Pramila Venkateswaran

In Issue 1 on May 1, 2008 at 11:15 am

February Meditation

New born, no thoughts, sheer absence—
A blue paleness behind closed eyelids,

Breath wings in and out of me—a steady
Motion of a bird in mid-ocean

Two shores equally apart and after a while
The possibility of a line in every limitless

Mile vanishes—Against breath’s metronome
The heart learns its quiet tread.

I relearn again and again to bar the wild
Tsunami of thoughts poised to drag me

Into its belly. I am reminded of my mortality.
I resist and find a haven.

A series of unhappy endings—surrender
And fight—light, then weakening.

An undercurrent I had not noticed, surfaces,
Cradles me. I am lulled in this new-found

Power lifting me to the tallest pine.
I am in the presence of absence,

Sheer blueness empties me:

I am as light as nothing



Pramila Venkateswaran, author of Thirtha, published by Yuganta Press, has poems in Paterson Literary Review, Ariel, Atlanta Review, Prairie Schooner, Kavya Bharati, and Calyx, as well as poems in anthologies, including A Chorus for Peace and En(Compass). She has performed her poems nationally, most recently at the Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival. She is currently engaged in doing multimedia performances that include dance, poetry and music. She teaches English and women’s studies at Nassau Community College, New York.

  1. I get a progression here like a meditation session.

    “Against breath’s metronome
    The heart learns its quiet tread” is a lovely line.

    I know the feeling of disappearing into the light,
    the blue

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