User:Johnrwilfred2008

The poetry of Wilfred John, one of the most authoritative and significant voices in contemporary Indian poetry, is marked by a return to the strong and essential themes of contemporary man: human suffering, the sense of the tragic, war, the meditation on time, the destiny of our world. The intensity of his poetry stems from these themes and is profoundly tied to the ethical tension of his writing; while poetic spirit and philosophical questioning are intertwined. But this depth is reconciled with lightness as well, in a poetry that unites the tragic with the joyful, attention to detail with the most acute introspection, pain with the miraculous suspension of all suffering. And beauty is more intense and radiant the closer it is to the dark root of life. As Wilfred John himself explains in a note to “To those who asked him the difference between being sad and having heart-broken, he answered that being heart-broken was not an obstacle to joy.”

                                                        DR. ALPHONSA JOHN

A Feeling Hard To Share

Every day I go about doing the things I do... Then all of a sudden I remember, somewhere out there is 'you.'

My insides feel so hollow, then, a feeling hard to share because it's of futility and, yes, it's hard to bear...

Is there no way we'll meet again, even if by chance? Will I be left to wonder if... you shared that 'knowing' glimpse?

You're always on my mind, now and, yes, you're in my heart... But, it just seemed to be that way right from the very start. This poem comes from deep within, Yes, my soul to bear, I'm sorry I can't reveal to you.

The love we share will never end. My life has new meaning; my heart beats true, just who I really am. I'd never want to hurt you or, get you in a jam If only I could see you again, here or, anywhere.

A train of Skies

A train of skies carried the white smoke of clouds across a summer that lifted me to greater and greater blues until, when I had fallen for the uncut emerald of the cascades' inner valleys, touched the heart of an orchid.

so small it might have broken, and been swept, wind-blown, into the arms of glaciers- all the living called me from their canyons, and I, fully exposed to love, called back.

About You...........

I was thinking about you today and I do that a lot it seems. You're always in my heart by day, at night you float into my dreams.

I cannot shake these feelings for you, but then I'd never had a desire to. The blessing of our love and friendship is something I want to share with you.

I want to feel you near me, when you're so far away. I hope you feel me in your heart, as you travel your path today.

Footprints in the sands of time, walking closer towards each other. Holding hands and sharing love, which will not be meant for another?

These are some of the memories, that come with thoughts of you. These feelings are from my very heart, and something you can hold as true.

                  ©1980 Wilfred John

ALL MY HEART

When I think of you

and I smile inside and I long loneliness has become quite a force within me.

That stirs this brew of sadness as the lust in my blood begins to rise and my longing my loneliness is transformed into another creature deep inside of me one that cares only for itself. I deny it! And yet I wish with all my heart to give it its rest... if only the imagination of both the days and nights could ease our inner hearts. I pray.

                                   © 1998 WILFRED JOHN

Courage is doing what is right Without having to be told Courage is manning up When you know you've done something wrong Courage is looking the enemy in the eye And telling them to just bring it Courage is having fear .

But still staying strong Courage is facing difficulty But being able to overcome it Courage is leaving your family behind To defend the country you love Courage is being a soldier In the greatest army in the world Thank you for this courage That lets us live free And come home safely to your families. © WJ

An untold truth

she is beyond me now, eyes a sponging star, fingers an untold truth. I prayed so long for amniotic comfort, a springtime I see there.

When I slid into the desert and closed my eyes, the world shed her skin; and her lips begged me to build.

I'm forever outside their reach building sculptures of myself, to catch one last glimpse; forever casting sparks into the cold night sky.

As Points of the Cosmos

we stand in front of a red brick building where we met as college students, surrounded by spires breaking through the even blue of sky as points of the cosmos rip from their fire.

We put our arms around each other, the space between, children who might give way to the fatal air of time.

Among the breezes veering by, we refuge in what brick and leaves and cheery students felt all day as sunlight, burning logs in every centre, emblazing us through dark.

                        © 1983 Wilfred John

Away

I held life before me in trembling hand. It floated away a big red balloon and I, a teary-eyed child, stood watching.

