Reading Time: 38 minutes
Autism: An Advocacy Initiative is a campaign programme of this webzine. We present an eAnthology of Poems, wherein 42 poets, with as many poems, spread across 19 nations [India (17), Mexico (4), Puerto Rico (3), Poland & Germany (2 each) and one each from Kyrgyzstan, Republic of Macedonia, The Netherlands, Viet Nam, Cameroon, Kenya, Japan, Italy, Egypt, Philippines, Spain, The USA, Republic of China, and Belgium)] participated. The Global Voices of the poets must reach the concerned authorities, the world over, including doctors, caregivers, parents and teachers. We hope to unite the Global Village for this cause. A Special Feature and a Different Truths exclusive.
Content
- Retrospective – Michele Baron
- Me – Luz María López
- Understanding – Eliza Segiet
- Soft Heart – Hristo Petreski
- at the far end – Aprilia Zank
- Meeting – Alicja Kuberska
- I am an autistic boy – Marian Eikelhof
- Non-Omnis Moriar (Ever) –Daniel Olivares
- Spare that Pity – Lily Swarm
- Everyday – Hussein Habasch
- Early Morning Sun – Mai Văn Phấn
- Knowing Ourselves – Geethanjali Dilip
- Not by my strength – Nnane Ntube
- Special Child – Aabha Vatsa
- Nina, an Autistic Child – Sarala Balachandran
- Golden Thoughts! – Kiren Babal
- Flapping Hands – Zulma Quiñones Senati
- “Special” – Nancy Nndeke
- Jared – Alicia Minjarez Ramírez
- I love you, at 12 – Haydeé Zayas
- Three Gogyoshi Poems – Taro Aizu
- David is your name – Claudia Piccinno
- My Neighbour’s Son – Atef Abdel Aziz
- You must love me… – Virginia Jasmin Pasalo
- Peeping into My Bundle of Joy – Deeya Bhattacharya
- I am on a Journey – Sarika Sarkar Das
- My Eyes Talk – Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
- Somewhere in Between… – Sunila Khemchandani
- Autism of the Heart– Sonali Majumdar
- I am You – Aarti Mittal
- All Thoughts of Love at the End of Seasons – Tzemin Ition Tsai
- Autism – Nutan Sarawagi
- Autistic Child – Anita Sahoo
- I am Special – Vandana Bhasin
- Just let me be – Sudeshna Mukherjee
- The Speculo Tongue – Rishikesh Kumar Singh
- The Dilemma – Neelam Saxena Chandra
- I am Autism – Sandra Saenco
- Who is me, Inside Myself? – Irma Salcedo
- Camouflage* or Because Fish Don’t Know – Payal Talreja
- The Synaesthetic Lonely Ghost – Yuri Zambrano
- A Special Mother – Nilakshi Roy
# 1. retrospective
I am a secret agent in my own life
asymmetrical
dependably unpredictable
at best
unheard, unseen, unremembered,
small
do — followed by re, followed by mi, sol, la — five notes out of eight,
degrees of proximity… close, and closer… blending
scales of tonal beauty — so fluid, so easy
… what is that power normal people have
that they meet, talk, touch, laugh, live…
…and are not overlooked, nor looked away from;
not threatened, not overloaded, not caged-in,
not knotted —
and not afraid that, once opened,
hearts’ gates will never close,
though they might never again be opened
by those whom I, longing, let enter?
music, and colours; numbers, and patterns,
so easy — like wings —
to touch without touching,
… but… if only… to learn, at last, to reach, to fly, to hold —
feeling, without fleeing
…harmonious
©Michele Baron
Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan
# 2. Me
voices
rip my mind
like thunder to light
through the most hidden walls within me
– cracking my ears –
touch
my fingers are darts of energy
each breaking another expectancy around me
rhizomes popping over and over
– hitting an awkward reality –
emotion
so many faces!
traits to attempt and grasp
– moods like pins in the toes –
mind
harmony
flowing cloud inside me
kaleidoscope of dreams
emerging
flying
butterflies
– euphoria –
where I feel
unique
scintillating
free!
©Luz María López
Puerto Rico
# 3. Understanding
Since I can remember
I have felt the best with only myself.
I did not like it when someone
hugged, kissed, rumpled.
I edged away, fought back,
I did not want to be caressed.
I do not have to, I do not want to, I cannot…
I cannot, I cannot, I cannot…
I know it more and more often.
It sunk in!
Be like everyone else?
I am not, I am not, I am not…
That’s how I was born.
They think I am sick,
it’s not a disease, not a disease, not a disease…
– only myselfness.
Myselfness, myselfness, myself…
A state in a closed world
where
you do not need compassion,
kisses
– but understanding.
©Eliza Segiet
Poland, Cracow
Translated by Artur Komoter
# 4. Soft Heart
It seems I have a soft heart,
Softer than kaymak and young cheese.
No, it is stronger when it has to
Keep going,
And pretend not to see it is crying on inside
My heart is stronger than softer dust
Strong as corn flour,
Howling at night, moaning and weeping at day,
But it is important that it does not cry before it is time.
