Poetry: Avantika Vijay Singh

Avantika Vijay Singh

The Churning 

Deep within, rages—

the Samudramanthan

where Gods and demons churn,

for the treasures hidden in me.

A vast churning in my consciousness

from where first rises

Halahala—

a poison so deep

that the Lord held it in his throat.

I, too, learn that the vitriol

of poisonous words

must be held within—

unsaid, unuttered—

and avoided from spreading

like ink-stained satin shame 

in the name of truth.

Sometimes,

The illusion comforts…

And drinking the poison in,

blooms the Datura—

trumpeting peace,

but not without its thorns,

a testament to

peace at a price—

the price of having known strife.

The Datura with its thorns 

I surrender to the Lord

In the hope, He will 

Transcend my suffering… 

After I surrendered,

I healed. 

And at the end of the churning

emerged Amrit,

from the depths of my consciousness.

I knew the bliss 

of becoming—

Sat Chit Anand…

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Setu, July 2025