Literary Vibes - Edition CIII (26-Mar-2021) - Poetry
Title : My Village Path (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the 103rd edition of LiteraryVibes.
We had more than fifty submissions for the current edition. Due to the limitation of digital space we have published them in two different sections - Poetry and Prose - with thirty one poems and twenty one articles (short stories, travelogues, anecdotes and an essay on India's cultural heritage) in respective sections. All of them are interesting and entertaining. Hope you will enjoy them.
We are happy to welcome four new writers to LiteraryVibes in today's' edition. Ms. Subha Sagar from Bangalore is an Educator, a Counsellor, a Tarot reader, Reiki Master, a Poet, Author, a Blogger and a Healer - an amazing amalgam of exquisite areas of excellence. Her writings appear in three dozens of anthologies of poems and she has two books of short stories to her credit with a couple more in the pipeline. Ms. Pankajam Kottarath is another prolific poet with a mind boggling collection of 23 books of poems, a few books of fiction in English, a translation of poetry collection in French and six books in Malayalam. She has been conferred with an Award of Excellence by Gujarat Sahitya Akademi and the Rock Pebbles National Award for Literature in 2019. Dr. Viyatpragnya Acharya, a Professor of Microbiology in Kalinga Institute of Medical Sciences, Bhubneswar, loves to dabble in creative writing in her rare moments of leisure and is passionate about literature. Shri Vishal Ram from Kochi is active in Kerala Theatre and Malayalam movies. His story in today's edition shows what an extraordinary imagination he has and what a winning style of presentation.
We are indeed lucky to have such stalwarts contributing to LiteraryVibes. We welcome them to our family of creative writers and wish them tremendous success in their literary journey.
In an amazingly beautiful turn of events, we have been able to publish the printed version of the 100th edition of Literary Vibes as a commemorative volume. The book has come out exceedingly well in quality and contents, thanks to the tireless efforts of the poet Mr. Sundar Rajan who coordinated the printing, Shri Shiva Senthilkumaran, our technical consultant and Shri Kannan of Creative Prints, Chennai. The editing of the book was done by Prof Geetha Nair, Ms. Sulochana Ram Mohan, Ms. Radhika Nair and Shri Jairam Seshadri. Dr. B. C. Nayak, the indefatigable poet designed the front cover and Shri Sunil Kumar Biswal created the collages for the back cover as well as the Section separators. We are indeed thankful to these dedicated volunteers. But for their commitment the book could not have been published.
We have posted here a few pictures of the launching of the book. There is also a short video clip of the event at the end of this page. With wonderful poems and entertaining stories this book is indeed a prized possession. It has come out like a coffee table book and is priced at Rs.800. If anyone is interested to buy a copy he/she may contact Mr Sundar Rajan at 9841035185 or by email at sundarrajan@srsmanagement.net
We had a Video conference through Zoom on the occasion of the launching of LV100 on Wednesday, the 24th March. A few poets wrote a short impromptu poem to ring in the exuberant moment. I have great pleasure in reproducing them here in the true spirit of celebrating the eternal joy of creative literature:
Spring evening/rhythmic notes wafting/LV 100 launched.
(Hema Ravi)
A petal a week unfurling
Its fragrance everywhere wafting,
LV bloomed...
Centennial !
May it grow
May it glow to be
A thousand-petalled lotus
With joy festooned
With art perfumed !
(Geetha Nair G.)
Light it was and positive
In content and size
To its contributors, a repertoire
Each one's story, poem and travelogue
Ready by Fridays to be read and enjoyed.
All the contributors with one accord
Reverently created their oeuvres to nourish
Yoking images with imaginations; spinning yarns
Vibrant and enchanting, magical food for all,
Insightful and colourful, synesthesia in full play,
Bonanza from the editor's introductory note to the end
Each issue carrying the link to the previous issues
Sunny treasure trove it is for all the lovers of literature.
(Latha Prem Sakhya)
Long after the curtains are drawn,
A few decades from now,
When printed books will be a faint memory,
Some one will stop our poet on the street,
He will show her a red coloured piece,
Found in the ruins of family heirloom,
He will ask in wonder,
Ma'm can you say what this peculiar object is,
And why was it made?
The old poet will put on her glasses to peer at the book,
And her face will light up like a million stars in the sky,
Ah, see, see my picture here,
And here is my poem.
And the book?
The book is LiteraryVibes Hundred,
Made of molten love and liquid desire
It was made to bring smiles and joy,
To all those who turned its golden pages
With their blessed hand.