Cry washes eyes,
And enhance sight.
It must be I am some terrible type and beast
Because I have only one heart for crying,
But it is also for surviving, (self)destruction and escape!
©Hristo Petreski
Skopje, Republic of Macedonia
# 5. at the far end
the afternoon dragged itself
towards an indelible evening
there was a chill in the air
a stir among drying leaves
there was silence along the canal
flowing idly
to a vague embayment
and then there was a murmur
a lament
a litany
or rather something
still in search of a name
no one to see around
the place deserted
no bikers, no dog walkers
and then it was there
it was in the waves
water weeds caressing
the nakedness of his body
floating with fallen leaves
a boy a man a boy
humming himself a lullaby
weaving a net of algae and ghosts
unaware
of the chill in the air
of falling leaves
bathing in bliss
in beams of chastity
at the far end of the canal
sirens uniforms ambulances
shrill voices
cutting through the thin air
it was a cold day in November
the evening fell like the leaden gate
in a windowless, mirthless abode
no falling leaves
no tender weeds
no fondling ripples
around one’s wrists
©Aprilia Zank (Germany)
# 6. Meeting
We are in the same room,
but we are staying in two different worlds.
An invisible border separates us
– the eyes do not get through it
and words turn into silence.
Your look penetrates objects,
goes far beyond the room.
Every image is blurred in your thoughts.
I disappear and become transparent like air
I hope you guess, that I’m sitting next to you.
You are looking intensely at the whirling bug
and waving nervously with your hands,
as you would like to fly over the rainbow bridge of fantasy.
There you try to find a shelter on your lonely island,
where all your mind’s entrusted secrets are guarded.
I smile again and give you a colourful toy.
You avoid my touch and with a cry retract your hand quickly.
I want to penetrate the barrier of our mutual pain,
free you from a dimension filled with loneliness,
in which there is no place for another human being
©Alicja Maria Kuberska
Warsaw, Poland
# 7. I am an Autistic Boy
It will be enough for me
look into your eyes
so full of unexpected emotions
for only a few seconds
in order to observe the turmoil
deep within,
discover it’s multiple disorder disguises,
hidden agendas and untold secrets
amidst the dark mirrors of your goals.
So very tender is the soft embrace of
your presence even if we share
only the couch even though we don’t talk.
Don’t look me in the eye
for a length of time
I will explode feeling powerless
without warning
In whatever context, randomness
I’ll destroy all on my way.
Full of tenderness
yet desperate
don’t push me over the edge
my beloved guide
I might have other ways
of looking at things
of coping
not to frustrate you
make you feel sad.
If you trespass the boundaries of my structures,
break into my safety zone
with dogshit all over your shoes
and carelessness
I’ll never come back
Not in the furthest universe
You’ll see me return
My love isn’t silver
My heart is golden
I am an autistic boy.
©Marian Eikelhof
Rotterdam, Netherlands
# 8. Non-Omnis Moriar (Ever)
For I’m just me
… and you, if anything, the distant rumour that accompanies me.
He/she// you/they will never figure after any horizon.
Palpitating blood and (however) never us
without guilts aimed at you …
Biology and history rivers and all for what?
There the men and their crudest wars;
here the mere deeds of the ephemeral life.
Blurred triangles; Circular squares completely concentric…
Kind gods they already are.
Warmth in the morning; never cold in the heart.
The light is my music.
My silence is a sea.
Tomorrow is today.
The here is the everything.
© Daniel Olivares Viniegra
México City, México
#9. Spare that Pity
I don’t want to be stared at for I don’t sit on a museum shelf
I live in a house with my parents and siblings
Don’t judge me harshly if I play with my own fingers and sit or fidget in corners for hours
The grating sound of the loudspeaker terrifies me
As much as the drone of the fan irks
Don’t mind me if I don’t look you in the eye when you speak
I wish I could you know
They say my communication skills are poor but my maths is great you see
I can play that piece of music in a jiffy and I love creating magic with my paints
I hate being touched or embraced by all, if only you knew my heart
I can sit for hours with my blocks and repeatedly play with the same toy
What can I do if I simply have to repeat the same word all over again
Love me please like you love my sister
Perhaps just a little more each day?
I am a flower of a blue hue which you must know well
I need the world to understand me,
Please spare that pity for someone else!
©Lily Swarn
Chandigarh, India
# 10. Everyday
Everyday
I pass along the madhouse.
From the third floor’s window
a woman shows up.
She cries: Help, I need help.
I say to her: I need that also!
She raises a wry laugh
And asks me: Are you mad like me?
All seriousness, I answer: Yes, sure.
She shakes her head and says:
Then, we will prevail!
To here, I raise the sign of victory
that is going to lose anyway
and I go ahead.
