Aram Harijan

Much ado about nothing

Month: May, 2010

Carolina Tea

Carolina Tea
makes the blood sweet.
The mosquitos
flock to the effluence.
Little blood spot
and sweat.



Summer sweat
Glows red like the setting sun


Dear Rambunctious,

Once I had a dream in me.
I called you Peanut.
You had gotten lost
A teenie little puppy
Your mommy nowhere to be found.

I took you home.
A skittish brown mutt
startled at everything,
even your own squeaking toy –
an orange rubber dinosaur.

Home alone one day,
You tore my book bindings.
I yelled at you;
and you cowered.
And for the next thousand days
You taught me to be human.

Smart dog,
You sat;
You laid down;
You rolled over;
You stood;
You twirled;
You waited;
You went;
You fetched;
Your commander,
I picked up your poo.

One spring Carolina day,
while I laid my troubled mind down
in a dharma field,
You ran away
chasing butterflies
and other critters nondescript.

When I came to,
you were nowhere to be found.
“Peanut!” I called.
You didn’t come
“Peeeeeaaaanut!” I called again,

You appeared
short of breath
grasses twice as tall,
and my fears popped
like silly bubbles.

Oh, Peanut!
How happy you were
to see me
after my cadaver studies.
Even more so relieved
to finally relieve your bladder.

I am wholly responsible
for your lifelong battle
with hydronephrosis
and urinary incontinence.

It was a grand summer
by Lac Leman,
Riding bicycle,
Playing chess at the park.
I told mes ami
about you
and your big floppy ears.

Must have been difficult
for AJ
to break that unwelcome news
on a Friday afternoon,
which got me
crying the miserable weekend
lost on my foot
lost of you.

Another thousand days passed.
the innocence in me
is tender
from the occasional thought of you
and how you loved me
without your condition,
and despite my condition.

Oh, Peanut.

May you rest in peace
with all the biscuit
you ever dreamt of.



I want to get lost,
hitching miles from strangers,
lost in the conversation
with my driver,
a sleepless painter,
who, lost in creativity,
drove aimlessly till space and time
found her
in a lewd art
by a midnight gallery
illuinated by the full moon,
its audience lonely stars
crying rays of light
which shone on the tears down her cheek
as she dropped me off
another lonely highway exit.

I want to get lost,
in my neighborhood
with a cigarette in my hand
and music in my head,
lost in my little world
a brief afternoon psychotherapy
of the Self,
where I am both a shrink
and the crazy,
arguing with myself
intimate with the irrational
suddenly on International.
Escape for a brief minute
never to be found again
but missed anyways.

I want to get lost,
in the dance
to the rhythm
of proud embarrassment
balancing and twisting
confusing the faculty of coordination
and starting an academic debate
between the frontal cortex
and the cerebellum,
the debate,
interrupted by the up-and-down
from the knees
to the head
rocking out stupid
like nobody’s watching,
lost in my body
and something else ethereal.

I want to get lost
in the woods
walking in silence
except for my own labored breath
the sound of occasional bird
and dry branches
giving under my steps.
Slept an afternoon in a nameless field
woke up into an evening glow
empty of mind
except for the thought of the empty stomach
and for the fear of darkness
in my lonely lost path
felt the real warmth
of the soul.