Poems of the Week ~ by Ayala and Rajani

In January, when the ban on refugees was ordered and the citizenry protested, I read a poem written by Ayala at A Sun Kissed Life, which expressed what she felt, having reached America's shores, thinking she was safely home, as the rhetoric of those weeks pulled the welcome mat out from under her feet.   Around the same time,  Rajani, who blogs at thotpurge and Phantom Road - Conversations with Marcus, wrote two poems which seemed like companion pieces for Ayala's write, so I asked them if they would honor us by sharing them.

Ayala's poem speaks from her heart to ours, especially in these political times, when the topic of refugees has been so often on the nightly news. North America is peopled by refugees from all over the world, and I can't begin to imagine how arrivals to our shores must feel, now, with the tone of targeting and exclusion being taken by government itself. Let's read.

I AM THE IMMIGRANT - I AM AN AMERICAN

Bury me in a pine box

breathless yet breathing.

I won't leave,

I won't go.

I rested my weary head

on her shoulders.

Her courage,

became my own.

I swam in her oceans,

I climb her hills and mountains.

I swore my loyalty,

my allegiance.

Her flag engraved across

my heart,

the stars and stripes my own.

I brimmed with emotion

and devotion.

Her outstretched arms

embraced me,

took me in.

She whispered words of inclusion,

she roared words of freedom

and love.

I am not a stranger,

this is my home.

I am an American,

I won't leave,

I won't go.

Sherry: So moving, Ayala. I am especially moved by "I rested my weary head on her shoulders." I can imagine the fatigue and relief one feels, having left one's homeland, finally arriving safely - one trusts - on the shores of one's new home.

Ayala: I am honored to have my poem featured. The first line in my poem came from a conversation I had with my father years ago. I told him I would only leave America in a pine box. The events that took place in January with the ban on immigration, and individual stories I heard of people trying to immigrate and being sent away, stirred in me a deep emotion that led to this poem.

Sherry: In me as well, Ayala. I was heartened by the many many people who marched,  demonstrated and spoke out in opposition to that ban. And we are very glad that you are here!

And Ayala, congratulations on your new baby grandson, who is a beauty, and whom you say has claimed your heart, as grandbabies tend to do.

Rajani wrote two poems that seem to flow easily from yours. Let's take a look:

JANUARY 31, 2017

It seems like chaos is swirling in an innocuous lethargy, or maybe it is so fast that it is impossible to comprehend, an approaching cyclone, its outer bands already devastating shapes, spaces and lives, unformed, unbounded and unnamed. And in its one clouded eye, reason is crying.

Chaos is the universe fixing herself, brushing the crumbs from her gown, clotting her bleeding lacerations, braiding her unkempt hair, steadying her racing heart.

Is the denial of impending doom our way of coping with the decaying now? How long will we pluck metaphors from nature, Marcus, to reassure ourselves that the laws have been tested and that they work…spring will follow winter, day will replace night and no matter what leaves, the waves will always return to our shore?

As long as we remember that it is our faith that’s holding up the sky.

silver scar on the cheek of night,
o moon,
fading is not healing

Sherry: "As long as we remember that it's our faith that is holding up the sky." I love that line!

Rajani: Sherry, thanks so much for featuring my poems here again. It has been so great to read and share poems with this group and I have learnt so much from all your contributors.

This haibun-type piece is from a series of conversations on various topics that I post on my second blog Phantom Road (phantomroad.wordpress.com). I think I offer a sceptic’s point of view on the uncertainty that seems to prevail around us and the dissonance it brings to the social fabric, creating wounds that, perhaps, aren’t going to heal easily or well. Again, while some see hope and light and swift resolution, some think war and hate and their consequences cannot be wished away.  As always with haiku, presenting what I see in such brevity is both a challenge and joy and I quite love working with this form. 

Sherry: The current state of the world definitely exposes some deep and caustic fault lines. I like your line to the moon, "fading is not healing." I strive for hope, but I fear we are heading towards dark times before we turn towards the light again. I never thought I would hear the things I am hearing on the nightly news in North America. It is a shock.

CLOSE, CLOSER

pull it close, closer,
read in the pockets of its moulted skin,
this poem is not the blistered red
that chaffs your hate of hatred,
not the half sewn gut of every war
that rages against your outrage,
not a word here is the bruised head
of a hammer on unflat lies,
nor the colour of your neighbours chin
that floats in the salt of your eyes,
no punctuation here comforts a child
without home, without dream, without price;
bring it close, closer,
this poem is like air, like water, like sky,
without the burden of voices,
without the weight of tears,
it is not a soul looking for a body
so it may live again,
it is not a song searching for a melody
so it may speak again,
inhale it and feel its breath
burn with yours in your lungs,
put your hand through its lines
and feel the wetness of what was old spring rain,
and someday if you find yourself
dancing on its shoes like a laughing child,
or taut in its arms like a naked lover
asking to be unravelled in the night,
know it then, know it well,
know it as the rainbow
that braids the broken light,
there for a moment,
there like a kiss,
there, soft, softer,
then gone
before you can remember to say
its name.

Sherry: "This poem is like air, like water, like sky...." so beautiful! I feel for that refugee child "without home, without dream, without price." So many innocents are suffering, world-wide. Tell us about this one, Rajani.

Rajani: This poem was an impulsive response to some discussions and reading on the role of poets/poetry. For me writing has just been a personal journey, earnest but random, but when I see poets around me respond with passion to global events and suffering, I wonder if poetry demands a certain role, a certain voice and if it has the power, the appeal to actually have an impact on today’s complex world. And what about the space for poems that just want to be rainbows, bringing fleeting joy to their readers and then just floating away, forgotten, unless something beautiful triggers a memory of them, just as long as a smile. In fact, I’ve started debating this only recently, so I’d love to know what my fellow poets think!

Sherry:  A poem does have an impact to effect change, I believe. On the reader, when one heart - or conscience - touches another. And also in the energy it puts out into the world. And I think some poems do exist to be "rainbows", to lift the heart, to bring hope and gratitude. We need those moments in order to withstand the weightier matters we read so much about. They help us remember that life itself is a gift, and beautiful, no matter what. I hope our readers will add their thoughts to this conversation in the comments. 

Thank you, Ayala and Rajani, for sharing your beautiful poems and your thoughts with us today. You give us much to  reflect upon. In these times, poets may well be the voice in the wilderness, lending our readers a pathway towards that kinder world we all long for.

We hope you enjoyed these poems and reflections, my friends. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!