The New Gods

The other day, 
I caught myself thinking, 
Wondering whether the old Gods, 
Still walk this earth. 

Do they anymore dwell,
In the din,
Of our shuddering cities? 
Or is the fuel for the fires,
The flames in our engines, 
All that remains,
Of their lifeblood we drained?

In the dust, ash and grime,
It is hard to find, 
Marks of the divine, 
When these desolate lands, 
Like the bent broken backs,
Shells of their bodies, 
That still stand. 

Maybe the old Gods are lost to us, 
We've been left abandoned, 
To perish by the torments, 
Of our own devices.

Yet we need to hold on, 
To hope,
That hiding in the breeze, 
And the shades of trees, 
In the gurgle of a cool stream, 
Are the new Gods, 
Gods who will rise to reclaim this earth, 
Gods who will heal the creation we've hurt, 
They who will lead us to rebirth. 

Prayer

Born as humans,
We've been given so much,
Like spoilt children though,
We still keep asking for more. 

Bent, bowed and begging,
Praying to the Gods, 
Craving, for just a little bit more, 
But forgetting,
What we offer in return,
Is all their making, 
It's all their own.

Perhaps,
We would be wiser,
To cease the beseeching,
Look at all that we've been given,
And start seeking,
To become worthy. 

Worthy of being human,
Worthy of speaking to the Gods,
To look them eye to eye,
To never have to stoop, 
Wouldn't that be a greater tribute ?

The Stranger

I have no poetry for what I want to write now. The feeling is at once out of place and familiar, and rhymes will just hold me back. Last night, I couldn’t sleep, and while listening to music that takes me away to a peaceful place, I understood what’s been bothering me, what eats at me.

I have understood, that I am a stranger in my own land, that the places that speak my name aren’t here. The books I’ve read, the songs I’ve heard, all of that has taken me away from the places I’ve lived in, and away from the people around me. It has put a distance that I have been unable to find a bridge to. The gap between me and them, has grown much in the recent years. The more I’ve found my true calling, the more that I’ve found the depths inside myself; the more I find myself distanced in my heart and mind from the ones around me.

It is no wonder then, that I have felt so abandoned and lonely for so long a time. Not just in my search for a romantic relation, but in even in other aspects too, there is hardly anyone who complements me in the breadth and depth of my thoughts; someone who resonates with my beliefs and the values I live by.

So, I am left a stranger in my everyday life. What I see in my mind’s eye, I have met none who share the vision. It’s as if I am unseen and unheard by anyone I talk to. The language I speak in, it’s not of the here and now, the life I live is not of this place or time. I am the stranger to everyone I know. Never understood, never accepted. I have never belonged, but everywhere I’ve gone, I’ve felt that I’ve been there before.

In my heart, I pray to the Gods that have looked upon us through time, that I soon find my people. People who are not of this time, but of some age in the past when humans were one with the Earth, when honour and morality wasn’t so alien, so hard to grasp; when the words we spoke was truthful till every last syllable. Misfits now, we belong to places where the divine isn’t lost, and we walked with the Gods. A way of life where the children never lost their way, and we found wisdom from the ancestors, where nature was respected and feared, and legacy was of values, not material. I hope to be with those people, who love with all their hearts, and live with all their souls. People who are not afraid of the old ways. Companionship that speaks through time, in the language of the universe. Human beings who understand that we’re meant for so much more.

Blood-Sacrifice / War Cry

In this poem, I’ve used plenty of Nordic/Scandinavian references from Old Norse literature, mythology and cultural traditions. There will be terms which you might recognize from being popularized in pop culture, like the God Odin, or Ragnarok; however, there are terms that the reader with limited interest in Nordic literature will not recognize. It is my request for them to read the poem as is, and then go through a short glossary I have inserted after, and if further interested, visit the links for a more detailed insight. The featured image is a reproduction of the set design of the final scene of Richard Wagner’s Götterdämmerung during the performance in Bayreuth, showing Valhalla in flames, painting by Max Brückner. (By Max Brückner (1836-1919), printed by Otto Henning (18..-19..)Restoration by Adam Cuerden – This file comes from Gallica Digital Library and is available under the digital ID btv1b8437160p, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=42899315)

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Maybe it is time,
Time to make ready a sacrifice,
An offering to the Gods,
A dedication to the Earth,
Of blood, bones and life,
It is time, prepare a slaughter,
A blót, the greatest of our age,
Unleash the rage, thicken the water.

The blood of Kvasir,
I've drank,
A drop from Óðinn,
I've had,
of Óðrœrir,
And I call, you to arms,
I shout, to the Gods,
As a skáld I write, a war cry!
For you to ride,
To battle, to fight !

Wagner wrote, the Ring cycle,
In 1874,
Of heroes and Gods, 
Of War maidens and the golden ring,
Doomed by the Nibelungs,
A story that ends with Götterdämmerung,
Soon this winter passed, it'll be 2024,
And soon perhaps,
It too shall be the twilight,
Of those who masquerade as Gods.

From the mists and dark of Ginnungagap,
All worlds did rise,
Back into the abyss we'll all fall,
The Gods defeated, Ásgard dies.
Blazing cities,
Fires, towering,
Warring peoples,
Crowds, howling,
Destruction, ruin and chaos,
That is how it will be,
In the time of Ragnarök.

