Para Silvio

 Para Silvio

     Silvio Santos (1930-2024)

Maravilhosa a mão que Silvio Santos 

estendida, a maneira como dançava 

e sorria, nos fazia rir e chorar de alegria, 

seu generoso apoio a tantos 

jovens artistas que chegavam 

na cidade, aos quais ele deu 

sua primeira chance, de cantar 

para uma multidão 

pessoalmente, na televisão. 

Silvio Santos, que poderia 

ter se tornado presidente 

do país se não fosse 

por algumas falhas burocráticas 

nas assinaturas coletadas 

para registrar seu partido.

A assinatura final 

é a de cada um de nós 

que passamos nossos domingos 

em sua companhia, rindo 

e chorando agora na memória.

 

Indran Amirthanayagam dr 17 de agosto de 2024

BASTA, a poem.

 Basta

“Basta”-- Pope Francisco, November 6, 2023

Basta. Enough. Stop killing

children in Gaza and Israel.

Cease fire. Let leaders wise

or mad, it does not matter.

We have no time for

psychological evaluations.

Let these directors

of the tragedy meet

in a foreign capital

to make peace. Do not

kill innocents anymore.

Stop. Too much. This

is not complicated,

not difficult

to understand

Do not kill new

generations, their 

fathers and mothers. 

Stanch hatred 

rising among 

survivors.

Indran Amirthanayagam c) November 6, 2023

We Did It! a poem about landing on the Southern Pole of the Moon

We did it!

Engineers roar, slap each other's

backs, go gaga as Chandrayaan-3

sends Vikram to land on

the Southern Pole of the Moon

opening to the intrepid Pragyan

that will go a-roaming where

no robot has gone before. This

is a huge step for India, yes,

and for the rest of us as we 

see our kind cross boundaries

that exist only in the mind,

drawing planetary sustenance 

from this feat. Experiments 

the rover conducts will be 

monitored on Earth, adding 

I hope to discussion about 

nations, pride and back-

slapping, that universalists 

beam into our screens now, 

not politicians who ride 

on the coattails of engineers,

who bow for achievements

they cannot embody,

although Mother India

is older than any single

leader, and minorities

of all sorts are to be found

among the Chandrayaan staff.

Indran Amirthanayagam c) August 23, 2023

A Day Of Service (Trump's Booking), a poem. Indran Amirthanayagam

 A Day of Service (Trump's Booking)

He used to be president. He said once

he could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue

and shoot a man and he would walk away

free. Today he was arraigned for paying

off Stormy Daniels to keep quiet about

their past affair while he campaigned

to take the oath and lead the country

through what turned out to be a series

of ruinous events, including the dying

of millions during the pandemic.

He entered court, seeming befuddled,

did not say a word, then left and drove

in a motorcade along the BQE, swept

ahead by the police, to the hangar

where his 757 waited to fly him back

to Florida. Meanwhile, his lawyers

bemoaned the “unfair” charges

while in Washington today a group

of Latin American exiles visited

to plead their arguments about Venezuela,

Nicaragua and Cuba before the OAS 

and State. They came by car from Miami, 

a much longer trip than the rich man Trump's.

I met them at the State Department's

door, allowed them to take a photograph

with the flags, and just outside, to raise

their own banner and denounce tyranny

in their homelands. I felt I had been

of some service, opened the door

to the ordinary citizen, one of whom

had spent almost five years

in a Havana jail, for charges related

to assembly and speech. I am not

a Little Havana republican. But

I will denounce crimes when

committed and without discriminating

against any perpetrator, including

the free-shooting 5th avenue huckster

turned ex Commander in Chief,

Mr. Donald John Trump.

Indran Amirthanayagam, c) April 4, 2023

The Rulers, a poem. Indran Amirthanayagam

 The Rulers

We are teachers today and kids.

We are kids today and teachers.

We are thirteen years old stabbing

our professor in the playground

at Thomasia Montoro public school

in São Paulo. We are twenty eight

years old and female with two

automatic rifles and a handgun

killing three nine-year-olds

and three sixty-somethings

at the Covenant school

in Nashville. What distinguishes

a public from private, state

from religious school? Nothing.

Nothing. Nothing. In each

guns and knives rule.

Indran Amirthanayagam c) March 27, 2023  

Cada seis horas, um poema escrito neste Dia Internacional Da Mulher

 Cada seis horas

A verdade que você sinala

neste Dia Intenacional

da Mulher não tem resposta.

O fato que morre cada

seis horas uma mulher

a mão do seu namorado

no Brasil, um país

que celebra tais misturas

é mais que alarmante

e se eu começo

a inquirir nos diverses

países do mundo

incluindo Estados Unidos

(onde o número diário 

e tres, ainda alarmante)

e alguns outros onde

assassinar a mulher

por respeitar o honor

da família é considerado

um direito. Não.

Não tenho resposta.

Indran Amirthanayagam dr) o 8 março, 2023

We Are All Chileans Now, a poem (In Memoriam: Pablo Neruda) Indran Amirthanayagam

 We Are All Chileans Today

The poet did not pass only from a broken 

heart, not because he could not eat as 

his prostate cancer spread, not after 

he read of Salvador Allende bombed 

in the Moneda, not walking out alive. 