©Hussein Habasch
Germany – From Afrin, Syria
Translated by Azad Ekkaş
#11. Early Morning Sun
Water collected at the mountain’s feet
A pebble was lying on a high rock
Without blinking in pristine solitude
Last night it rained
Who had been sitting there before or after heavy rain
All of a sudden I missed you, truly missing
I dared not look elsewhere
Or let the blue sky penetrate my heels
A heavy rain, truly heavy
Had given a bath to the little pebble
This single image by itself
Made me wildly enraptured with life
It seemed the early morning sun was enveloping the mountaintop
And rendered transparent the earth, and the trees.
©Mai Văn Phấn
Viet Nam
Translated by Nguyễn Tiến Văn, Edited by Susan Blanshard
# 12. Knowing Ourselves
The bubble of pristine love nestled in my womb as I went heady,
Nine months warbled in my aching feet as I took my steps giddy,
My heart thudded with excitement as I held his hand waiting for the day,
But we both never realised that an angel came our way to stay,
What could I know of angels when I’ve only read of them,
I held a priceless flower within me and I was just a stem,
Our world became a dream like a charming fairy tale book,
Until the day this angel had eyes everywhere but into our eyes did not look,
Every little sound a hazard and every loud voice a threat.
We had to beg friends to not visit for only doctors we met,
Such an immaculate soul was our angel who never did articulate,
We broke our heads and read up stuff all ends in a debate,
This angel would have tantrums as if he/ she lost her way,
And landed in a cruel world where even flowers held that soul in sway,
Except for tantrums beyond our understanding, there was only silence,
Till the day ten slender fingers played the music of divine innocence,
But foolish minds we carry waiting for baby prattle and babble,
We drowned ourselves in anxiety missing the music inimitable,
By now we were told that our child fell into a so-called spectrum,
And that our love’s labour flower was different, special in an arboretum,
Every day now a struggle for we battle to understand that mind,
But one thing we learned as parents are that it’s us we need to find,
For we were granted a rare blessing too pure to exist in this world,
Sometimes we think we see a halo around our child’s head in sleep peacefully curled,
Autism is just a name for all that is beyond our vision,
How blind we are about our own selves claiming perfection,
Today we know that love is all that’s needed to give angels a place,
On this earth which is not for such beatific souls, we may put in a rat race.
©Geethanjali Dilip
Salem, India
# 13. Not by my Strength
I know my voice is voiceless
A deaf ear won’t cure my muteness
I know you see me from a distance
Your love could be a pittance
Hug me tied…Let my heart to thine be tied
Let my sorrow sing to thee, my strength revived will be
My brain is dark inside…Shadows in it reside
Downgrading my faithful sight; as it dangles, perception sighs
Sorry, I can’t catch your sight
If I look at you and cannot see you, it’s not by my strength,
It’s the game my cells play and the strolls my mind entertain
If you’ve noticed me keeping mum, it’s not by my strength.
The words are tied in the machine that gives them ease to flow
My speech is tied up in my brain, the reason I can’t connect
My mind has compressed my bodily strength…I’m weak, I need your help
If I’m not as strong and vibrant as Marie, it’s not by my strength
I may be stronger in what you ignore
Hold me with care and you will be amazed by the outstanding result I’ll have
I may not be just the way you are
I may not be just the way you expected me to be
I may not connect properly with you
But know my difference makes me unique
As much as it hurts you, know it hurts me more
For it’s not by my strength
Adorn me with your hugs…Cover me with kisses
Make my life a bliss be, and anxiety from me will flee, the mind will be renewed
This litany of my mystery should trigger your interest;
A bait for your attention…And make history
For I ain’t an anti-social, just the brain playing games with me
©Nnane Ntube
Cameroon
# 14. Special Child
I am a special child, destiny’s favourite
And I love my multicoloured autism bracelet.
I can sing and dance all I want
But painting is really what I want.
The colours speak to me tales of nature
And sometimes I also paint caricatures
Brilliant hibiscus or sacred lotus
I love to paint them in perfect focus.
My studio is an alive gallery
With paintings of bright cranberries
It is my little kingdom of colour and splash
Never does one painting with another clash.
My favourite art teacher is so funny
She teaches me nature’s articulate beauty
My best friend always steals my paintings
And she goes about school campaigning.
Soon I am going to exhibit my work
Mum and Dad want me to make a mark
I dream of exhibiting my work in Paris
O yes! I have planned a series on Iris!
©Aabha Vatsa
New Delhi, India
# 15. Nina, an Autistic Child
Nina behaved in an unusual manner
From small
Repeating over and over the same thing
And loved being left alone
With her toy dog
Which she won’t let anyone touch
She sometimes loved colouring pictures but for a short while!
Everything she did was short-lived!
She gets moody often and is drawn
Into a shell!
In the school she found it
Difficult to understand what
The teacher is teaching
Repeatedly asking the teacher
Got the teacher irritated
She would cry alone in a corner
When her brother’s friends
Come home and played
She hated the noise
She would alone sit with her
Mother whom she won’t spare
For a minute
She was so possessive about
Her mother and her toy dog
She became too quiet
And sometimes lost her temper
Throwing up tantrums!
