nuts and bolts, henry victor [book recommendations website txt] 📗

You may forget the one with whom you have laughed,
but never the one with whom you have wept”

Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam

, p. 79.

Dedicated to my brothers,
the other victors -

John Stephen
Jacob Alexander
&
Solomon George

with whom
I have wept for
Abraham Rex (1952-1978)

our brother

noise and ooze

my commode has been making noise
that my wife tried to fix it
only to make it worse
and now it started leaking too

by the time i saw it
the washroom was flooded
and i’m no plumber to fix it
neither am i an idiot to avoid it

so, i did with manly mettle, mettle with it
and tightened, at the end, the right nut
for both the noise, and the ooze to prevent

we did leave home thereafter
i, carrying a washroom in ooze
while my wife, walking in perfect poise


gitanjali

gentle you were, in your smile
involuntarily shaking limbs, until your
tiny frame, into my hands, it slipped
amusing me with gorgeous amusements
negating in me those moments of meaninglessness
joyfully, with tiny fingers
affecting more life into my faltering being
like the season of spring
invigorating the shuddering mother earth

vanished with your birth were
ills that crippled us for fourteen years
causing us to sing those songs
that makes God leap and dance
overwhelmed by a sudden birth, and
remembering tagore, we named you gitanjali


synchronicity

a synchronicity in the number plates
i see of the automobiles
on the road in a given spot and moment

this increases my curiosity
filling heart with amazement
and my mind with a mull over

in all this, my number
two three six remain at the bottom
with my will to synchronize the dissimilar
to create a colourful harmony
and recognize that underlying unity
beyond the apparent dissimilarity


red lotus

oh, the immaculate red lotus
the queen of flowers
the seat of buddhas
tell me, this grown-up foetus
the secret of your excellent status
in spite of the trotting trend
that you grow in the muddiest pond -
in the stinking ground

oh, the flawless red flora
the crown of vegetation
the seat of buddhas
how is that neither mud
nor the filthy fluid
from which you derive your nourishment
touch not your tender petals
nor corrupt your fragrance


all a yard sale

the mongolic king
and the burger king
facing each other
tanning
with vo’s nails
and super cuts
sharing the same yard -
one parking lot
ricky’s all day grill
grilling
night and day
while booster juice
doing the rest
for those walking
into liquor depot
claiming
to save-on food


not magic

not a magic that i expect
you to quickly act upon
but a miracle that i yearn
in my life, you to execute

i do not ask you to change
my water into red wine
but transform my taste buds
that colourless will hint as wine

i do not ask you to multiply
my loaves, but that me
and mine never go hungry
or ever disown the weary

i do not ask you for powers
to walk on the roaring sea
but that i will have the luxury
of a friend, my woes to see

not a magic that i expect
you to quickly act upon
but a miracle that i yearn
in my life, you to execute


new sharpeville

dove, the daughter of peace
with her two friends, from noah’s dinghy
alighted, this spring morning, on my neighbour’s roof
with still a little more melting snow
her pals, different colour, guys or gals, i don’t know
since the three wore unisex garment concealing curves

did she come here now to claim back her house
on that ex-Portuguese fellow, my fellow citizen’s rooftop
or, did the trio come to announce the new sharpeville
while on this day of march 21, 2006
i am still stuck in that old one of 1960

for sure they made my mind drift
from sharpeville massacre to ship: I now thought
where is the boat berthed? what was life like in that yacht
how do I decipher the depth in that human heart

my intuition then prompted me to meditate that togetherness
an easy exercise when an escape is the single notion
coming down from my morning meditation
i timidly queried: will you fly back to the craft tonight
or, bear a little cold until the white stuff melts
to build that new Sharpeville with no apartheid


insanity

yesterday
with might and main i laboured
to diligently learn the art
of lengthening simple shoes
for the ever expanding
tiny feet of my little daughter

today
i am frighteningly tormented
to discover the contemporary wisdom
of conveniently cutting feet
to fit useless foot-wears
made by the reigning professionals

disagreeing
with the modern overnight professors,
i am very assertively informed
by their cowardly counsellors
is plain insanity
fit enough only for dismissal

ethnic cleansing
in the political arena is easy answer
for those wolfish rulers
greedily striving to firmly establish
corruptive power and stinking business
instead, dealing positively, the prevailing pluralism


an accent

to the pond behind my yard
i saw strolling a frog and a toad
they were there on that rainy day to breed
but the two soon began chatting their creed

said the frog: “you a bastard bufonidae
you disturb my peace with your croak”
protested the toad: “you a rascal ranidae
you scare me to my death with your squeak”

friendly chatting now turned to a dispute
they leapt across belittling each other
and there crept the water snake, moving softly
swallowed the frog, proceeding next to the toad


my unlit grotto

i wait silently seated
deep inside my unlit grotto
listening to your footsteps
falling rhythmically
anticipating, my sum
but broken being knowing joyfulness
emerging from the music of your hum
negating desire for transient pleasure, trivial fun
always willing to go through that purifying pain

this, now, has become my stable
pre-occupation
i, your servant, therefore, endlessly
entreat you, my governor
and honoured lodger of my unlit grotto


to my eternity

your whistling
i clearly heard
your color
i see not
your name
i know not
but
to my eternity
i take you


Bio of Henry Victor

Henry Victor is an Anglican priest, an adjunct professor and a published poet.

Henry Victor (whose roots go to Nagercoil, Tamil Nadu, India) was born in Colombo, Sri Lanka where he had his early education. He then went to India to secure his degrees in Christian Theology and World Religions. Moving later to United Kingdom to complete his Ph D. Prior to settling in Edmonton in July 2000 he worked in Pakistan for a very short time and been a Professor of Comparative Religion in two of Sri Lankan Universities - University of Jaffna (Sri Lanka) and Eastern University (Sri Lanka).

Henry Victor’s poems have appeared in magazines, journals, and anthologies in Sri Lanka, India, Philippines, United Kingdom, Germany, Sweden, United States and Canada. His collection of poems titled No Tears and Frail Floret were published in Sri Lanka in 1998 and 1999 respectively. Cyberwit.Net (of India) published Henry Victor's poems in The Postmodern Temperament: Fifteen Poets (2003) and The Ferment of Images (2004). Stinging of the Scorpion & Other Poems (2006) and Three Faces & Other Poems (2007) are his most recent collections.

Publication Date: 12-13-2009

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