I wish I had wings I’d leave this prison of gravity behind and go up and up grazing the tops of dazzling green trees swaying in the wind I’d soar through the mists of bright clouds breathing in freedom and moist particles of fog and rain I’d turn my face to the sun warm warming…
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The land- she does not know ownership nor boundaries languages nor skin moving where she will inside or out of our impositions she takes the sun from all corners and the rain from all directions. ~ Janavi Held © 2017
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Video with spoken poetry below Time Unhinged Dreamt of exterminated images, and forgotten doubts, of unhinged time with the hollow of silent bones thundering in the wake of restless flowers. Blinded by a vigilant morning I enter the mists of loneliness seeking laughter and daydreams (to counter the emptiness) too long for counting these…
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“Yet, in spite of these spectacular strides in science and technology, and still unlimited ones to come, something basic is missing. There is a sort of poverty of the spirit which stands in glaring contrast to our scientific and technological abundance. The richer we have become materially, the poorer we have become morally and spiritually.…
Read more Excerpt from Martin Luther King Jr. Nobel speech
Review of “Letters to My Oldest Friend: a book of poetry and photography by Janavi Held How many of us have had or taken the chance to dialogue with our soul, our maker, the deep slope of annihilation? Every poem and photograph in “Letters to My Oldest Friend” is such a dialogue. Inspired by her…
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Washing windows must see the air as it whips through trees under birds wings. ~ Janavi Held © 2017
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It’s raining I sit where I love to be in the half light melting into the starving earth leaves glow mirrors reflect everything I think I see. ~ Janavi Held © 2017
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Purchase now on Amazon Reviews In praise of Letters to My Oldest Friend Like many God-inspired poets of India’s Bhakti or devotional past (Mirabai and Chandidas come easily to mind), Janavi Held—writer, photographer, cineaste, observer of small miracles—chronicles the arrhythmia of a heart in love with Divinity. Letters to My Oldest Friend is a revelation.…
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Monsoon Dreams Bleached and tattered bark of tree leaves mired in wild wind endless sights of fragrant meadows transparence filtering flying pollen and wet laden clouds with white and gray monsoon dreams inside atoms resides the restless Master playing in a forest of His own making. Janavi Held © 2017 My book of poetry…
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