Father : Further
— by Poet Kim Jang-hyun (J)
Within the fallen memories that you keep,
Your nostalgia was a bird bound for the deep.
That lonely wanderer of a mystic bar,
Was, perhaps, a drifting and a silent star.
Your beauty, standing in Maya all alone,
Was a yearning presence you have always known.
At the edge of exile, where your tears are shed,
You were the seed of pain from which we bled.
Upon a strange civilization's unknown bower,
You were a fleeting, passing pasqueflower.
Immutable, though all the worlds may shift,
Your gentle smile was a fading, distant gift.
That endless world where Maitreya shall reign,
Was the secret truth that you alone sustain.
Beyond the mountain, here within our view,
That flower, surely, was a part of you.
These times when there is so much hatred in the world
I am grateful for the words of Maya Angelou
which always help me cope:
Love recognizes no barriers.
It jumps hurdles, leaps fences,
penetrates walls to arrive at its destination
full of destination…
full of hope.
("First Light", 2006, original oil)
Samsara’s wheel of Life,
Wheel of ignorance and suffering
Is but an illusion,
A mirage of a vast collective
Of veiled ignorant minds,
Like a spinning projection
Of hope and fear,
Above the true wheel.
So what is this true wheel
That turns at the base of reality,
In the heart of each of us?
Let’s just say
It’s not something
That can ever be named,
Yet something actual and changeless
Just waiting to be discovered.
(3/10/26)
Shaped from earth’s crust, our form is dust,
made alive by the breath of God,
known if we choose love over lust,
whence drowned in His light, we are awed.
The ‘we’ referred to, is ego,
which in truth has no existence
but since we refuse to let go
God humours ego’s insistence.
Self as God, is within asleep,
dreaming as it were, lost in trance,
till taking a consciousness leap,
we make erect, our soul’s stooped stance.
Maya, the veil of forgetting,
though arising from God’s power,
a web of desire abetting,
causing fear, making soul cower.
When all seems lost, love shows the way,
cradling all hearts in a bliss mist,
Whence ego dies, we cease to sway,
desireless, with no to-do list.
If we would be free, thoughts must cease,
that as pure presence, self-aware,
demons of darkness we release
and with God’s heart, seamlessly pair.
Though ego dies, it never was
and by its death we then reclaim
light of Self, putting thoughts on pause,
in one light, in each heart the same.
The fakification of modern life
Is almost complete
As AI and disinformation
Crowd out the real and true.
If you didn’t see and do it
How can you even trust
It ever happened
Or at least how they say.
Like the old Emperor and his new robes
But in reverse
Now it’s the old calling out the lies
While the young just accept the illusion.
To the young the blurred lines will just be
What has always been
The nature of a social construct
Always in process, always under review.
What is the difference between man and woman,
Or right or wrong
Left and Right?
Whatever you want it to be.
(8/3/25)
Maya, the veil we may call illusion,
is differentiated perception,
which believing real is delusion,
sensory inputs causing deception,
conditioned belief and preconception.
As long as we believe we’re body-mind,
cravings of ego grip us in their bind,
freedom from which requires a shift to heart,
love enabled, with all mankind entwined,
eye single, whence our God-search quest can start.
“A wise woman wishes to be no one’s enemy; a wise woman refuses to be anyone’s victim.” - Maya Angelou
The infamous feminist and activist Maya Angelou
She was a powerful force to recon with and to know
Her feminist and civil right beliefs were strongly expressed
As she bravely spoke her mind to try put injustices to rest
Each of us alone
All in an illusion’s game
Of our own making
(7/27/24)
For today’s blessing I turn once again to Maya Angelou
whose words speak to people of all faiths and religions…
from Judaism to Islam to Christianity
May we be blessed not to die
without having done something wonderful for humanity.’
O Maya, 'Tis important to return from your invisible journey for I, right now, like a corpse dangling on the ground, wish to die in spring, beneath the cherry blossoms, while the springtime Moon is full.
If you, O mistress of my heart has passed away
And after you, eager to serve, go I
I now waver between life and death
I wish to put my neck to an unsheathed sword whose cut is but a breath of wind
Why wish death for your soul?
Are not your lashes rows of arrows set to conquer any obstacle? When you wished to turn your brows into smoke, into nothingness, Did I not beg you to refrain?
Can't you see that your absence has made me like a rotten log half-buried in the ground? And my life which has not flowered, hungs on the melody of death and has sunk beneath the shadow of death? In the face of faded love, where's thy strength?
In the depths of Tadoba,
where shadows sway,
once lived Maya,
the Tigeress, in a mystical way.
There was an silent under tone through the forest,
As she graced with majestic stripes,
she Ruled the land, morning and night,
especially the moonlit jungle,
indeed a breathtaking sight.
But fate, may you say?
or a merciless hunter?
had its own course,
And took Maya's spirit, with a force.
Her spirit still dances as a gentle breeze,
amidst the lush greenery,
where she once roamed and reigned,
there lies a story of her courage,
a tale to be told.
Through her amber eyes, the forest wept,
for Maya's journey,
in the wilderness suddenly snapped!
Her roars echo through the rustling leaves,
For every paw print left in the dust,
Carries the betrayal of a tiger's trust.
But in the tranquility of Tadoba's sigh, Maya's spirit soars,
refusing to die.
In the glow of twilight,
her memory burns bright,
Maya lives on, in the wild.
©?Chitra Arun
May we be blessed to acknowledge all the wonders in our life
that have, for us, thus far accrued…
and to begin each day with a word of thanks…
and thoughts of gratitude.
Today I’m thankful for history…
when it’s an honest unobstructed view
and for the poetry and wisdom
of Maya Angelou
Who hoped for the day…
as I do
when we are blessed to see
Native American
and black history
taught from one book…
An honest and accurate book on U. S. history.
Maya and I
in a queen-sized bed
moonlight and stars,
and the light of love
with the light of love
we met together
The envious tree,
the lonely branches of the tree
The shadowy hands
knocking on the windows
and spoke quietly.
"Stop it!"
But the night breeze came in
through the cracks of the windows
and cheered
"Keep going!"
We went on laid all
through the night.
And she gave one more toy to her cry-child.
Yet, not a single look, it wailed on still,
Grew restless, hard to soothe and deeply riled,
But as mothers do, she knew what was ill.
She was Maya---the formless that we find,
Who strews along our paths a pile of toys
In hope that human souls, by grace inclined,
Would winnow fleeting pleasures from true joys.
Her deep illusion-clad love we can see
As light from darkness is at last untwined,
From ignorance, foam from the waves of sea,
And from Maya, mother is seen so kind.
And lo, when tallest of ceilings we tame,
We learn: ceilings and roofs are all the same.
__________________________________
Sonnet | 07.01.2012, recast July 2023|
Note: Maya is traditionally seen as an elusive thing that misleads. This piece sees her as mother that in maternal care spreads a lot of toys in our path so that we know to discriminate the good from bad.
(Response to And Still I Rise by Maya Angelou)
Refusing to ever descend after
My mother, grandmother, great grandmother
Have all endured broken wings
To ensure that I would one day be able to catch wind
I rise
Because Maya said so
Explaining to me my existence
Is never burden
Not curse
No, I am heavenly
Her voice like gospel
And I will always respond to good news
I rise
Because I was birthed from dead flames
So you’re damn right I’ve been through hell
I rise
Because too many
Will find satisfaction in my downfall
I’ve been hunted like duck season
Aiming at my every move, so yes
They will be upset when I make it out alive
I rise
Cuz I know no other direction
Built into me like going south for winter
Internal compass passed down
Through North Star guidance
This is instinct
There is nowhere to go but
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