Parents got worried
And took her to a psychiatrist
He found her to be an autistic child
And advised parents she is a special child and needs to have cared for her
In a special way but treat her normally!
She improved with care but needed much more care!
©Sarala Balachandran
Kolkata, India
# 16. Golden Thoughts!
Blue is the colour of my sky
Deep blue, a course of my eyes
Dreams embedded in this ocean
Love to realise them on my own.
The bells ring in my ears
I listen to them far and near
My stories I tell to one and all
But sigh! No one lends their ear.
I have a world of my own
Come join let’s laugh aloud
Strange it is to see, I laugh, you cry,
Why can’t we laugh together and enjoy?
Blue is my world, blue is the sky,
Golden thoughts, I weave my world,
Take a dip if ever you could
You’ll understand there’s no sadness at all.
©Kiren Babal
New Delhi, India
# 17. Flapping Hands
You do not hear the music that beats inside me.
It is so beautiful that my hands cannot resist.
They soar like pigeons, they fly through the sky.
they do not go crazy, they dance their own style.
Deep inside me, they flap touching the mists.
The world does not exist when that music hits.
My unruly hands love it.
I am seduced by the rhythm.
There is no other place to roam
but deep in my soul.
Sometimes it starts soft
and rises to a whirling turmoil.
You cannot hear it, it is for me solely.
The blinking melody flies to my hands.
It turns into paintings that I can stare at.
Sometimes it is sweet and soft as dragonflies’ wings,
others strident and ambiguous like a wandering bee.
Do not dare to stop my hands, they love to flutter
like butterflies in search of the most precious flowers.
Do not ask me to look at you if another world is at sight,
made for me only, with everything that fits in my mind.
©Zulma Quiñones Senati
Puerto Rico
# 18. “Special”
Special is truly special,
As in gift and anniversary celebration,
Yet,
There is special,
That tears bring, changing status forever,
That’s the child abled differently,
Slower to catch up, slower to play,
Slower to walk, slower to speech,
But still creators beautiful gift,
Misunderstood, often overlooked, or even deserted,
Worse for some, abandoned, and or abused,
Why O why? A child autistic is a child still,
Needing just a little more tenderness to bloom,
Needing just a little more support to pick life’s rhythm,
Needing just a little more encouragement to fly,
And so s/he should,
For life is divine regardless of the circumstances,
An autistic child needs a helping hand to bloom,
And stand on his/her own,
If only love and support give in fair,
Not condemnation, nor belittling,
Not shame but love and support with tender loving hearts.
©Nancy Ndeke
Nairobi, Kenya
# 19. Jared
(Tribute to my autistic student)
Your eyes are sailing
The blue of the sky,
Furrowing every part of the universe.
Where do you lose your look?
Where does the search begin
And then nothing ends?
Your gaze on the horizon
Squad anxiously
A white dot in the sky;
Everything is blue,
Shine with splendour
Of childhood
And the enormous intelligence
That God has placed over you.
Smiles evaporate silences,
Nuances rugged walls
Of consciousness in your person;
There is nothing to fear,
Smiling you take your place again
In the classroom
Silent…
Your look is lost
Concentrating on exercises to perform.
Every day your eyes question
The heavens.
Today your search – resignation ends,
Finding a grey sky
Full of clouds.
You start in tears,
Which torrent collides with the sea.
With mechanical movements
You extend your tongue strongly,
Oscillates from one side to another
Wanting to pull it out
Completely…
Who could alter the climate
To always hold your smile.
Nobody is unfazed!
For all children it is normal
Contemplate Jared fearing the clouds.
©Alicia Minjarez Ramírez
Mexico
# 20. I Love You, at 12
To Minerva & Mayra
She had 2 when the diagnosis
or the label, or finding, or judgment
in a sterile tone, appropriate for a doctor
Minerva has autism.
I knew it, I knew that something was different,
a mother always knows.
The translation of that statement was
Minerva is special, a warrior, a teacher.
I was told that she will never walk,
at 7, I guess bored of walking,
she learns how to ride a bike.
Also ate by herself for the first time.
At 8 she said Mommy and I cried.
At 9 she learned reading and started writing.
Although the therapy was underway for years
at 10 she was almost a jockey
mastered the art of horseback riding.
Minerva was 11 when I got her Teddy, her dog.
Only with Teddy, she demonstrates emotions.
Only with Teddy, she cries sometimes out of frustration,
but never for unhappiness.
Minerva is a happy girl.
At 12 she said I LOVE YOU
for the first and only time so far.
A profound, definitive, forceful I LOVE YOU.
She is 20 now.
One day, at her own pace, time and drive
Minerva will be independent and will work with animals.
One day, the last memory that I’ll have,
before I died, is Minerva’s voice, at 12, saying I LOVE YOU.
©Haydée Zayas-Ramos
Puerto Rico
# 21. Gogyoshi Poems
(5 lines each)
A Seed
Even though
I’m old,
I have a seed
that will bloom someday,
deep in my mind.
