Friday, August 21, 2026
SPRKS IN CSF: Looking at a post partum time
SPRKS IN CSF: Looking at a post partum time: All days merge into nights , nights spill into mornings as sheer exhaustion Anxieties peak as the wail of the baby merges into your fears ...
Looking at a post partum time
All days merge into nights , nights spill into mornings as sheer exhaustion
Anxieties peak as the wail of the baby merges into your fears ,
Fears swirl all night long, worries becomes more of flashes,
Googling of those worries just leaps as kindle and fuel,
Sleeping or awake , not cares , but to dance with joy and smile -to all,
Family and friends to perform to , when all you need is comfort,
Some understanding , some care , even when you are snapping and sliding ,
But...Here you hear a snicker , some one says it's your hormones,
Some one else has a right way to feed the baby,
Yet another opine on how to swaddle correctly,
And another wonders aloud how your moods are not appreciating the wonderful father...
Oh how wonderful- he changed the baby twice , and none sees you - for you, as you ...
Your MD or NP wants you on meds and see you in two weeks!
Dullness becomes you, sometimes you fear you are loosing it,
You hear more , you see more , as thoughts tangled with anger and despair swirl ,
And no one sees it , and you cant say it out aloud... how indeed , indebted to joy , how can you?
Indebted to norms , to womanhood as expectations , how indeed can you say all,
All the dark that swells as it swirls ... if only there was more comfort , more sleep ,
Less guilt , less blames , less judges and more comfort, more real supports...
I would love some one to hold my hand and hear me truly, see that I do feel within...
To be truly present, more than with just words or judging looks ...oh , if only...
Poem by Pc-3 (08/20/2026)
Thursday, August 20, 2026
SPRKS IN CSF: 'Hind'
SPRKS IN CSF: 'Hind': Hind-It's a name , names that means... 'some one', Yet names , they define one , they limits one, and we all have names ... The...
SPRKS IN CSF: 'Hind'
SPRKS IN CSF: 'Hind': Hind-It's a name , names that means... 'some one', Yet names , they define one , they limits one, and we all have names ... The...
'Hind'
Hind-It's a name , names that means... 'some one',
Yet names , they define one , they limits one, and we all have names ...
They are children, they are mothers, are fathers , brother, sister , some ones' some body...
We never chose who we are , how we are or where we were placed on this earth,
Yet again others want to destroy lives ... just because , just that ;for 'being'.
There are shapes, colors ,sounds , they differ ...
I pray again, oh universe, oh let the might of nature take over please ,
Yet again my prayer so the 'puny humans of war' be made to stop,
By the wrath of nature , even as all Gods sleep, for Gods, ''an eternal coma'-
Has unleashed the demons of Men, here , there and over the hills too...
Demons of men ,theirs an epilepsy with chants of ' destroy all', theirs 'god given insanity' indeed...
So I pray , Nature do what you do, so the blinded men stop their wars, please....
Poem by Pc-3 ( 02/10/2023)
Monday, August 10, 2026
SPRKS IN CSF: Japan-images, fuzzy yet clearer... (may be )
SPRKS IN CSF: Japan-images, fuzzy yet clearer... (may be ): As the dawn creeps along on the tail of fading darkness, I lay somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Some images come floating by again....
Japan-images, fuzzy yet clearer... (may be )
As the dawn creeps along on the tail of fading darkness, I lay somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Some images come floating by again...vivid, more bright, full of life than life itself.
I connect these and recognize the dots, the dots of fire that dance all around me, flickering, little tongues and comma-shaped worms ...all curling up along the wall. The repeated theme of my nightmares before I was even four...nightmares that came maybe along with me at birth itself...pieced into my awareness , may be even before birth.
I connect these and recognize the dots, the dots of fire that dance all around me, flickering, little tongues and comma-shaped worms ...all curling up along the wall. The repeated theme of my nightmares before I was even four...nightmares that came maybe along with me at birth itself...pieced into my awareness , may be even before birth.
I would call out and some-one would awaken to get me down from my bed, stayed to soothe me. These flickering tongues... they were there even before I learned to stretch and crawl up the steps at my grandmothers house.
They stayed even on the day I heaved myself grasping at the hard cement step, holding to the edge of the stone that jutted out a little, just big enough for my tiny fingers as I hauled up there scraping part of my four year old abdomen. I had scampered after my grandmother as she went along to feed the goat somewhere under a low tree. I followed her foot steps that stayed as fleeting depressions on the wet grass. I followed these depressions gingerly as I wanted to see her awed joy at my new and unexpected ability that day, my first climb achievement ..
