Call it privilege
Bias, Prejudice, Politics,
Call it what you like.
But whether it’s a little voice,
Or a big one.
Suffering is suffering.
So much is drowned,
So much, we simply tune out
to hear the familiar drummer
But to place our ears to the ground
For the voices that have yet to be heard
For the soft drops of tears shed in hidden spaces.
Amidst the cacophony of the voices we know,
The voices we’ve been told are more important,
than the ones who are missing.
Could we not listen, just a little further?
A little deeper?
Could we not seek out the words held thick
in the still air of silent neglect?
Could we not seek to hear the voice
we were told never to value
never to love
never to respect?
For some voices,
we are told,
matter more than others…
Bairavee Balasubramaniam, 2015
Image: Autumn edition 1925 - our new guide to rose culture (1925) (20163159620).jpg By Dingee & Conard Co; Henry G. Gilbert Nursery and Seed Trade Catalog Collection [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons
Image: Mt Charleston Blue Butterfly.jpg – By Corey Kallstrom/USFWS (Flickr: Mt Charleston Blue Butterfly) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons [Digitally Enhanced by the author under license terms]
Sometimes less is more,
More or less,
Sometimes to get real fast,
You’ve gotta go real slow..
Sometimes to get somewhere,
Stand real still…
and – 3, 2, 1, ..
Nope, still no go.
Funny old world,
Topsy-turvy doesn’t quite cut it,
That’s logic we get – we can predict,
Where truth is stranger than fiction,
Where stillness is the prerequisite to right action,
The old world won’t make sense in the new
Once you shake hands with the stranger,
in the Mirror – hm, seems rather familiar?
Normalcy bid Adieu.
It’ll never be the same…
Not now? not ever?
There’s just no going back…
The old ways just don’t make sense …
Dissolve, Dis-illusion, Dis-assemble,
The words of fear and decay,
Yet without death never shall we see,
The Soul that Body Sheaths.
The Secrets that Matter Keeps
The Truth that is Concealed,
In Form, In Structure,
Waiting for The Big Reveal.
The Moon, the Sun, the Stars align so
My Goddesses of the Sky, of Serpent and The Old,
Ajima-Harati-Dhumavati-Kali they stand with Strength Untold,
Watching over me as I crumble,
My ego tumbles,
My desires shatter into dust,
As the Pisces Moon’s Secrets Unfold.
Karma Ceases, Ties Dissolve,
Ownership is Renounced,
Through Pain a new Freedom,
A New Vision, A New Birth,
Through Death, Decay, Formlessness,
In the Watery Womb of Chaos and Surrender,
A Pathway is Born.
And The Dark Goddess Smiles.
She Says: Now, My Child.
Stripped of your Certainty
You Stand Before me … Naked