Nature Heals

We do not know enough
About how nature heals
Trees protect our climate
Give us life and new cures
We are still ignorant of truths
Such as photo-synthesis
It shows us trees talking to trees
Warning them about disease
To stay healthy and safe.

When a tree is hit by lightening
It feels the trauma and it’s body
Shakes and shivers, feels the pain
Let us preserve trees, they are life
Let us nurture them and hold them
And hug them and respect them
They have much to give and teach us.

A Miracle Baby

My grand daughter Laksha
Is a Miracle Baby
Her mother had a miscarriage
She was getting cleaned with a curatage
A wise nurse stepped forward
Tested her first and heard a faint
Heartbeat and shouted stop.
When she was born full term
I carried her home with pride..
She is beautiful and bright
Studying International Relations
At a famous university
Wants to go and work in Japan
When I look at her and think
LIFE IS A MYSTERY!!

A Qawwali Concert

Once I went to a Qawwali Concert
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and his Gharana
Sang Sufi music
The singers and music became one
They rocked, they danced, they clapped
Nodded their heads in unison
As they repeated the same refrain again and again.
They were possessed and mesmerised
The music reached such dizzy heights
With drumming and clapping and the tabla drum
We all became one – singers and listeners
In unison – dancing and swaying in unison
I stood up and danced, an eternal dance
The music took my soul to directions
I did not know. No I, was left we were all one
Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan opened doors
To a world when all were equal and all were one
It was many years ago but I often wish
And long to go and enter the Sufi dancing world!!

————-

Gharana is a special set of music family who perform music together. *

Upon Death

On 24^th December my father died.

We were expecting his death

But on the day he took his leave

He had his breakfast, and soup

for supper, went to the toilet by himself.

In the evening he was uncomfortable

The doctor came and wanted him

To be admitted to hospital

‘You can’t do that

He needs to stay with his family’

And he stayed.

My brother and I stayed by his side

And read the Bhagvad Geeta to him

Don’t know if he listened or understood

Early morning – he just stopped breathing

We waited for his breath to resume

But it never did – such is the nature of death.

My two children came to take Nana’s leave

My son brought him his ‘glows in the dark’ toy

Put it on his pillow and kissed him.

My daughter brought her Rag doll

Florence, and laid her tenderly on his side –

This is to keep him company as

He is going a long, long way away.

We kissed him one by one and

said our Goodbyes after all

Death is a part of life

It comes to us all.

—————

Sundar

Early morning walk in Whitton Park

I walk slowly with my stick in Whitton Park

meditating on the morning dew I walk

I see the seasons change and rejoice

a carpet of bluebells in the month of May I see.

Their perfume wafts and bathes me anew.

Grateful I am to crunch the dry twigs

and see magpies steal to build their nests.

These oak woods are ancient

grandfather trees are two hundred years old

when autumn comes they turn to gold

and their leaves descend and kiss the forest floor

And lie until Spring to be fed back to them.

I see squirrels, blckbirds, thrushes and birds galore

What would the world be without birds and trees?

A prospect hard to contemplate.

Sundar

Poem No. 2

Yellow Irises in my Pond

glow on a cloudy dull grey day

Lilies are still waiting patiently.

—–

Sundar

Poem No. 1   Salt

This morning I had a boiled egg for breakfast

My daughter forgot to bring me pepper and salt

It was difficult to swallow and my mind began

to think about salt – such a precious commodity

so important in culinary pursuits!

Loyalty is judged in some cultures by sayings:

“I have eaten your salt and I will always be true.”

Once I visited a rock salt mine

An ancient part of a mountain called Khewda Mine

In Pakistan – it is said that Alexander found it!

All the imported salt to the West is Khewda salt

But it is called ‘Red Indian Rock Salt’

The mine is massive and is brightly lit up

Has its trains, wagons and trucks

The salt glows in reds, yellows and golds.

It is an impressive art gallery

Even with a swing bridge across it

At Christmas time they have

Christmas trees and a crib

With Salt Mother Mary and Baby Jesus

The ingenuity of the carvers an amazing gift

by the Miners not paid extra to sculpt salt

in so many shapes, sizes and colours

The Michel Angelo’s of the Salt World

I left after buying a salt doll in three colours!

——-

Sundar

This is my first half marathon and I am looking forward to being a part of this very large family.

Both excited and apprehensive – hope the muse is there ready to emerge. Grateful thanks to

Caitlin and Jacob for this generous initiative and commitment to writers. Really looking forward to the experience.

Sundar

Sundar Walker Bio

Website: www.artsk.co.uk

Email: sundar@artsk.co.uk

Mobile: 07874760601

Place of Birth: Jalandhar, East Punjab, India

Academic Qualifications:  My early education took place at home.

British Education:  I have studied at Nottingham, Manchester, Sheffield and Lancaster

Universities and have gained a BA, M.ed, Diploma in Community Development, Diploma

In Art Therapy, Diploma in Dynamic Psychotherapy and a Masters – Creative Writing, Lancaster University

Honours:    A Churchill Fellowship, Leverhulme Fellowship, SSRC Fellowship, Tavistock

Fellowship and Constable Trophy Judge

Career: I worked in and around Manchester for the Social Services, Education Department and the NHS andDevelopment Officer, District Co-oordinator for

Community Education, Assistant Principal City College, Head of Chorlton Park Adult Education Centre and Senior Psychotherapist at Gaskell House Manchester.

Publications:    

Sare Mare Novel Published By Pandora 1989.

Flame, Talkers Through Dream Doors Poetry Press

Relative to Me – Short Stories by Women Writers, Commonword Press 

The Redbeck Anthology, Ed. by Debjani Chatterjee, Redbeck Press.

The Edge New Cumbrian Writers. Ed. Dickon Abbott, Published byKeeper of my Love – Shantanu Poetry – published by Kalasangam 2013.

New poetry published in the Pangolin online Poetry Journal.

Numerous articles, short stories and academic papers in various journals including The Guardian, Spare Rib, The Metropolitan, Psychotherapy and Art Therapy journals.

Decibel, A North West Profile.

I am also a fine artist and have had 14 solo exhibitions, two tours and residencies in India and Pakistan all with awards from the Arts Council.