Ásgard will always fall, 
But the Sun shall rise anew,
In the cold of Fimbulvetr,
Through the fires of Surtr,
Will be forged and hammered,
A new people, their life renewed,
Our sons and daughters,
A resurrected Earth will earn,
And to honour learn,
Inheritors of Heavens vast,
New Gods who will rise,
From the ashes of deities past,
Sparkling, shimmering,
Gimlé will thrive.

Glossary

• Blót : A ritual of blood sacrifice to a particular God towards the fulfillment of specific needs. Research Paper – “ Sacrifice and Sacrificial Ideology in Old Norse Religion “. Wikipedia – ” Blót “.
• Kvasir : The God of Wisdom, poet and wisest among all. Born from the saliva of the  Æsir and the Vanir, after the peace ritual of spitting in a common vessel. The mead of poetry was made from the blood of Kvasir mixed with honey after his murder by the dwarves Fjalar and Galar. Wikipedia – ” Kvasir “.
• Óðinn : One-eyed, long-bearded, the Nordic/Germanic God of war, wisdom, sorcery and poetry. Known as All-father, the first God, born of the giants Bestla and Borr. Odin – Father of Gods.
• Óðrœrir : The Mead of Poetry, made from the blood of Kvasir mixed with honey, stolen from Suttungr and his daughter  Gunnlöd by Odin in the form of an eagle. Wikipedia – ” Óðrerir ” , ” Mead of Poetry “.
• The Ring Cycle / Der Ring Des Nibelungen : A cycle of four epic music dramas composed by Richard Wagner during 1848 to 1874. Based on the Germanic legend, the Nibelungenlied, and Old Norse sagas of Sigurd and Brunnhild the disgraced Valkyrie. Lyric Opera of Chicago – “ A Beginner’s Guide to Wagner’s Ring Cycle “. Wikipedia – ” Der Ring Des Nibelungen “.
• Nibelung / Niflung : A clan of dwarves who mine and hoard gold, from the Old Norse Niflung, Niflheim being the land of mist where dwarves live. Wikipedia- ” Nibelung “.
• Götterdämmerung : The concluding opera of Wagner’s Ring Cycle. Literally, the Twilight of the Gods. Synonymous with Old Norse Ragnarök, the fated war between the Gods and the Giants, bringing about the end of the worlds. Wikipedia – “Götterdämmerung “.
• Ginnungagap : Primordial void before the creation of the nine worlds. A space of mist and smoke where the first being Ymir was born from the meeting of the ice of Niflheim and sparks of Muspelheim. ” Ginnungagap “.
• Ásgard : The home of the Gods, literally, the enclosure of the Æsir.
• Fimbulvetr : Literally, Mighty Winter. The long winter preceding the end of the worlds, acting as an omen of coming Ragnarök. Scholarly Article – ” The Fimbulvetr Myth ”
• Surtr : Fire Giant, king of Muspelheim. ” Surt ” .
• Gimlé : The great golden-roofed hall where the survivors of Ragnarök will live. Quora – ” What Happened after Ragnarok? “, Wikipedia – ” Gimle ”

The Battles We Fight

I have been thinking about fate and destiny. Does the struggle that we put ourselves through really get us anywhere? Or do we just thrash in vain against the bonds of what is already decided?

The Hindu idea of Karma grants us free will, to do as we please while the Almighty keeps account, all to be reaped and paid for the next time we are given life. With that, all our fights matter, every decision and action leading to novel possibilities. On the other extreme, the pre-Christian Nordic cultures wholly left the course of their lives to fate. The Norns weaving threads of people together and apart to guide everyone along a path that is inevitable and pre-ordained, while the Gods looks upon it all.

In a conversation with a dear friend, I said that maybe if we look at our lives at a very small scale, zoomed in, the tiny decisions are maybe left up to us, but the general course is beyond our control. God’s will, if you think of it that way. But free will or not, the question remains, why do we fight? What is all this strife for?

In the grand scheme of things, what do our little wins amount to? All of this, just for death to take us in the end? These are the things that I ask myself, and you, if you wish to engage in this conversation. I wished to write an obtuse poem about this, but I seek answers, and the questions need to be clear. To borrow a friend’s words, “Someday I will write poetry about this but first I must survive it” [ paavam_mk after Lora Mathis on Pinterest ].

If you’ve noticed, up until 2015, we all knew what we were doing, where we were going. Now we are all so angry all the time, all of us, don’t we all feel lost? Does any of us know why we are doing what we do? I feel like we’re just going through the motions of what we are supposed to do, because we don’t know any better. Even if we stopped, wouldn’t the world carry on just as before? Surely our actions can’t affect the destiny of the Earth?

The Pandemic is a success, isn’t it? Look at us, socially distanced, isolated, lonely islands of personal success, too weak and proud to accept that we need each other, too busy to see that we are all crumbling into oblivion. This here is a fight where all of us are warriors. A fight to save human society, which for all its ills, is all that gives some meaning to the battles we wage our entire lives. Individualism is important in every creation, for art, but without someone to look at it except you, without you being witness to the joy that others feel from your work, how would you go on?

But we’ve been reduced to waiting for something to burst, collapse on us, for something, this, to finally end, so we could restart, walk on a new way of life. It’s as though we are all just waiting to die.