Our Differences
I’m different from you.
You’re different from me.
Let’s respect
not only our similarities
but our differences.
Earther
I want to be an Earther
who can cross
not only political borders
but cultural frontiers
without any prejudice.
©Taro Aizu
Japan
22. David is Your Name
(Poem dedicated to a child with autism)
Where did your gaze stop David?
You fell on a detail in order not to see the whole.
It is not easy to decipher the compass of the senses
in the chaos of social stimuli.
And how will I support the reward
of that troublesome biology?
To observe the failure in the connection
among your sensory abilities
it is an enormous effort for us, the “so-called normal ones”.
To compensate with gestures to a shared attention,
to take you to clarify a request,
these are compelling purposes in my head.
David is your name,
you’re not for me a diagnosis
or a variant or a flaw of genetic architecture,
a disregarded expectation,
an early or late intervention,
an impaired brain plasticity,
a spectrum disorder.
David is your name
the child who loves the detail. . .
I’ll wear your look,
I ‘ll listen to your confused stereotypy
I’ll go down to cross the object that attracts you
so as to shorten the distance
that keeps you confined in a room.
© Claudia Piccinno
Italy
# 23. The Neighbour’s Son
The little boy who used to wave at me
From his balcony,
Is no longer there.
The little boy at whose feet
My ruthless dog used to sleep,
Is no longer there.
In his place, now stands a porcelain flower pot
In which a single sunflower, undulates and curls.
As of now,
I have to start my day without his wave,
Which never once changed its direction
In the air.
It was the wave at which,
My passion for staying alive began
And meaningless words ended.
In a morning such as this,
Helpless and submissive to the sun
Much as an autistic child would be,
I can accurately count my inheritance in this world:
– A friend, who suddenly disappears in his solitude,
Open to the light.
– A sunflower swaying in the wrong direction.
– A sick dog, with a disease which causes him to scratch his skin,
Against the neighbour’s wall.
Whereas, I remained the same,
Continuing to wave at the empty space
Which took the form of the absent boy.
©Atef Abdel Aziz
Cairo, Egypt
# 24. You Must Love me…
How are you today?
How are you today?
Have you eaten?
Have you eaten?
Oh, sweetie, you are beautiful!
Oh, sweetie, you are beautiful!
Come here, give me a hug!
Come here, give me a hug!
You keep repeating….
You keep repeating….
You must love me, too….
You must love me, too….
©Virginia Jasmin Pasalo
Philippines
# 25. Peeping into my Bundle of Joy
It’s a mystery
that envelops the frame of my soul
listless agony creeps all over me
my little one, my bundle of joy
cannot make out
the canopy of colours
She peeps through the sun
laughs at the breeze that soothes
makes a wondrous roaring cry
when sea-gulls fly over the surf and sea
We are out in the sun
missing the castles of sand which
Overwhelming children are shaping out
the mirth that outshines the little
pebbles of joy I put in her lap pondering
over the myotonic dystrophy
that resides in her bones
The pink flesh her rough hands
she throws about her
weaving circles in the air
her curls of hair swinging all
over her face, she can barely manage
She yet is the syllable of joy from heaven
She’s my bundle of joy.
©Deeya Bhattacharya
Kolkata, India
#26. I am on a Journey
I am on a journey,
Won’t you walk along with me?
I need you to help me
A person with a big heart.
I am on a journey
But I can’t reach there,
As my feet are very small.
Would you please stand beside me?
I am on a journey,
Life is sometimes fearful,
So I need your shoulders,
To hold my hands and clear my eyes.
I am a journey,
Where everyone judges me,
Will you be one?
Who will just love me unconditionally?
I am on a journey,
And my road is tough, and I need you desperately.
Will you hold me tight?
So that I won’t feel lonely.
I am on a journey.
Won’t you walk along with me?
I always need some with me.
A teacher, my parents and few big and strong.
©Sarika Sarkar Das
Hyderabad, India
#27. My Eyes Talk
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
I want to say so much but I cannot.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
My thoughts get bottled up and rot.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
Why don’t others understand me like you do?
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
Neither can I do mistakes nor can I undo.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
My eyes want to interact with others but they rotate in vain.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
They call me hyperactive but I am normal, not insane.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
I shake, I shake and I shake.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
I want to interact and be more awake.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
I want to be free and fly like a dove.
My eyes talk to you oh my mother!
Tell others I want nothing else but their love.
©Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
Mumbai, India
#28. Somewhere in Between…
I can hear strange noises, why can’t you hear
My mum does and she holds me close to her
She held me last night when I yelled aloud
But what will I do if she’s not around
I repeat and repeat same words, some sneer
My mum pats me, smiles, and keeps me cheered
I move a lot and think but lose the train
My mind hardly keeps quiet, often disdains
I want to obey but my mind lets not
So I react by being impulsive or shout
Like when my mum wanted me to finish lunch
My hand spilt the soup and I felt so dumb
I get frustrated when I can’t understand
Boys and girls in their games get me banned
I am like all kids trying to do my best
I love to be with them but they detest
Mum says I am unique and Dad concurs
I love both dearly and to show I hug
I am not a comma nor a full stop
I lie somewhere in between on top
©Sunila Khemchandani
29. Autism of the Heart
Who are they?