Hidden within the shadows of night Poets by the dozens begin to write Pens, the paintbrush of imagination Blank paper, a canvas of creation Verses in rhythm, a rhyming scheme A poet's life, a written dream Seeking the light, souls revealed Sharing of poetry, once concealed

She hits me

Driving across with my friend pulls into a rest Area to hit me. She hits me It is she claims for all those times I should have hit her, didn’t A bruise along my forearm a purple weed I bite her ear-lobe twist between her breaths a blade

©WJ

The list is too short and the dreams disproportionate My mother would agree, and the children are fighting again, so that I will turn from the window and look at them. And there I remember Lunch. and salad and the song of the cave comes back sings straight up from the floor and I melt down to meet her in the redness the spike of which I remember from the waiting room. Hear... and I poured the juice on the floor. ©WJ

Sometimes sex is an excuse to touch... I dip my lips in the multicolour wonder of your hair -- here soft like under fur of kittens, there like briars to my cheek.

My fingers probing feel the softness of your skin and we begin and there is nowhere for me to be but into you into me ©WJ

Four fingers in the pocket of my pants with my fast walk high boots clacking

on the broken sidewalks of old (cloth bag heavy with books sways from my shoulder) on my way to an office with a patterned stone floor high walls lined with books on self-help,

 and the poems of my narrow arched windows in a rounded wall

the paint on the outside mottled from many layers

many peelings: an office for the govt servant once now a publisher I am on my way here now on a clear fall day when every detail every ornament of this convoluted city is part of an arabesque a single line forming a perfect design.

         © WJ

Beautiful Visions

If tomorrow never comes I would want to share my last few hours with you today. I would want our hearts to beat side by side in melody.

This is just a reminder to you of how much you truly mean to me today, because I really do love you with all my heart and soul I know how much you love me too.

I sure hope you know what a difference you have made in my life today and every day.

Because I truly do cherish you in every way And I have been blessed by your beautiful spirit emotionally mentally physically and spiritually.

I would hope today

that we could share one more rainbow together and a beautiful sunset too.

You and I have to remember to take time out to capture the innocence of life and its true beauty. Because tomorrow may be to late............... And if by chance we do see these beautiful visions in the sky

Carry My Sorrow as a Usual

At first I had hoped to go through the house ignored, disguised and let go as a man in the midst of the houses and their people.

And carry my sorrow as a usual till it grew as transparent and bearable as daylight.

I thought it was sufficient to weep all night in a long, thick bed and cry one time to the heart’s centre, but no.

I’m used to crying in the first person and alone. So I pretend I’m smiling and live in my body with all my limbs.

How could it be I did not know that my sorrow of love smoothes out the brutal disparity and that life is not a final but a decline?

Even so it’s a pity there is no secret language a convenient code that I can silently write in about the fact nostalgia and pretend I’m writing regarding the moon yes, writing heavy books about the so-called moonlight.

But in reality about the house I lived in yet left, with the warmth of so much future regret in my heart.

When I see how clear the traces are my shadow leaves in my past. My shadow, people, that is so lonely it no more maintains, no more recognizes its bearer’s body.

A language, as I said, that I can write with about the heart and its lethargy. About love in the empty house of my memory. about my life, whose future I unclearly remember.

                            © 1982 WJ

All there is to know of love I learned from your back. where would a poet be without lists of things to do? -- No ideas but in frames, lists, theories to escape...

we remembers loneliness from the day and will not let the night join us. Though we lie naked and open like spoons under one warm cover I will awaken afraid.

©WJ

the sin of seduction will no longer stick..

And there they were on the shelf by the mirror: cleansers and cotton wool, tonics and softeners, tweezers, pencils and shadows. "

Through the shield you can see her quite clearly nude body writhing against the exposure.

The chair, the bed, the toilet are all transparent and there are no covers, no protection from curious eyes, from the crowd which has come to see the sentence carried out for failure to fulfill

The trick is to lose all beauty and yet remain alive. The line is fine: To be released while wasted flesh still throbs. ©WJ

I loved your selflessness Your body unaware: you must spend hours on this. To strangers on the street

women: They could see

protruding from caressing sweaters breasts riper than their bearers wills tugging whole bodies passively, unknowingly behind .

It’s hard to fight what can’t be seen The only weapon is one’s mind Which tires quickly, so I find a little more I’ve fought the battle, and I’m sure If I live a few years still I’ll fight with all my heart and will

I’m too old, the fight’s been long Wonder what I did so wrong To endure its wicked rage That follows still to life’s last page? Battle in and out of body Win some, loses some, Still, I’ll fight until I go I just can’t quit, although I know There’ll be no winner in my time.

I will fight with all I’ve got Though at this stage it’s not a lot! Fight and see what time does bring Perhaps the peace of death’s sweet sting? Or must I tarry? © WJ