Sunday, May 28, 2017

Ascension


Words give wings to my lips

To float my thoughts to air

They merge with songs of birds,

or creatures that screech, Beware!
 
 

Tears stream from a blink

Sorrow floods the gates of despair

Waves rush to crash in earnest

To caution, alert, shout, Prepare!

 

Fear opens doors to darkness

Heedless in its path that’s unclear

Trees and birds whisper unnerved

Spare us, save our Biosphere!

 

Desperation, a conduit for collaboration

For an outpouring of devotion

A surge of dedication

To some resolution

Or a Revolution!


 

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Our Mother - Re-posting in response to recent Climate Change Policy Changes

In loving memory of Mother Earth --
it lies in ashes beneath the Sun’s hearth.

The negligent dwellers are all gone:
No one left behind to mourn,

once our mother was lush green
sky so blue and oceans gleaming.
 
First, the trees were all cut off;
then the air filled with constant fog,

and waves rose to cover all land with a frown
and the polar ice caps melted and slid down

the inhabitants looked to the womb,
but all that lay there was their tomb;

in desperation they looked up to the sky --
rockets or wings, they could not fly.

Our dear Mother wept for her children --
rain clouds poured for no less days than eleven.

Now that all the water is gone,
evaporated away with no ozone,

the stark land remains parched and bare
and life in any form is hopeless, no one left to care.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Jazz and His Purpose

Our dear Jazz spent almost 10 short years with us of playfulness. What was his purpose?

He taught us to take long walks and to notice all that surrounds us. We began to appreciate nature, learned to capture its beauty with our camera and became one with our earth. We sniffed the fresh morning breeze or the dense afternoon air which carried fragrances of the new blooms or stench of decomposing roadkill or passing car exhaust. We heard the cardinals sing and owls hoot as we walked through the woods or neighborhoods, because of Jazz.
He disciplined us to step outside, go on regular walks, rain or shine. We began to appreciate the raindrops and hopped, skipped and jumped over puddles. We trudged through deep snow or admired our paw prints in the fresh dust of snowy path. We soaked in the scorching heat as the high noon Sun flared and glared down at us shining us from inside. We felt the breeze caress our skin and flow through our hair as it embraced us with its cooling and refreshing elegance.
Thanks to Jazz, we stopped to marvel at the dew drops on grass blades or droplets frozen in midair as they hung like jewels from the maple. We revered the morning frost as it dusted its soft white elegance on green and yellow lawns. Our respect for black ice and large frozen chunks of ice sheets on the walkways helped us look at its beauty beyond its threatening danger of the chilling fall.
Jazz’s desire to stop and sniff at every bush or tree, a fallen object of unusual shape and size allowed our eyes to notice all that we would have passed by without a thought. We would have missed the beauty of fire ant colonies in their perfect shaped mounds, the speed of the albino squirrel as it scurried up the tree, or even an empty plastic water bottle on the sidewalk that Jazz chose to pick up and carry between his teeth to bring it home so we could place it in the recycling tub. He found fallen twigs and branches, short and long, and carried them home as if to build a nest.
His pure joy and elegance in the thrill of the chase, whether he was chasing bunnies or was playing being chased by another dog at the dog park, taught us to be free of inhibitions and run for the thrill of it. His prance and frolic gave us courage to follow his cue as we paraded through the streets with our pride and joy that was Jazz.
I take a big long stretch every morning before stepping out of bed and I learned that from Jazz. Every cell in my body is awake and energized with this stretch and I’m ready to face a new day refreshed, even if it is a day without Jazz.
A year has gone by without his presence in his physical form, but we know he is stardust and has mingled with our surrounding. He is with us, around us and continues to serve his purpose of reminding us to stay on the path of living for the day and appreciate the little things in life. He taught us to use each and every sense that our body is gifted with and to wake the inner sense that is elusive and enigmatic.
Thank you Jazz for your wonderful 10 years with us and I know you are now helping others learn the same in a variant form, yet continue to be with us in the form of some of your particles. 
In memory of our dearest friend on this 1 year anniversary (March 4th) when his body ceased to be in the form we recognize him. Our love to you for always and beyond.

