Four Poems from Surekha Vijh

SEVEN
ASTRONAUTS

We
travel in an orbit,
through space: we think—
we know ––
we control—
we brag about
our mortal bodies—
skin, hair and eye color, private mansions,
exclusive neighborhoods
safe---
until object disintegrates into a million parts
just like the Shuttle Columbia
giving back to Mother Nature
within the fold of five elements.
Where do we learn who we are?
No barricades,
no boundaries
or borders in Space.
Earth looks a tiny marble,
its inhabitants invisible.
Only visible is blue water
and brown land, celebrating
the unity of earth and sky,
humanity and cosmos.
Seers and sages throughout time
and now the astro-explorers
narrate the lesson clearly—
We are only visitors
We are not owners.

DEATH OF
A ROSE

A rose arrived
in early summer
without a buzz, a murmur.
Nature played adroitly,
its finest symphony.
Splendor touched the mundane.
The raindrops fell gently
on leaves, buds and flowers.
Composing an aria.
And a new cavatina.
My heart beat stopped,
absent for awhile. Then
the bud turned blue
its acceptance questioned.
My rose was depetaled---
by strong winds.

FACE OF EARTH

Each
day they
crucify the messiah

in
the name of color,
race and religion.

Each
day they find reasons
to fight wars on Earth,

for
power, greed
or just for fun:

Alexander,
Darius, Babar,
Caesar, Napoleon

and
others fought
the wars for

destruction
of evil,
for bringing unity, for

religious
brotherhood,
or for colorless continuum.

Is
war a necessity
or only an occupation?

But
this war is
another story.

You
explain
I will try to understand….

ROHAN
AND ROHINI

From
the stars you arrived – crossing
the cosmos, the atmosphere, then touching
the peak of the Himalayas,

soaking
in the pure and purple Ganges, you arrived
in my prayers, as if emerging
from the sacrificial fire of Maha Yajna, from fire

she,
Dropadi, who rose to the history and
became a Queen. From earth, she, Sita, who
rose to the height of the sky,

the
Lady. From a child of negligence, he,
Prahlad, became the pathfinder and guide
and others who found a nourishing place.

I
say all this to give you strength and meaning.
You too, most cheery, most sparkling
sought a virtuous vision within my heart.

Your
wishful presence, although cut short,
enlivened my being. Was I to pray along
for your stay? Should I cry for your loss?

Two
gentle essence in human form.
Will I eventually arrive at my destination
to rock you? Or will I seek forgiveness

from
you. The song you started still
hums its wondrous tune, although my eyes never
saw you blossoming, all that magnificence,

seeing
change a seed into a plant,
watching your tender gestures, glorious pranks,
pure ragas when cried - I miss the companionship

between
mother and children—
The whole of that experience. The majestic
lapses of “life” in my lap.

Mahayjna: grand
fire sacrifice
Raga: Indian classical notes
Sita, Dropadi and Prahalad: characters from Indian mythology

Born in India, Surekha Vijh was educated in India, England and the USA, receiving her master’s degrees in English Literature, journalism and bachelor’s degree in sciences. A published and award winning author, she concentrates on domestic and international affairs and human-interest issues. Her journalistic career has involved work for The Washington Times, Capitol Hill, United Nations, The Times of India, and the BBC while also contributing to various local newspapers, magazines and TV and radio programs. She leads poetry workshops and readings internationally at various universities, colleges and book festivals. Her published works include poetry books Without Echo, Until the Next Harvest and Uttrarddh Kavita and poetry anthologies. Surekha’s works are often a reflection of her travels, and the cultures she encounters, prompting her works to be translated into many languages. She lives in New York City and Washington DC.