(Mrutyunjay Sarangi)
Genuine Hearts
The eminent writers of Literary Vibes
Knowledgeable, skilled and sensitive
explicit their feelings with a message
That are factual, informative and succinct!
It’s a memorable moment of success
Joy, and togetherness in diversity
Every poet contributed like a drop
in the immeasurable vast bluish ocean!
Thoughts turned into powerful words
Words brought out strong emotions
All emerged as poems, articles and stories
Sensitive hearts truly befriended on LV!
Setaluri Padmavathi
I am dedicating this edition to the celebration of the coming out of the LV100 book. It is the fulfilment of the dream of many who wanted to keep it as a commemorative piece.
Hope you will enjoy the 103rd edition of LiteraryVibes. Please forward the two links below to all your friends and contacts:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/375 &
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/376
All the previous 102 editions of LV are available at
https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Keep smiling. We will meet again after four weeks on the 30th April.
With Warm Regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
VOL1 :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
A POET IN MAKING
02) Haraprasad Das
UNACHIEVABLE (APRAAPTA)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
SHIVA'S RUN
THE RACE
04) Bibhu Padhi
THE GARDEN
05) Bijayaketan Patnaik
DO NOT ABORT ME, MA (DHARAVATARAN)
06) Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura
I WISH
ONSET OF A RELIGION
07) Lathaprem Sakhya
DAWN
08) Sundar Rajan S
THE MUSICAL STEPS
RESURGENCE
09) Sundar, Padmini, Gita & Anju
TIME WARP (An Ekphrastic Poem)
10) Pankajam Kottarath
SORROW OF JASMINES
MY EXPERIMENT WITH TRUTH
BEING A WOMAN
11) Shubha Sagar
A RAY OF HOPE
DESTINY VERSUS DIVINITY
12) Dr. Molly Joseph M
DECADENCE
13) Madhumathi. H
NEAR, OR FAR...?!
14) Hema Ravi
HEART LESS?? (LOOP POEM)
15) Sharanya Bee
PORTRAIT
16) Dr. Aparna Ajith
TRAVAILS OF A TRAVEL
THE WHEEL OF LIFE
17) Ravi Ranganathan
ALONGSIDE
18) Ayana Routray
MY MOTHER
19) Setaluri Padmavathi
MOTHER’S LOVE
BREAK
20) Runu Mohanty
A SUFI SONG (SUFI GEETA)
21) Sarah Neha
I-M-A-G-I-N-A-T-I-O-N-S
S-T-A-R-B-U-C-K-S
P-A-I-N
L-I-F-E
22) Vidya Shankar
A MORNING BRUSH WITH MYSELF
23) Abani Udgata
A DUST-STORM
24) Sheena Rath
SUMMER
25) Sukanya .V.Kunju
SHADOWS
26) Asha Raj Gopakumar
MY FIRST AND LAST HOPE
27) Sindhu Vijayan (RamMohan)
HOLI
AN AWAKENING
28) N. Rangamani
A POSITIVE NOTE
29) Dr (Major) B C Nayak MBBS, MD, FCCP
THE CELESTIAL HIGHWAY
PEARL OF THE PENINSULAS
30) Pradeep Rath
AS DUSTS CLING IN SILENT HOURS
31) Prof. Niranjan Barik
I AM NO CHRIST
VOL2 :: SHORT STORIES
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
MALLIKA, THE WOOD NYMPH
02) Geetha Nair G
INTERLUDE
03) Ishwar Pati
THE REAL THING
04) Sreekumar K
THE BOOK
THE PLEASURES OF PAIN
05) Dr. Ramesh Chandra Panda
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE - AN OVERVIEW OF HINDU SACRED TEXTS
06) Vishal Ram
A BODY, A MIND AND A SOUL
07) Shubha Sagar
A BRUSH WITH THE DIVINE POWER
08) Dr Viyatprajna Acharya
PASTRY
09) Dr Gangadhar Sahoo
TEACHER STUDENT RELATIONSHIP : A DIVINE GIFT
10) Lathaprem Sakhya
KANAKA’S MUSINGS:: FISHING
11) Sunil Biswal
HOW TO DOUBLE YOUR MONEY
12) Dr. Nikhil M. Kurien
FAMILIAR STRANGERS.........
13) Gourang Charan Roul
IN THE LAP OF GREAT RIFT VALLEY: AN UNIQUE EXPERIENCE
14) Madhumathi. H
CAREGIVERS
15) Hema Ravi
HAPPINESS IS NOT PEACE, PEACE IS HAPPINESS….
