Belinda Subraman Poems
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Eyes like stars sparkle and die
and cycle into new stars, new eyes.
The answer is outside our window.
Astronomers look
for the beginning
and find there is no end.
Down to earth
there are frozen lines,
winter trees,
stalled cars in dirty snow,
sorrow over endings.
The real world is through the window,
infinite, ageless.
Though a clear veil
keeps us distant,
the soul of what
we can never prove
keeps us close....Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda
As we slide into the 3rd world we have created,
running from hurricanes,
with our SS# indelibly inked on our arms
storms swell and swallow our control.
I am flooded with life review,
the beliefs of my youth.
I reach for my first Bible
which has survived every move.
I am mystified by Revelation’s
hallucinations again.
I would like to clutch an answer close,
bury myself in a father’s love
but...Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda
I dreamed I was eating
a book.
It was made from 8” by 12” slabs
one inch deep.
It tasted like cheese
but cut like watercress.
as I chewed I understood.
As I looked around
others were reading
the same title
but in the regular way
I couldn’t determine
which was best,
eyes only
or digesting it my way.
Others began to notice me
and stare.
Made me feel *****.
I was in a restaurant though,
a fitting...Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda
past the hippies
past Ravi Shankar
eons before
when the first Asian snake
came alive
stiffened with sound
through some empty shell
some hollow wood
some emptiness
the snake
was not so much charmed
as listening intently
to the accidental flute
to that which he knew
must be female
its empty insides
calling him
with breath music
and he joined in
for awhile
finding a rang of sounds
he’d never heard
then peace
and a new religion
practiced in places
where snakes...Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda
I remember India:
palm trees, monkey families,
fresh lime juice in the streets,
the sensual inundation
of sights and smells
and excess in everything.
I was exotic and believable there.
I was walking through dirt
in my sari,
to temples of the deities
following the lead
of my Indian in-laws.
I was scooping up fire with my hands,
glancing at idols that held no meaning for me,
being marked by the ash.
They...Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda
Silence has no zen today.
Ambient freeway noise
from ? mile away,
the occasional Friday nighter
coming home 2:00 a.m. Saturday,
the appliances with two-tone hums,
the bumping and grinding
of an old swamp cooler,
a distant train,
forces what has been pushed back
to break through.
My father needs O 2
all the time now.
His innocence
in countering the surgeons’ truth
with his wishes and beliefs
stabs me in the...Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda
My patient, Paul, wrote in a poem
that he belongs to the wayward wind,
a restless breed,
a strange and hardy class.
I’ve been with him for two years
and now he is dying.
“Are you in pain, Paul?” I ask.
“I AM pain,” he said.
But he is refusing medication
although his cancer has spread
from his kidneys to his lungs, brain and bones.
Somehow bearing this pain to...Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda
At the edge of winter
in crisp early March
a dull thud of numbness
delays joy and sadness
that will make us weep.
In the flow of life
every aspect bears its opposite.
Between extremes
there’s the balance of peace
or peace
in the realization of balance.
With the warm blanket of knowledge
is the freezing cold of truth.
We are greeted with tears
as we come into this world
and tears as we...Read more of this...
by
Subraman, Belinda