Jewels of the first dew drops smiled at me and at the morning sun that peeked through the leaves. Fear had stopped me briefly as I neared the top of the stairs...the vast expanse of the universe in front of me looked scary and different from all my previous reference points. As I climbed that last step the yard seemed smaller yet large , but now an attainable expanse.
They stayed even on the day I heaved myself grasping at the hard cement step, holding to the edge of the stone that jutted out a little, just big enough for my tiny fingers as I hauled up there scraping part of my four year old abdomen. I had scampered after my grandmother as she went along to feed the goat somewhere under a low tree. I followed her foot steps that stayed as fleeting depressions on the wet grass. I followed these depressions gingerly as I wanted to see her awed joy at my new and unexpected ability that day, my first climb achievement ..
Jewels of the first dew drops smiled at me and at the morning sun that peeked through the leaves. Fear had stopped me briefly as I neared the top of the stairs...the vast expanse of the universe in front of me looked scary and different from all my previous reference points. As I climbed that last step the yard seemed smaller yet large , but now an attainable expanse.
I had brought along my friend, invisible to all others, talking to him, the encouraging words and looks keeping me busy and with that courage I had made that epic climb. Of course he would become very quiet if any body came by, but would look at the adults and blink the eyes to tell me to be quiet. The only exception was my grand-ma , some-times..
When finally I caught up with my grand-ma she had that surprised look...for "there I was...indeed"...both of us excited about -growth catching up.
Despite all these landmarks , the nightmares came. They came nearly everyday. My invisible friend could not do anything...but just watched, powerless. He was just an imaginary friend to the grown ups, but he knew every bit of my being, always by my side
I never really understood then, nor paid much attention to those dreams for most of my life, those nightmares stayed in the backed up stack of memories...until I visited Japan. As I walked through Hiroshima, there was one picture by someone who had seen it, the horror, the awful depth of the horrors at that far off time... way before I ever came into being as me...
He had seen it and lived it...My nightmares , exactly as I had them, so exact, so clear, yet he drew them, lived that ,with no way to escape... The flickering glow of fire worms, against the gray orange of the days, the all enveloping heat and the hazy orange gray of evening.... I used to wake up screaming "puthan, poothan' , then I could hear a jumble of conversations as a faint murmur of sounds , and it just repeated night after night...they were there every night...there even before words formed into meaning and sounds..
Then as I walked out to the park by the river it came, as a vision , the recall merged into something I could not express...just profound fears next to past horrors.. the fear of water in my little river where the ground shifted, algae that felt to my child hood mind as grasping hands, all pulling me down. I had tried to tell my mother... more fear than words that tumbled out , but she just said" it is just algae, it cannot catch you or pull you", all matter of fact in her responses.. My fear of that algae was so extreme, that I could not step in there without checking for the green algae in the water, but I loved the river so. Yet there I was ... Oh how I feared that algae .
When finally I caught up with my grand-ma she had that surprised look...for "there I was...indeed"...both of us excited about -growth catching up.
Despite all these landmarks , the nightmares came. They came nearly everyday. My invisible friend could not do anything...but just watched, powerless. He was just an imaginary friend to the grown ups, but he knew every bit of my being, always by my side
I never really understood then, nor paid much attention to those dreams for most of my life, those nightmares stayed in the backed up stack of memories...until I visited Japan. As I walked through Hiroshima, there was one picture by someone who had seen it, the horror, the awful depth of the horrors at that far off time... way before I ever came into being as me...
He had seen it and lived it...My nightmares , exactly as I had them, so exact, so clear, yet he drew them, lived that ,with no way to escape... The flickering glow of fire worms, against the gray orange of the days, the all enveloping heat and the hazy orange gray of evening.... I used to wake up screaming "puthan, poothan' , then I could hear a jumble of conversations as a faint murmur of sounds , and it just repeated night after night...they were there every night...there even before words formed into meaning and sounds..