Monday, February 13, 2017

HOLMES

I have a friend from Holmes
who misses desperately her home
the one she played in as a child
where she endured seasons, wild and mild

Her home there is still warm,
with her mother, sisters in each other’s arms,
while devastation around them befalls,
houses, homes, humans crumble and collapse

My friend from Holmes left all behind
her heart and even her peace of mind
she lives here with comfort and love
her memories torment, she must evolve

New language, culture and religion
far, far from home in a new region
her husband’s love is not enough
her soul weeps beneath her laugh

Her home here is a mansion
with all the comfort of this nation
it has four walls and a roof
from her family she is aloof

This foreign land is now her home
but unwelcomed here feels my friend from Holmes
Fear and division drive her mad
loneliness and seclusion make her sad.


Oh my dearest friend so far from your land
We've all here come from afar, take my hand
I offer you my love and friendship
we are sisters in this new kinship.

I will cry your tears
I will drive away your fears
Don’t give up this fight
Preserve, prevail with all your might!

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Ashes to Ashes Dust to Dust

There are no words
There are no colors
My page is blank
My canvas has no palette

When they go low,
we go high – Michelle said.
How? Please tell us how
to move forward, to ascend

Most hands are tied behind their back
Most lips are stitched and zipped
We feel shackles in our ankles
We see menacing noose close to our necks

What is this place
of disarray, divide, disunity?
Where is this era
of anger, restlessness, vanity?

Helpless we feel as citizens
Restless we feel as humans
Worthless we feel as men and women
Hopeless I feel as an American!

These are uncertain times
Of democracy diminished
Of truths alternative
Our liberties in ashes

Phoenix -
We are in desperation
as we hang in suspension
Anxiously, we await your resurrection!

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Women's March Slogans - January 21st, 2017


Women’s rights is Human rights
Resistance is not futile
We are the resistance 

Keep your rosaries off my ovaries
I’m no longer accepting the things I cannot change,
I’m changing the things I cannot accept.
Keep your laws off my body
Separation of church and State keeps the peace
My rights are not up for grabs
We grab back
If my Uterus fired bullets, the G.O.P. would fund it
Feminism is about mutual respect 

Men of Quality don’t fear Equality
Men of quality respect women’s Equality
Black lives matter
Climate change is real
Facts matter
Science is real
Immigrants make America Great
Hate won’t make America great
No Human is illegal 

Welcome home Syrian refugees
Compassion is not weakness
We cannot all succeed when half of us are held back
Have FUNdamental human rights
We’re not sore losers, we’re informed citizens
Water is Life, Gender is Fluid
Love is Love
Love is love. Cannot be killed or swept aside
This isn’t Anti-anything. This is PRO human rights 

When they go low, we go high
Be civil
Be kind
They tried to bury us, they didn’t know we were seeds
The universe is on the side of justice, if you’re not, step aside
Liberty and justice for ALL
United we stand, Divided we fall
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent
Silence helps the tormentor never the victim 

Strong women Know them, Be them, Raise them
Well behaved women seldom make history
Time for more women to be In Charge

Girl Power! 

This is what democracy looks like!



 

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Between Us


As we sit on our daily couch
There is no space, only love
 
Between us.

Our hands reach across the empty seat
Our fingers mingle, weave as they meet
The empty space that sits alone
Was not always empty, as if a hole

                    Between us,
 
Our cherished children once squeezed the space
Huddled in a warm embrace
Cuddled and connected our warm bodies
Inserted their innocence as we sat cozy.

First one flew out from her nest
There was then our next best
Warm and fuzzy Jazz warmed the seat
Connected our every heart beat

And now that he is no more
All we have left is folklore

                  Between us

An empty seat no one to dote
Only the multitudes of TV remotes
Across the mountains of devices
I feel your breath and hear your heart pulsate.

Between us
there is no space, only love and heartbeat
as our hands reach across the empty seat.

 

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Perspective - Part 5 (Adventures of Backpack) continues


Red, I thought would be a good name at first, but I grew tired of it soon. I had almost a year in my dark closet to ponder and still I could not settle on a good name.
Snow was still on the ground when I was brought up into the light. My family moved around as they packed for another trip. I found myself lugged to an airport, stuffed in a tiny, congested compartment for yet another long journey across the ocean to India. Only mother and daughter accompanied me on this trip.
 