Who defines being normal?
People with narrow hearts?
Who defines verbal abilities?
Ears with known frequencies?
Who defines disabilities?
Ones with limited abilities?
No, I am not sarcastic, believe me, I only speak the truth.
I have seen
A life
Beautiful in itself
Unique, endless
A divine creation
An artistic sublimation
Undefined, undefeated
Smiling with eyes, happiness has to be redefined.
Yes, Autism they called it
In a world of its own
Far from the known
Possibilities endless
He may hear sounds
To which we are not prone
He may see visions
Maybe talks to apparitions
He may see spirits
Or parallel worlds spinning
He needs no words
They have no meaning
He can listen to hearts
While we, the “Normal” suffer from “Autism” of the heart.
©Sonali Majumdar
Virginia, The USA
# 30. I am You
You neither hear me nor see me
Never you take heed of what I do what not
You pity me saying, “poor baby autistic baby”
But I pity you because you are rustic
By your deeds by your oughts
You shall never see the beautiful world of my thoughts
Where God has gifted me with language so different
The language of emotions, in every grit of me
That needs ears to the heart of thee
You feel only the skin
But I feel the feel like a pricked pin
Dense and intense
With depth having no fence
I am autistic and autism speaks
To me, your humanity and intentions sneak
You comment on me, to be sedentary
Before I react that is elementary
You can’t hear me and my gestures yell
I peal that too makes your tears fell
The colours of a rainbow smile in me
Bestowed with love immense nile in me
I am either calm or acrimonious
But never, never as your thoughts ferocious
I need just love and acceptance
Understandings, and not rejections
Embrace me and feel my allegiance
I release all but defer love
With no repentance
I have no regrets for my darkness in your eyes
It is a divine light and makes me wiser.
©Aarti Mittal
Mumbai, India
#31. All Thoughts of Love at the End of Seasons
The gurgling sound of water is trying to drown the clouds high in the sky
Dead leaves did not cry
I was lying on the lush trunk
Listen carefully
I realised that I should not
Let
the poetry fell from my own arms
That letter sandwiched in it has been restless for seventeen years
I realised that I should not
Steal the seventeenth love word in the letter at that moment
And tore off my bright red heart as a seal
Against that chest a hole without a lid on it
Even if there lived the seventeenth love word I stolen
The west wind at the end of the season secretly told the green water
I can survive no more than seventeen years
A kiss inadvertently erased the mark on the seal
The mark is red as seventeen years ago
I did not know
Whether should use the seventeenth love word that I had stolen
To exchange the original red heart
©Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai
Changhua, Taiwan (Republic of China)
#32. Autism
A …automated we are not
U …as real as You
T …don’t Test me
I …I am yours forever
S … Sure I am you
M…’M ‘always mine… remember
I thought Autism, it was beautiful
people so unique so unusual
life is boring all the same
but they are the ones so special
a love beyond all, unexplained as it goes
gathering love becoming all
it knows for they are Gods’ people
born in love, in it inexplicable
love me for me, don’t see beneath
on the surface, I may seem weak
but with you, I weep
life see me as me, in your pity don’t pity me
for I am strong as you
not a weakling as you think
I am you
much stronger than the rest
always at your behest, my best
love me for me
not the few morsels you throw at me
for I am love made of Stone
in your wrath to disown
I was born just like you
in my love, don’t blame you
I am just you
You
©Nutan Sarawagi
Mumbai, India
#33. Autistic Child
Amongst a world, clustering around me
I have my own world
to which I belong
it’s not my fault
with my thoughts benign
often misunderstood by the world
as a handicap mind.
Different I am,
me, my own definition
beyond any precision
unknown to deceptiveness
untouched by any treachery
as a water drop on a lotus leaf
born in your mean world
yet an alien to it, totally detached
scorned to respond
my unicity, you could hardly understand.
Accept me, as I am
the way I am
bereft of any perception
oblivious to all the vices
of mundane existence
I am,
God’s soulful creation.
©Anita Sahoo
Bhubaneshwar, India
#34. I am Special
I am a special child
I don’t aspire to compete with the world
Don’t dictate your success mantras
I don’t discern your money talks
I can’t comprehend your dialect
Your beliefs, your opinions, your judgment
I can’t fathom your fears
Your narcissism, your rationale, your failures
Don’t question my acumen
But ponder over your insipidity
Don’t be mystified by my conduct
But inhibit your impropriety
Don’t ridicule my innocence
But restrain your atrocities
Don’t lament my disability
But apprize my creativity
Don’t characterise me by names
Don’t ostracise me from society
For I am God’s special child
I too deserve some modesty
©Vandana Bhasin
Gurugram, India
# 35. Just Let Me Be
My vanilla sky is dotted and
lined with visions
Why do I have to conform to
other’s permission
I do not intrude or impose
Why do I have to be verbose
Let me dwell in my own space
Why entangle me in the cut-throat race
In my mind, I surf and swerve
Live through the strains with vim and verve
Whether a savant or with an eidetic memory
Let me be with my own vagaries
Am I a misfit I think not
Your world is unsafe and fraught
Look what you have done to your world
Unleashed hatred divided spun intrigue and twirled
I am happy to be me
At peace can’t you see.