The poet died because of 

clostridium botulinum injected into 

his stomach while he slept in Santa Maria 

clinic, Santiago, alone inexplicably while 

his wife and driver packed bags at Isla Negra 

for the family's flight to exile in Mexico. 

He was killed in a hospital by a third party 

according to forensic scientists examining 

the remains. The third  party cannot silence 

the poet. The third party cannot say love 

is short and forgetting long.The third party 

will  not be allowed to have the last word 

in the history of Chile, of  democracy.

Indran Amirthanayagam, c) February 18, 2023

https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/blog/book-reviews/power-words-and-power-desire-manuel-ulacias-origami-jonathan-harrington

 https://www.worldliteraturetoday.org/blog/book-reviews/power-words-and-power-desire-manuel-ulacias-origami-jonathan-harrington

Interview with Indran Amirthanayagam at www.hangingloosepress.com

 https://www.hangingloosepress.com/news-events/catching-up-with-indran-amirthanayagam

Peru, By A Thread. A poem.

 Perú, By A Thread

Perspective is everything.

Peruvian press owned

by white elites who 

dismiss the chola hordes,

the new president

accompanied by ministers

from Fujimori’s dictatorship,

daughter Keiko just released

from her chargesheet.

The cards are decked

in dear old Peru. So when

you see a peasant throwing

stones and hear the crack

of bullets fired by police

in return, when the stone-

thrower has no job

or money or prospects

while copper mining

conglomerates trade

on precious metals

markets, and artisanal

Amazon gold diggers

are hounded by Army

and police gangs

in the name of

biodiversity, when

nobody invests enough

to give farmers

in the VRAEM alternative

crops to the coca leaf,

when elites, defended

by misguided and

brainwashed police,

lament the shaking

down of their august

institutions, the stock

market, the courts,

Jockey Plaza and all

the plazas of the

commercial Peruvian

disney world, then

take a deep breath,

step back or step

forward but do not

allow the new

rulers to stamp

upon your inalienable

right to say no,

and to vote again,

not in two years

but as soon as

elections can be

arranged in the

one country still 

called Perú.

Indran Amirthanayagam, c) January 21, 2023

What's Next, a poem. Indran Amirthanayagam

 

What's Next?

We are not going to give the fellows a pass with expressions of condolence,

minutes of silence, then off they go to the NRA Convention in Houston

while leaving instructions to block the latest attempt to forgive student loans,

increase funds for Covid tests, fund food stamps, allow a woman the right

to choose, and ban littering in national parks, or force the wearing of masks.

I am tired and hungry, friends, repeating the litany, naming all the blockages,

scrimmages, jostling and gerrymandering, mouthing off and filibustering

that we call a democracy. We must ban guns outright. Eliminate any sacred

or sacrilegous right to bear them hidden or not in public. Can you imagine

that Texan law allows for this? That the deranged eighteen-year-old murderer

of nineteen kids and two teachers did not have to account for the guns he used –

albeit against the law by stepping on to school grounds--to massacre and remind

us that we have so much to do to heal first and then build this democracy

to assure the safety of all who live here, so help us God.

Indran Amirthanayagam, c) May 25, 2022

This Time, a poem. Indran Amirthanayagam

 This Time

Horror, foul murder. butchering children, this America always

with us, kept in news clips, remembered where I found myself

the day the music...and all the accumulated rage about innocents

in America, Asia, Europe ,Australia, Africa, will they ever get

justice? Why allow killers to arm? Abbott, do you not feel

any remorse, responsibility as governor letting murderers

roam with handguns, rifles, shot guns, automatic weapons

in your state which has suffered at least three mass killings

over the last two years? When will they stop? Will they ever

stop? Will you at least leave your office and allow somebody

else to ban the sale of guns by executive order? Will all senators,

governors and congressmen who have shouted for the right

to bear arms receive the pink slip at some future ballot box?

How can we clean house of millions of fire arms and fiery

mouths, bragging, blathering blowhards? How can this

poem reach all possible decisionmakers, from school boards

to police chiefs to politicians and judges? How can it be

read on the agenda of the Supreme Court? God, can we make

a difference now, finally, once and for all, find justice and create

a safer, resilient democracy in the United States of America?

                        Indran Amirthanayagam, c) May 24, 2022

Middle East Encounter, a poem: Indran Amirthanayagam

Middle East Encounter

Seeds were roasted on za'atar and grape leaves stuffed

with sweetmeats. Falafel balls rolled on the platter

and hummus and babaganoush sloshed patiently

in bowls as we dipped pita bread and talked of atrocities

from the eternal front, but we spoke with joy as musicians

shook tambours and beat drums, as dancers raised hands

and swirled in front of us, and on arriving home you sent

me the latest articles, what Sunday scribes opined and

human rights groups, their press releases, even the U.N.

chief calling for investigation knowing that a vote

in the Security Council would be vetoed by one

or more of the permanent members. We know

the ritual. We know the score. But we go on,

exhausting all civil means, calling on morality,

shame, writing poems, appealing to the conscience

of presidents and prime ministers, that they insist

on unearthing truth, from where the errant or targeted

bullet came, and who must now take the blame.

Indran Amirthanayagam, c) May 15, 2022