Delhi-Gurgaon was the same as we had left it with honking cars, cud chewing cows on the roads and warm air. A few days later, after our bodies were adjusted to the new time zone, a group of us loaded up in a van and drove up north into the Himalayas. We drove through farmland, small towns and sprawling cities outside the Capital, up into the mountains. Through winding roads we observed the dried up river beds, monkeys perched up on milestones and the panoramic expanse of the majestic mountains, until we reached the bustling valley city of Dehra Dun.
Equally bustling was the ancestral home we stayed in where the extended family congregated all the days we were there. They shared stories of distant and recent past, talked over each other and listened to absorb or correct details. While the daughter in my family appeared lost, fascinated, and beguiled with the lively and boisterous atmosphere, the mother and grandmother listened with interest and nostalgia as they blinked away welled tears. Their faces reflected reminiscence of younger years and older times, memories of those gone but ever present in their hearts and a smile to a touching moment or story that had been recounted several times through generations.

The drive back out of the valley, through the mountainous, winding roads, across the towns and cities into Delhi sped by in blur. A vision of this journey representing many journeys sat heavily on the passengers’ hearts. Even I reflected on my treks from the Swiss mountains to the snow and lakes of Minnesota to this valley city in India. My life had just begun and I had many miles in me yet. A whole world spread out before me to discover and conquer.
Barely had I settled into the house in Gurgaon that we were off again, this time in a smaller plane towards the port city of Mumbai. Another family welcomed us there with warmth and vitality. Great-grandmother lighted up with delight and found the energy to sit up, walk out and join the family as they assembled in the sitting room. Four generations mingled, bonded, healed as they shared stories separated by time and space. They played the card game passed down generations, making more memories.

Mumbai visit also ended as fleetingly as Dehra Dun and ultimately the entire vacation was over and we were back in Minnesota. Within a week of returning to this side of the Pacific, we learned of great-grandmother’s departure from this world. A sad goodbye but with closure and passing down of memories spanning four generations.

I went back to my nook, empty, sagging and reflecting on my life’s journey.
to be continued...

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Perspective - Part 4 (Adventures of a Backpack continue)


On a particularly gloomy morning, I woke up to find myself on the big bed. A litter of clothing and a large bag occupied the space next to me. Rain pelted down outside, sliding down the window pane like tears.
We rushed to the airport for a long and hard journey to India. I gathered this was no vacation from conversations overheard and the urgency of the trip. Reaching our destination across the other side of the globe, I sat forgotten in a room. I observed many people walk in and out of the room, muffled cries through the night, quiet conversations, and plenty of hugs.
I gathered that a tragedy had befallen the family, in the extended family we had cruised with, and a sadness set in into my folds. One early morning, before the sun rose, I found myself stuffed and dragged into a car, into a train, and then into another car. By midmorning I found myself sitting on the banks of the mighty river Ganges, surrounded by the mystical mountain range, the very impressive Himalayas.
Getting back into the car, we travelled toward a cleaner part of the river and crossed to the other side on a swinging bridge. Monkeys and langoors swung from cables and ropes around the bridge, unperturbed by the fast flowing current beneath them. They jumped from cables to trees to the bridge as if putting on a show for everyone on both the banks and for those in between. As we dodged donkeys and motorcycles and massive amount of human traffic crossing over to the other side, a light rain began its pitter patter gradually increasing its intensity. My family rushed to take cover under a peepal tree across the bridge.
As we huddled under it, a beautiful calf joined us under the canopy of the leaves. He pushed its way in, joined our small group and stood tall and proud among us. His light brown coat shone on his young skin and stubbles of young horns sprouted on his head. He nuzzled his way in further into our group as we all became fascinated with the beautiful, friendly and innocent creature. My family fed it guava they had carried for the journey from their tree at home, they took pictures of the calf, for which he posed and modeled charmingly, and then they christened him. They named him BOB. It was then I began to ponder, what if I had a name. I guess that question will remain with me for a long time to come.
to be continued...