Then as I walked out to the park by the river it came, as a vision , the recall merged into something I could not express...just profound fears next to past horrors.. the fear of water in my little river where the ground shifted, algae that felt to my child hood mind as grasping hands, all pulling me down. I had tried to tell my mother... more fear than words that tumbled out , but she just said" it is just algae, it cannot catch you or pull you", all matter of fact in her responses.. My fear of that algae was so extreme, that I could not step in there without checking for the green algae in the water, but I loved the river so. Yet there I was ... Oh how I feared that algae .
I understood that feel of silt on the quite side of our small stream . I tried to describe it to my cousins as they waded in to play in that part...tried telling them how it felt like people, like a doughy yield of skin, of bodies , of death, but they just laughed and splashed water at me. I stayed at my safe area where the gravely sand was never soft, but cushioned my feet pressing gently against my tiny arches, my tiny feet.
In the Hiroshima park I sat on a bench, thirsty, parched throat that refused to be hydrated despite the water and milk tea...
The stone lanterns in the park, the carved stones- there it was again, what I had obsessively drawn, tracing the outline, despite the annoyance in every adults' glance. Finally my grand-mother bought me a slate and slate pencil, so I could draw with a clean washed surface each time as the pictures filled up that board. Yet it remained the same picture.. over and over. It was one of those lamps in silhouette....I had forgotten about my constant drawings until I saw that lamp , just as I passed by it that evening.. my children stared at my tears and were concerned, rightly so....then it all came to me as a flood of memories, all locks broken, from some unknown past pieced into one slipping into my present life...
It had never crossed my awareness that rebirth may be possible, but now I am not so certain. I do not have clarity about my imaginary friend, but one who was by me all that time...may be still is, or will come...The nightmares are stay vivid in my memory today, so is the feel of the algae and the silted riverbed. I can close my eyes and feel those, same feelings. They rushed through my mind again this morning as I moved into wakefulness, thus that uncertainty has taken form and spilled out as words. Now that it has found some clarity, the disquiet has calmed itself again. In one sense I only belonged to my grandmothers house, yet the only other place I felt happy and really that same sense of belonging again was just in Japan. How can I explain that sense of "not quiet right" even when I build a home, even through the many countries I have been to and yet never felt 'I know the place, that I was fully part of it in any way', with a disquiet, a longing ...
May be this is where my affinity for Buddhist philosophies came into being-or may be it was there all along waiting to get out into my conscious thoughts, despite another religion that enveloped me always, that I have passed on to my children, along with some life principles that I strive to... I will never know with certainty, will I? Instead I will continue to course through life trying to cause the least damage all around as those principles advise....
In the Hiroshima park I sat on a bench, thirsty, parched throat that refused to be hydrated despite the water and milk tea...
The stone lanterns in the park, the carved stones- there it was again, what I had obsessively drawn, tracing the outline, despite the annoyance in every adults' glance. Finally my grand-mother bought me a slate and slate pencil, so I could draw with a clean washed surface each time as the pictures filled up that board. Yet it remained the same picture.. over and over. It was one of those lamps in silhouette....I had forgotten about my constant drawings until I saw that lamp , just as I passed by it that evening.. my children stared at my tears and were concerned, rightly so....then it all came to me as a flood of memories, all locks broken, from some unknown past pieced into one slipping into my present life...
It had never crossed my awareness that rebirth may be possible, but now I am not so certain. I do not have clarity about my imaginary friend, but one who was by me all that time...may be still is, or will come...The nightmares are stay vivid in my memory today, so is the feel of the algae and the silted riverbed. I can close my eyes and feel those, same feelings. They rushed through my mind again this morning as I moved into wakefulness, thus that uncertainty has taken form and spilled out as words. Now that it has found some clarity, the disquiet has calmed itself again. In one sense I only belonged to my grandmothers house, yet the only other place I felt happy and really that same sense of belonging again was just in Japan. How can I explain that sense of "not quiet right" even when I build a home, even through the many countries I have been to and yet never felt 'I know the place, that I was fully part of it in any way', with a disquiet, a longing ...
May be this is where my affinity for Buddhist philosophies came into being-or may be it was there all along waiting to get out into my conscious thoughts, despite another religion that enveloped me always, that I have passed on to my children, along with some life principles that I strive to... I will never know with certainty, will I? Instead I will continue to course through life trying to cause the least damage all around as those principles advise....
by Pc-3( updated 08/06/2025)
The clouds of inhuman nature in man has taken over the many who are able to work towards bringing peace in this world, yet they do walk away from those efforts ,loudly creating divisive destructive policies and they all act to cause more suffering ...
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