, respect elders. Somewhere between that, there is the tendency to push self into a back-back-back of the backiest closet, lock the door and throw away the keys. What will the neighbours think if you object to them throwing garbage all over the place ? Open front door with a smile and welcome even if they knocked your door bell silly, be a great hostess, never confront people, time will take care of it..
This was a few years ago, and I had to let a so called ‘ friend ‘ go, because they took friendship past the point of decency, because it got to a gender issue where women weren’t supposed to speak up. Which breed of humanity dehumanizes women ?
( And lets not blame just ‘culture’ anymore. Our grandparents were beautiful people and there are things in our traditional values that still bless us. What is questionable is some contemporaries, not just Indian, who are killers of body, soul, mind, and they won’t stop with women).
He sent me flowers, songs, words and tune, silences and chord ; but not till he forgave me and loved me again as if I were the best one e’er born yet, not till then did I understand the height, the depth the width and endless expanse of Love that leaves no boundary
of a Love that covers every little wrong, as if nothing happened at all. I will not take that for granted ever again, nor forget, that’s the way He loves,
Last night, all plates and dishes put away, the lights low in the bedroom where our youngest son went into his blanket ; the girls were yet to fall asleep, I peeped in at Joh, and he lifted that dark head calling me for a second kiss, then a whisper –
“Ma,I feel lonely.”
My heart missed a few beats ; it had been a long two months, there had been illness, a trip, school year starting over, uniforms that did not fit, unfinished assignments, a lingering cough and so many unfinished things…
“Why son ? We’re all here aren’t we ?”
“When you ‘re all busy with other things, I feel lonely,sometimes. “
Speechless, I hugged him close, closer, a third a fourth kiss.“You feel good now ?”
“Yes, but don’t go.” He said nothing after that just smiled and the room filled with feelings I have no words for.
Human touch. How abused, misunderstood those two words are : and so very easy to ignore in all our busy-ness. We sat there an hour, not just Joh and me, but all five of us, an hour in that quiet gentle dark as the little ones fell asleep.
Dearest Lord God, the worst disease on earth : ‘loneliness’ and such a simple cure right from the mouth of Babes.
How dense the city, how wide the littlest petal, inside..