Saturday, September 5, 2020
By Lakshman Bulusu
I am specially challenged—
The experts call it OCD, BPD, depression—
The words ‘mental illness’ resonate in my mind,
my life shattered like a well-crafted antique,
splintered to pieces.
Moment by moment, this thought eclipses me.
Until one day, I realize I have to come out of this darkness.
Even the night has the moon and the stars
and the day has its light.
I thrill in gardening:
plant seeds of marigold and sunflowers,
till the soil in furrows with a cultivator or a garden hoe,
water daily using a green watering can
with patience as far as my passion can hold.
Behold each blossom, a newborn seasonal beauty.
I take to painting, try to imitate Jean-Michel,
create faces with expressions of
joy, gloom, anger, despair—
in ages of a child, aged, blonde, and old-aged—
in ranges of white, black, brown, and
the versatility of light.
I resort to basketball. In a court set up in my backyard
practice shooting the ball into the hoop.
Sometimes I play alone yet overcome the solitude
by living in the next throw, this time to make it a better one.
The music of the Beatles’ Come Together and Michael Jackson’s Thriller—
the song and beat rocking through the speakers
overwhelm me as I drive through the countryside flanked by green fields.
I recite hymns of Lord Ram at an ancient temple,
sometimes so immersed it becomes a soliloquy.
Every chant of it chases the blues away that kept chasing me.
I engage in literature, sonnet to free verse,
a monologue or a dialogue, as an inspiration
to those sharing my space.
I write poems to characterize myself in a comic vein.
I venture out in the open, take a sojourn at the beach.
I find solace in that I can challenge my challenge.
A signal of mental wellness:
At the end of the evening, relaxing in a chair,
sipping tea, and acknowledging passers by.
By koon woon - September 05, 2020
Friday, September 4, 2020
When I was young
And wild and joyful,
I met a mystic sage
She had a dark and golden heart
And promised me endless light
Being greedy and wanting
I barely listened to her
And blithely followed her
As she spiraled down
To uplift you,
She told me,
I will take you
And when you rise
you will break the
Like a swimmer
Bursting into the light
Following her down,
I became lost
in infinite night
in piercing pain
in tireless tragedy
Without the sage,
Doubt and Panic
knowing I would
never be the same
But I fought,
And up and down
Again and again
And years passed
As I fought to break
And sometimes I thought
I saw the light
I was soaked in darkness
And each time
I was near
I healed a little
And then I
The light was not
spotless white gloves,
freshly fallen snow,
unblemished porcelain skin.
when you're in
the hammer that comes down
on the nail,
the noose that hangs,
the seal on the coffin,
drowning in your
reach my ideals
has stopped me,
death by asphyxiation
by a Tyrant
of my own making
And when can I breathe
just a ... little
Who decides what perfect is?
For if beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
perfect can take on many forms,
leaving it amorphous
The answer cannot
Holding tight to harrowing idealism
Exist between the lines
To allow mere respiration
To become inspiration
By koon woon - September 04, 2020
Sorry we are not reading entries and submissions at this time, as we are plotting how to make the USA a better country.
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