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Hope


In darkness we see light

With division we find unity

weakness brings us might

enmity shows us  amity


 

In hatred lurks love

endurance gives us strength

fear allows for hope

sickness finds us health

 

To fall and allow defeat?

It is not this day!

 

despair gives rise to repair

disillusion shows us vision

when weary we find fury

But with fire beware!

 

From ashes will rise the phoenix.

From injury will soar the Eagle!

Sunday, October 30, 2016

Perspective - Part 3 (Adventures of the backpack continue)

Sunshine greeted me with a smile and many new faces around the house one fine morning. My family and their extended family hustled to prepare for their vacation.

Stuffed and bundled, I boarded the plane for a three hour journey south. I could smell the ocean even before we landed. From the airport we taxied straight to the port and boarded a really giant boat. As I learned later that calling it a boat was an insult, to its size and exuberance, and the preferred word for that city afloat was a cruise ship.
We sailed for the next four days into blissful rapture, as we admired the horizon with its many shades of blues and greens and everything in between. Conversations flowed as lyrically as the waves at the shores we anchored. Our first shore leave was in paradise, an island aptly named for its serenity and clarity. Each shore leave was equally distinct and exciting.
Over the four days I was lugged and left by the poolside deck, stuffed with damp clothing, wet goggles, and in my safe pockets I kept watch on their room key cards and watches and phones. On a land excursion, I soaked in the sun, and from my vantage point on the beach, I admired the vastness of the bluest ocean ever seen. The family battled boisterous waves, waded in the pools closer to the sandy area, and swam in the delicious beauty of the Atlantic.
Rejuvenated and exhilarated, we returned home to the beauty of the Minnesota summer. Robin and swallow chicks emerged from their nests ready to take the plunge to find their wings.
I sat forgotten, partially unpacked in a corner as I watched the whole family run in and out playing with the dog, or gather in the kitchen to cook, eat and make merry. In the midst of one of those merriment, while everyone clustered around the living room table, I heard a tap, tap of the dog’s steps as he strolled around the house. His nails and the wood floors helped me guide his whereabouts as he inspected each room in search of amusement or crumbs. I heard him go down the stairs to the basement and a short while later run back up, unsatisfied. He probably found the guest bedroom door shut, to keep him out, I’m sure. As I heard him run up the sleek wooden steps, I heard him trip on one of them, and at that I laughed out loud. Big mistake. Not only had I called attention to my vulnerable self, open and available in a forgotten corner, I also let him know that I had noticed his embarrassment and laughed at him.
Tap tap, his feet made their way to me and I braced for the assault to start. He cautiously walked toward me, looked at my unshapely form, and sniffed the remnants of sand and ocean on me. He pawed my middle pocket, the one where granola bars and nuts usually made their home during the travels. It was empty now, but I guess he could smell them nevertheless. He had no thumbs, thankfully, so there was no way he was opening any of my zippers.
I saw his handsome body plop down next to me, his gorgeous face with its big floppy ears and dense eyes, resting on the floor between his front paws. We watched each other for a while as if keeping company. Then I felt him inch closer to me, his nose on top of my black straps, the ones that buckle up under the backpackers’ chest to keep me from sagging on their backs. The dog, the beautiful blue dog, proceeded to lick the strap, and before I knew it, the plastic buckle was between his teeth. He gently chewed it as if it were a bone. He was a gentle sort so it was not anything vicious or any sort of attack.
Nevertheless, I screamed, I got angry, I called for help, but no one came my rescue. By the time my owner called out for the dog from the living room, as if sensing he was up to mischief, my buckle was past repair. He got back up on his paws and tap tapped his way out of the room, innocence pasted like plaster on his face.
The damage to my limb, the assault on my person was not discovered for almost two months until the next trip my family had to take.

 

Saturday, October 8, 2016

10 Things my writing taught me about life

1. Let things unfold

2. People are not 1 or 2 dimensional
 

3. Life is not linear
 

4. It's not what happens to you, but how you react
 

5. Body language speaks volumes
 

6. Silence speaks volumes
 

7. Through conflict or struggle we grow
 

8. Pace yourself but never stop moving forward
 

9. Conflict resolutions are satisfying
 

10. Internal and external dialogue are never the same.