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Resa Jayachandran

of

Umtata, Eastern Cape, South Africa

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To a Believer

by

Resa Jayachandran

I wanted to tell you
Of all the things i knew.
I wanted to show you
How to hold the wind;
But you laughed
And said it couldn't be:
Lives spent cahsing the wind
Are lives lived in vain.
Oh, don't you know?
It ain't so, Brother.
Don't you know it ain't so?

I wanted to teach you
How to talk to an angel;
But you scoffed
And thought it impossible:
The tongues of angels
Are not for human ears.
Oh don't you know?
It ain't so, Brother.
Don't you know it ain't so?

I wanted to lead you --
Yes, take you by your hand --
And lead you to the farthest star.
I remember you stared
Then shook your head
And walked away
(You had to work), saying:
"Oh, don't you know?
It ain't so, brother.
Don't you know it ain't so?"

So you walked away
Left me standing
At the grey street corner --
One heathen
In a world of believers.


Faces

by

Resa Jayachandran

Wake up in the morning
Put my face on and start working.
Contrary to popular belief,
It's much more than mascarra and lipstick.
To make things a little clearer,
Here's how it goes, my dear:

Over my face (my breathless,
real, dream-fresh face),
I slip my daytime mask.
--There, perfect, isn't?--
Oh, wait, my eyes are peeking out (my curious,
real, wind-brushed eyes).
Where are my work-eyes?
Oh, of course, they're in the top,
Left-hand drawer of my work-brain.
Snap them on and...
I'm ready to work
Another day away.

If i didn't put my face on,
Why, then i might be Myself.
How fatal that would be!
My breathless, real, dream-fresh face
Might say things
To shock my work-mouth.
And my curious, real, wind-brushed eyes
May cry torrents
When they shouldn't shed a drop,
Mustn't even look like they want to.

Handy things, faces.
The best ones cost little more
Than a few moments of your time.
They're made of all the best materials:
A stream of compliments for
Mr Boss-Man,
Heartless smiles, veiled eyes,
A frown or two, etc.

So, you, see, my dear,
It's not just a box of blusher
And a can of hair spray
To get you through a brand-new day.
Handy things, faces...

Oh, don't forget the
Vacant, purposeful look,
A pair of ears that
Drown the cry of
Someone in need
And a nose that won't
Let you stop and
Smell with relish
Such trivial things
As the first rose
Of sweet spring.


Inquisition by a Well-Meaning Friend

by

Resa Jayachandran

How will you feel
Six months from now?
blank.
How will you feel
When he says hello?
blank.
How will you feel
When you see him
Walking down the street?
blank.
How will you feel
When you come across
A part of his memory
Where it should not be?
blank.
What will your pulse say
When you chance upon his likeness?
blank
. What will your eyes say
When they look into his again?
blank.
What will your heart say
Should it touch his again?
I love you.