Distant Muses

My feet wriggle into the comfort of earth, my soul flies amongst shimmering jewels on a midnight velvet sky. The endless possibilities of distant homes ignite my imagination, sparking poetry, so foreign to my tongue. The stars make poets of us all.

Chasing Away Shadows

Oil lamp ©Asha Rajan

~ Deepam. Deepam. ~

My childhood Summers were spent mostly at my maternal grandmother’s home in Kerala. My Ammamma, my Mothermother, was brilliant, a self-educated soul who read without discrimination. Sharp-witted, insightful, funny, and loving, with little interest in cooking. She would delight in things of beauty, and my mother would secret away small presents that would thrill her. When Ammamma died, we found an almirah full of Avon hand-painted soaps with beautiful flowers on them. She had squirrelled them away, considering them too precious to ever use.

~ Deepam. Deepam. ~

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Letter to My Sons

©Asha Rajan

My Darling Sons,

Today, in the aftermath of a violent, unhinged man holding people hostage in the Lindt chocolate cafe in Sydney, killing two, causing physical injuries to more, and unseen psychological damage to so many more, I am heartsore.  In the aftermath of a young, unarmed African American man being shot to death, ostensibly for changing lanes illegally while driving, by Houston police, I’m searching for the humanity in human beings.  In the aftermath of the Taliban attack today on a school in Pakistan killing 141 people, I am despondent.

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Number Crunching Life Choices

“They’re offering me a job in the US,” he said.  My wanderlust choir harmonised in the background.

And so began our jarringly brief consideration of the pros and cons of an international move.  We have never been ones to allow the dust to settle on us, and we were in the seventh house, in the third city since we got married, when this came up.  Just a year prior, we had toyed with the idea of selling our house, buying a boat and sailing around the world.  We had seriously considered this a viable option.  So, the possibility of an international move wasn’t as confronting as you might think.  We’d talked about the potential for many years, but somehow, this time it was more immediate, more certain, more urgent.

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Baby Elephant March

They appear, carrying your fragile heart in their hands.

Shlurrpff, off the breast.

“I do myself”; an experiment in feeding.

Mismatched clothes, and shoes on the wrong feet.

Backpack on and away to school.

Friends and teams.

Is that my car?

Silence.