(Editor's note: The following was composed by my late friend, Janavi, who passed away in 2018. Her work has been memorialized in a website which includes an annual micro-grant in her name. Click here to visit it.)
When I was a child I lived
in the Garden State of New Jersey...
Our home had gardens on all sides and a
large compost pile in the back yard next to the vegetable garden. This process
of composting was magical to my young eyes.
Heat arises breaking down
of old forms. Beautiful dark earth hides deep beneath the layers of ice and
snow. As the melting begins it reveals a nourishing tool for planting new life.
As spring arrives the sky opens, the air warms, bits of green
on tips of branches search for the sun, and early flowers emerge from the moist
dirt. Transformation is in the air
as the composting of the winter unfolds her gifts.
I seek transformation and
the gifts that trail behind me as I emerge from a Dark Night of the Soul. I
watch as those gifts gradually blossom in my heart. These gifts, born from a
deep plunge into the nether regions of my psyche, are precious gems cut from
invisible places the conscious mind cannot see nor interact with.
It is the Anima mundi, the
Soul of the world, the person of God, who can see and transform darkness into a
blooming flower. I wait and watch as tectonic plates in the deep shift and the
gift of love leaps into my ever-waiting heart.
(Click play to hear the author recite her poem)
Spring
by Janavi Held
Nameless
My breath mixes with blue
And delirious summer
diamonds
Those flowers
The heart of the earth
Bite into sunshine
Like the unfailing sting
of rain
Warm color of mountains
and wind
Warlike, always new
According to the almanac
Keeping track of ploughed
lands
And vines
That keep moving to the
sky
Up where pollen flies
And silence is victorious.
Ether, laden with the
waves
Of twilight
Garlands the mortal chain
With endless impermanence.
Spring brings hope
Eyes watch
The forgotten dregs of
winter
Following death
Where life takes her.
Flaming city of western
sunset
Like hubris and tears
Darkens constellations
Of primitive aberrations
Of the exploding sounds
Of unspoken dawns
Growing from the
anniversary
Of so many daybreaks
And the flesh of man falls
The ocean awaits his blood
At the edge of
civilization
Reciting the testimony of
flowers
And farewell cities
Of thwarted legacies.
A tyrant
With mortal eyes
Feasts on the memory of
angels
Inheriting their repose.
And after this
Spring returns
Violent as birth
The steel of winter has
gone
Warmth is an explosion
Blinding the sleep of
ignorance.
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| Art by the author, Janavi Held |
Janavi Held is the author of Letters to my Oldest Friend: A Book of Poetry and Photography. She has also contributed poems to two poetry anthologies, Bhakti Blossoms: A Collection of Contemporary Vaishnavi Poetry and GODDESS: When She Rules: Expressions by Contemporary Women. Two of her poems were shortlisted for the prestigious Hamilton House International Poetry Prize awarded by the University Centre Grimsby, and published in their anthology "Eternal". Janavi started writing poetry and wandering around with her father’s camera as a child. At the age of nineteen, she began practicing Bhakti yoga. She held a bachelor’s degree from Goddard College where she studied poetry, photography, and media studies. She passed away peacefully in December of 2018 after having battled a brutal illness. You may read more of her poems and view her artwork on her website here and Facebook page here. Her work has been memorialized in a website which includes an annual micro-grant in her name. Click here to visit it.
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