©Sudeshna Mukherjee
Mumbai, India
# 36. The Speculo Tongue
She never encountered with any –isms
the naive, bucolic mother in a shack
survived alone with her little angel
‘Samara’- yes- this is what she used to call her-
a gift from a Hebrew speaking traveller visited
her village a couple of years ago
‘Under God’s rule’ – he explained the meaning to her
now she thinks whether the curse was ‘under His rule’ indeed!
The jejune voice never experienced the lilt and cadence
only submitted to herself with twisted tongue and skewed lips
-labs filled with numerous speech therapists
podiums thronged with intellects, congested with
suffocating words and fluttering papers
defunct theories and absconded ideas
slithering on the tongues…shaping the lips in praise-
no use of all. She loves
to hear ‘mo…mmaa…’ but scared too
the fear of losing the social rhythm,
culturally imposed languages and lexicons
while transforming the little angel into a growing girl
standing in front of the mirror
the mother stretches her tongue out
no twirls…no turns…no twists…no play of words
she moves back to her daughter and
smiled seeing her reflection on the little tongue.
©Rishikesh Kumar Singh
New Delhi, India
#37. The Dilemma
She was too flummoxed to realise
What is happening around her,
As the Doctor passed the final verdict,
“Your kid is autistic!”
She couldn’t even bring herself
To hold his hands
While she walked home
In nervous, unsteady steps.
She refused to put on
The ruby red lipstick that she adored,
She couldn’t bring herself
To apply mascara on her eyes.
For weeks she remained
Stupefied and numbed
As she watched the kids in neighbourhood
Play games, shout and jump.
One day, when her son
Embraced her tight,
She pushed him away
Stoically and unashamedly.
However, when she again looked at him,
Shedding tears silently,
She went and hugged him tight,
Implanting a little kiss on his forehead.
“Yeah, he is different,” she said to herself,
“But then, he is special to me,
He is my love
And shall remain so forever”.
Since then, she keeps changing her forms,
Sometimes a mother, sometimes a child;
She takes care of him with a maternal instinct,
But plays with him whenever he needs a friend.
©Neelam Saxena Chandra
New Delhi, India
#38. I am Autism
I am autism, not autistic.
I am substance, not accident.
I flow differently.
Shapes and colours dance
to the rhythm of my melody.
Let’s find our connection.
No clock ticking in my time,
I glide within, simple and free.
No structures defined.
My senses boil.
Often sensory overload
explodes and hurts inside
I seek protection from saturation.
Show me the rituals
of social relations.
Beneath the landscape we share,
you frenetically swim while;
I dive within patterns and details.
Be my voice, my link,
my eyes, my skin…
Patience
I am autism, not autistic.
©Sandra Saenco
Mexico
#39. Who is me, Inside Myself?
I would like today, hiding myself,
Under a stone,
within a cloud or into the sun
but, I just look out and
everything flies.
I can feel the air
I close my eyes
and I see my dreams
I moisten my lips
tasting the breeze
intense but soft,
moving only a single leaf,
the one in my landscape,
the other remains,
static, stoic,
My voice reminds me
an eternal monologue
They say like a lonely soul,
But it is not,
It is a dialogue, extensive, widened
expanded
dilated
Face to face
with me and my abstraction,
this reality is mine,
surreal, unique,
and
there is no weight
there is no measure
©Irma Salcedo
México
# 40. Camouflage* or Because Fish Don’t Know
I watch you smile.
smile, smile, smile
and I learn that
stretching my lips
is the right thing to do.
Like so. Pull your lips
till your teeth show.
I learn that people
like it, it’s as good as
a door to hide behind.
You rebuke me sharply,
when I pull my hair,
pull my hair, pull my…
Don’t! you say. For me
pulling my hair, is just
like smiling. But, don’t!
Like tapping my feet,
Like flapping my hands.
You teach me to sit
on my hands, when I
can’t control my ‘crazy’.
You don’t know that
under my thighs my
fingers metronome to
the tapping of my feet
soft as mice,(Phylum:
Chordata, Class: Mammalia, Order: Rodentia) because
you mustn’t know.
You’re a good girl!
I echo you. I always do,
I’ve learnt you like it.
A good girl,(Phylum:
Chordata, Class: Mammalia)
I say, showing my teeth,
pressing down with all
my might, to keep hands still.
