Embarking on a journey halfway across the globe
for the love of a grandson,
Carrying with you
a wisdom of maternal strength,
from the time when dowries and domestic work
was your ticket to life
but your love for something deeper
had sprouted a Samaj of sisters
who toiled in the streets
without the basic amenities of sanitation,
with what felt to them as they walked in the gulleys
clad in soiled colors of saris
barefoot and unknown
a life of a will suppressed,
that you led them to unlock
through the marches of sisters
along Boring Road
who wore the branded scars of their husbands
the female voices of Mahila Samaj
collectively echoed from the streets of Bihar
and when you were behind bars
for a worldwide mission
a Pachamba House tradition had begun
As I saw you unlock your suitcase of compassion in our home,
a collection of pink and cream colored saris and madhubala prints unraveled
as soothing herbal tea leaves, kajal containers, and dangly earrings sparkled,
inside there,
you carried within,
the key to empower your homeland sisters
in this land,
to sing.
-July 8, 2007
in honor of Urmila Prasad-My Grandma who was the President of Mahila Samaj a women's rights group based in Bihar which fought for the socio-political and economic liberation of women.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Friday, June 1, 2007
"My Co-Passengers"
I drove along the 101,
listening to the somber solace of the repetitive chants,
from the monks of bhodgaya,
taking a piece of soulful wisdom along with me,
rolling on in my personal adventure
with the wheels of my silver civic,
I noticed the dark brown hides of the cows,
and maybe baby calves,
trucking alongside me,
caged in a moving wooden prison,
escorted by their driving warden,
seeing their black eyes, blank in oblivion,
not knowing where they came from,
unable to fear where they were going,
huddled together they stood in their docile state,
innocent and soft,
I was still, with them, for just a moment,
before we parted ways,
Me to the comfort of my destined home,
with my father awaiting my arrival
with a warm glass of his favorite chilean cabernet,
and my mother, with the enticing aroma of her spiced indian potatoes,
drawing closer to the warmth of a loving abode,
my fellow co-passengers trudged along,
aimeslessly,
to the trenches of their home,
of slaughter.
listening to the somber solace of the repetitive chants,
from the monks of bhodgaya,
taking a piece of soulful wisdom along with me,
rolling on in my personal adventure
with the wheels of my silver civic,
I noticed the dark brown hides of the cows,
and maybe baby calves,
trucking alongside me,
caged in a moving wooden prison,
escorted by their driving warden,
seeing their black eyes, blank in oblivion,
not knowing where they came from,
unable to fear where they were going,
huddled together they stood in their docile state,
innocent and soft,
I was still, with them, for just a moment,
before we parted ways,
Me to the comfort of my destined home,
with my father awaiting my arrival
with a warm glass of his favorite chilean cabernet,
and my mother, with the enticing aroma of her spiced indian potatoes,
drawing closer to the warmth of a loving abode,
my fellow co-passengers trudged along,
aimeslessly,
to the trenches of their home,
of slaughter.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Flight 587
And Another Today,
A Crash in New York City
Is this a life of normalcy?
Are we forced to become desensitized
So we can get on with our lives?
Or live each day with the guilt that
Only luck saved our lives,
And we are fortunate to not have to say,
"Mi hijo esta muerto," today.
-in memory of the victims of Flight 587 which left JFK Int'l Airport in New York City on November 12, 2001 en route to the Dominican Republic and crashed into an apartment building in Queens at around 9:15 am. Around 150 Dominicans were killed. A total of about 250 people were on board.
A Crash in New York City
Is this a life of normalcy?
Are we forced to become desensitized
So we can get on with our lives?
Or live each day with the guilt that
Only luck saved our lives,
And we are fortunate to not have to say,
"Mi hijo esta muerto," today.
-in memory of the victims of Flight 587 which left JFK Int'l Airport in New York City on November 12, 2001 en route to the Dominican Republic and crashed into an apartment building in Queens at around 9:15 am. Around 150 Dominicans were killed. A total of about 250 people were on board.
An American Tragedy
And how can I explain
What I feel today
I grieve for you
Who burns the flame of life
the one reaching beneath the rubble
whose screams were never heard
the guy who went to work
the fireman who gave his fire
Father Judge who left a following behind
"Frasier" won't be the same without you
A tv anchor crying "what should the pilot do?"
A tragic phone call saying "honey, I love you."
What I feel today
I grieve for you
Who burns the flame of life
the one reaching beneath the rubble
whose screams were never heard
the guy who went to work
the fireman who gave his fire
Father Judge who left a following behind
"Frasier" won't be the same without you
A tv anchor crying "what should the pilot do?"
A tragic phone call saying "honey, I love you."
Long Live Che
On T-shirts and buttons
Across the U.S.A.
A man of ideals
Drowning in an ironic capitalistic sea,
A bleeding crucified body,
In La Paz Bolivia lies this man,
Where the U.S. was part of the plan
So, now who reaps the royalties
of this dead man?
Across the U.S.A.
A man of ideals
Drowning in an ironic capitalistic sea,
A bleeding crucified body,
In La Paz Bolivia lies this man,
Where the U.S. was part of the plan
So, now who reaps the royalties
of this dead man?
Rajiv Uncle
Is this the way life is today?
A slow degenerative consumption of the body?
A torture that wrenches the very heart of a family?
And if it is, then I don't understand life today.
Only 44 years and then he passed away,
He had so much more to say,
But it was already in the 4th stage,
How could it be this way?
He was the baby of a family,
that grew up where my mom used to play,
Always smiling and dancing freely,
A Director at Altera, his company,
A Father with a loving family,
A look like Kevin Costner
my brother and I used to say,
So happy, he was, I remember
that day,
Could you please tell me,
then, why he was taken away?
-in memory of Rajiv Kumar who died from lung cancer on November 24, 2001. He is survived by his wife and 2 children.
A slow degenerative consumption of the body?
A torture that wrenches the very heart of a family?
And if it is, then I don't understand life today.
Only 44 years and then he passed away,
He had so much more to say,
But it was already in the 4th stage,
How could it be this way?
He was the baby of a family,
that grew up where my mom used to play,
Always smiling and dancing freely,
A Director at Altera, his company,
A Father with a loving family,
A look like Kevin Costner
my brother and I used to say,
So happy, he was, I remember
that day,
Could you please tell me,
then, why he was taken away?
-in memory of Rajiv Kumar who died from lung cancer on November 24, 2001. He is survived by his wife and 2 children.
Aaliyah
A time of tragedy
When a star of today
Shattered by tomorrow
No time to digest the sorrow
What will her parents do?
What will her boyfriend say?
When their baby doesn't come home today?
No camera, cut, or mic can take away
What happened the day before yesterday
No time to get her B.A.
To be more than a face in L.A.
But listen to the songs and
Ambition of what could have been
A girl who knew how to do a lot more than sing.
-August 27, 2001- in memory of Aaliyah
When a star of today
Shattered by tomorrow
No time to digest the sorrow
What will her parents do?
What will her boyfriend say?
When their baby doesn't come home today?
No camera, cut, or mic can take away
What happened the day before yesterday
No time to get her B.A.
To be more than a face in L.A.
But listen to the songs and
Ambition of what could have been
A girl who knew how to do a lot more than sing.
-August 27, 2001- in memory of Aaliyah
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
