Skip to main content

BEFORE I KNEW IT WAS TYPHOID by Pranada Comtois


 On my last pilgrimage to the holy town of Vrindavan, India, I contacted Typhoid…

 I wrote this poem the evening before I was diagnosed and rushed three hours away to a hospital in New Delhi. As I suffered that evening, I contemplated what it must feel like for a once verdant area to become a desert. That year of my visit, the monsoon rains had failed, meaning they didn't arrive.

The rains are crucial for crops that feed the Indian continent. 

For days I fretted about what no rain would mean for millions of people during the coming year. Somehow I felt that my suffering was the suffering of all people and animals and the earth itself.
'Woman Carrying Pot' by photographer Anders Blomqvist

Before I Knew it was Typhoid

Metal meets metal
  worn cylinder sounds
   release to crickets’ night trill

then intrudes again into twilight’s static:
  raw pads reflect
   driver’s reflex and neglect

Vrindavan, once oasis,
  where still a river flows,
   becomes a desert

please will you notice
  underground water evaporates:
   how many towns will vanish?

Tonight birds are silent, monkeys still
  the volcano sun will wait
   short hours to spill lava scorching

even absent, the white globe reigns
  earth’s fever does not subside
   as the village, so, too, I lie

awake, pinned
  between walls and ceiling ignited
   a ravening flame sears the brain

echoing people, animals--earth’s last wish--
  peacocks screech in relentless heat:
   Extinguish this blaze

         We are dying.
      ~

(780 million people on our planet lack access to clean water. 
Click here for more information) 

Gathering around well for water


Pranada Comtois spent two decades immersed as a contemplative-ascetic in an ashram, and the next twenty years raising a family and running two multi-million dollar businesses with the intention of embodying practical spirituality in the world. She brings the wisdom of multiple traditions and lessons from her own practice into her writing and speaking. Pranada is a spiritual activist who advocates for the Way of the Feminine Divine and the practice of unconditional love in daily life for personal and community transformation (Bhakti). She blogs at Little Ways of Being and is passionate about empowering women to find their unique gifts, voices, and strengths and to usher them into the world. Connect with her on facebook here. 


~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~ 


Comments

  1. Such a beautiful, moving piece. "Extinguish this blaze we are dying." It says so much. Peace

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

FOR TARA by Penn Kemp

FOR TARA * Goddess of Compassion and Wisdom, I need to recall,  reclaim you, invite you to return to my heart. Come back  to my heart, Love, where you are home. There’s room.  There is room enough for two, for multitudes. For you.  Become me, I beg you. Worry my concern into peace.  Shake this rag doll out of stiff contrition back to joy.  Till bones, blood, marrow, mind all leap up to dance,  to expand and mingle with the greater Presence, gift  we are heir to if we remember to remember the Whole.  The whole that made us, not that hole I fall into.  From her celestial seat in the Pure Land, Tara smiles, extending a hand of pure blessing, her invitation. Up. Penn Kemp --poet, performer and playwright-- has been active in Canada’s literary scene since her first publication of poetry,  Bearing Down , by Coach House (1972). As well as editing Canada’s first anthology of women’s  writing,  IS 14  (1973), many of her books have been devoted to

I LIGHT THIS CANDLE by Maureen Kwiat Meshenberg

As we enter into Winter Solstice, the darkest of all nights, I light this candle... This candle represents the flame that I light upon my prayer altar. This flame represents the light of my soul's glow, though at times it feels as though the dark can consume me. This flame represents the fierce fire of my heart forever burning with infinite love. Light that becomes my beacon in my winter; both figuratively and literally. Though winter clothes us with dark, we enter deep to the sacred space of our being; our eternal glow.  I Light This Candle by  Maureen Kwiat Mehsenberg   I light this candle, calling to the void of me- the brilliant glow of my soul, what is unknown and silent- in shadows so deep flame of my returning now calling me. I light this candle, to the intentions of me- fragments of my changing, what illuminates the empty spaces between - I enter them becoming whole. I light this candle, for the dark of me- reaching through the blackness, looking for t