Something’s trapped inside. Something that rattles
the cage of my ribs,
that bangs its head
and stomps its feet,
that flaps like a tired
drowning bird
(Phylum: Chordata.
Class: Aves) fallen
into a deep, deep, sea,
that is not its element,
that it cannot fathom,
that it knows is wrong
so wrong, so wrong,
though it’s urged by
compassionate fish
(Phylum: Chordata
Subphylum: Vertebrata)
to just let go and see,
to sink, to let the water
enter its air fed lungs,
because fish don’t know
anything different.
*Note: ‘Camouflage: the ‘masking’ or suppression of autistic characteristics in social interaction, to blend in. More common in Autistic girls and women, but also found in boys
©Payal Talreja
New Delhi, India
#41. The Synaesthetic Lonely Ghost
We are neural networks, firing into darkness blazing torches.
No hope to my condition, no mercy to some continuous speaking minds.
Always, the peace dove wants to kiss me in this lonely lane.
But the reality is quite different, and we were not born in paradise.
Don’t be scared… maybe poetry can save the universe,
maybe grapes of wrath are for redemption, dreaming the releaser Arcadian.
Standing on the edge of my brainy precuneus
grey matter sparks some lights, turning on sounds
a belief in some pain makes me curious
connecting neurons in neat Sensurround:
Where is my loneliness?
Suddenly, tingling experiences awake.
Aware, I contemplate all my odd senses
isolated happenings are always real fake
whilst cruelness is gifting me more sensations.
I was a lonely doctor, healing with passion
wounded soldiers by bullets and lethal gas.
I am dreaming but I am deaf,
very far away of humans around me.
I was living alone…
Playing alone, interacting alone,
only nobody is my friend, reading the news by myself.
I lost the sounds of hopes
now I am grains of sand in an hourglass,
being an everlasting mind-game, covered by snowy sheets
hopeless, forgotten… flying on dreamy tweets.
Without any warning, a ghost appears within my sparkling neurons:
Dost thou love gently be caressed,
when are dreams not real feelings?
Thou shalt tell thy iterative dream!
Indeed, this ghost is advising me about some surprises:
Ancient speechless wars
a mental-ice ghost offering peace
Boooom… Quiescence once more!
One Pink’s song wakes up this ghost:
Is there anybody out there…
It is like the stream of consciousness caressing secluded rivers!
I am the shipwrecked surviving inside those rivers.
As the Rodin’s thinker, my synaesthetic-autistic delirium is yours
setting up a distance like petals of a volatile epidemic.
As a kind of DNA-quintessence riding on your soul
I am not waiting for anything.
No letters for nobody, no hope… no mercy.
Just waiting for fly, like my lonely ghost riding on imaginary friends,
waiting for our actions, only our actions.
Just demanding reality, like my lonely ghost speaking with me,
And I can ask indeed, Are you an autistic ghost limb?
Who can speak with me, about me:
I can hear you, don’t forget me…
© Yuri Zambrano
Belgium
# 42. A Special Mother
I’m the special one, you see?
He can trust only me, only me!
His heart’s so big it knows no bounds
Between sobs, wails and happy sounds.
He’s a bundle of many a contradiction
Mostly out of your jurisdiction.
He can cry when you laugh out loud
And meltdowns can any moment cloud
Your happy day and starry night,
I must own him and you’re right,
He’s the one, my special child
A little scruffy, a little wild!
It’s not that I always understand,
But I’ll not want a magic wand
To make him be what they call “normal”
I’m casual, and I like informal.
He’s my funny bones, my funny face
And oh yes! We’re out of the rat race!
We live always in “quality time”
So I can learn with sweat and grime
What it is to be so special:
Sometimes hostile, sometimes social.
Sometimes so wise, but a little behind,
Sometimes stubborn, but always kind.
Sometimes moody, sometimes wild,
Sometimes lost, but a special child.
No one can match that look of joy
When he sees me: my special boy!
I’m so lucky I’m a special mother,
I thank god he chose me and no other!
Nilakshi Roy
Thane, India
#EAnthology #Autism #AutismAwareness #AutismAnAdvocacyInitiative #Poems #Verse #Happiness #Life #Surprise #AutismAndChildren #DifferentTruths
Odisha, India.
The most readable anthology of poems on Autism is this one. Some of the poems are marked by brilliant choice of words and precision of reactions to Autism . Some poets’ emotional involvement with the autism is very much conspicuous.
The anthology will, I believe, help our awareness of autism to grow more and more. It will help us to be humane more and more.The contribution of this anthology lies in that. Thank you the editors.
Basudeb Chakraborti
Calcutta, India.
An absolutely stunning anthology. People often say that poets are more ‘sensitive’. I don’t think so. I just think poets just have a different gaze, and the ability to step outside themselves with ease. Thank you DT for creating a space where poems raise their voices.
Yes, a poet can see , then he can look and if he can look , he can then observe. I feel a poet can observe everything not by his eyes by by his heart. I enjoy rhythmic joy in bewildered gloom. Thank you Arindam for this humane job on autism in DT.