Bogota

This piece was inspired by the lovely Natalie Royal's song, Chimbote.

monachopsis
n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your society as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.
(For similar words, see this page:http://www.dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com/)

As you notice, I took some inspiration from the definition ;) I'm planning on recording myself reading this, because when I write in Spanish, I write for the sound. The problem with writing in Spanish, is I'm really trying to write for native Spanish speakers, so I'm trying to make use of all the possible meanings of the words I've chosen, if that makes sense. I suggest that those of you who don't understand Spanish look at the original and the translated version together.

"Santa Fé de Bogotá"

Simón Bolívar found you como una Flor de Mayo.

I know that in your swelling city heart
you long por el mar, por la sal del mar,

but instead you straddle the roads,
hunker down over your landscape and breathe
your car fumes, inspiras las fumas como sombres,
espiras tranquilidad inquieta.

Colombia, madre, you have become
bloated in your old age, have grown your
ankles, pálidos e inflamados;

you should have been a sea lion,
morena y rapida y a la cresta como la espuma.

Mi alma, I will bring you the sea salt to run through your hair,
diamonds with which to crown your sea-mane.

~~~

Simón Bolívar found you like an orchid.

I know that in your swelling city heart
you long for the sea, for the salt of the sea,

but instead you straddle the roads,
hunker down over your landscape and breathe
your car fumes, you breathe the smoke like shadows,
breathe calm restlessly.

Colombia, mother, you have become
bloated in your old age, have grown your
ankles, pale and swollen;

you should have been a sea lion,
brown and quick and cresting like the sea foam.

My soul, I will bring you the sea salt to run through your hair,
diamonds with which to crown your sea-mane.

Hinduism

Feels like AGES since I've written anything. Played around with style a bit, so I don't feel COMPLETELY lazy about this piece.

Composed during Ara Batur by Sigur Ros
Imagery inspired by this gorgeousness:

Firestarter

I know I didn't mention much Hinduism, but...there's a kind of wistfulness for Shiva here that I'll claim counts ;)

I should add:
Pyrokenesis is the psychic ability to create and manipulate fire (essentially).
Spirography was a toy I had as a kid - you used little interlocking gears to make cool designs with your pen.

"Spirography and the Gift of Pyrokenesis"

Already I feel stiffened,
wrapped-round with my wedding-bangles—
circumscribed, a horror amidst spirographs,
the ballpoint-pen circles that have transcended themselves
into curling picture frames or paper cages.

In my gown I am become a pillar,
I have not tasted curried air,

but already a river will still my tastebuds,
the mirror into which I shall be sunk, prow-like,
with the ship,

and the curling pen-lines that drift in my eyes
prepare the currents that will wash over me
and make of me nothing.

Shiva I would rather be—
would that I could pour my flaming heart
over my ashen and lace body,
leave its embers in the grass like seeds;

I would go up in smoke, no Helen for Troy,
only gasps making their own way for
Calcutta.