16) Padmini Janardhanan
IN CONVERSATION. BEING ALERT
17) N Meera Ragavendra Rao
CHANGING TRENDS
18) Sulochana Ram Mohan
ARCHIE AND RONNIE
19) Hiya Khurana
MANDY’S DREAM
20) Sukumaran C. V.
MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES
21) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE LIBERATION OF NARAYANGARH
THE WALK.
Book Review
01) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
LiteraryVibes 100
02) Sheeba Ramadevan Radhakrishnan
From Dulung to Beas by Jaydeep Sarangi
Never free from being possessed -
it could be the Phantom,
never the less, could be
Mandrake the magician.
On the middle rungs of youth
the ghost of Einstein
was leaving,
Eliot making the entry.
Not easy to decide –
to give the January sun
or April's dawns
the prime position.
Spring walked away unsung,
summer needed a push to go,
monsoon seemed to rush in,
but no poetry sprouted –
surprisingly, the seasons
leaving no mark, but the Mahatma did
a serendipity, he descended
from his frozen platform in our park.
Also, he would step out
of his portraits, mounted behind
judges who sneered at law,
called the Mahatma a spider of old webs.
He would be in news
for wrong reasons –
his wax at Madame Tussauds
pulling maximum old crowd.
Imagine the sulk on the face,
of the most unobtrusive man
ever born, who propounded
Satyagraha and Ahimsa.
He would show me
his fistful of salt
from Dandi that was the last nail
on the empire’s coffin.
The watchman Mohan at our gate
would turn into Gandhi
in my dreams, tapping his stick
to usher in our freedom at midnight.
My heart, I recall,
would swell to see him pick up
a lethal fistful of innocence
yield it as his iron fist.
The next January-sun
prodded me to paint Mahatma
as our night watchman
guarding our unguarded conscience.
In a midday in April,
sweating Ganga and Yamuna,
I got the eminent editor to publish
my Gandhi poem, my poetic birth cry.
Today, in the dim evening light
I look at the stars, feel modest,
try to graduate to that elite sky
as another star, may be, not as bright.
Note: My first ever poem, a poem on Gandhiji, got published in 1986 in Chandrabhaga, the star-journal of the time, edited by the eminent poet and the journal’s fastidious editor Jayanta Mahapatra. That was when I met him face to face to handover the poem. Unluckily, I don’t have a copy of that poem, my birth cry in poetry.
Prabhanjan K. Mishra writes poems, stories, critiques and translates, works in two languages – English and Odia. Three of his collected poems in English have been published into books – VIGIL (1993), Lips of a Canyon (2000), and LITMUS (2005).His Odia poems have appeared in Odia literary journals. His English poems poems have been widely anthologized and published in literary journals. He has translated Bhakti poems (Odia) of Salabaga that have been anthologized into Eating God by Arundhathi Subramaniam and also translated Odia stories of the famous author Fakirmohan Senapati for the book FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM (VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI). He has also edited the book. He has presided over the POETRY CIRCLE (Mumbai), a poets’ group, and was the editor (1986-96) of the group’s poetry magazine POIESIS. He has won Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award and JIWE Poetry Award for his English poems.He welcomes readers' feedback at his email - prabhanjan.db@gmail.com
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
All of them have
goals ahead –
a little larva wriggling to free itself
from the grasshopper’s grip,
a dew drop getting heavier
rolls down the leaf-face,
an awakened green shoot craning
its neck out of seed’s shell,
they all have purposes
to achieve.
Grass blades lose colour while waiting
under an abandoned shoe to be free;
an ice cube cooling its heels
in a glass of scotch on the rocks;
they have their own axe
to grind.
Even a little sparrow may aspire
to contain the vast cosmos in its beak,
a historian may dare to chronicle
the saga of a civilization for the posterity,
they have their own
Herculean future.
But the destiny is a funny tease -
the success, a slippery fish,
there is many a proverbial slip
between the cup and the lip.
The worm, the dewdrop,
the sprout,
the ice cube,
the grass blade,
the sparrow, and the historian
may score their goals, or fail -
they keep trying,
without giving up hope?
Mr. Hara Prasad Das is one of the greatest poets in Odiya literature. He is also an essayist and columnist. Mr. Das, has twelve works of poetry, four of prose, three translations and one piece of fiction to his credit. He is a retired civil servant and has served various UN bodies as an expert.
He is a recipient of numerous awards and recognitions including Kalinga Literary Award (2017), Moortidevi Award(2013), Gangadhar Meher Award (2008), Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award (1999) and Sarala Award (2008)”
Shiva
the light of the seed body
runs
for his life
the demon of the vagrant mind
in hot pursuit
to try out the boon he has just received
from Shiva only
after eons of penance.
The boon that empowers him
to burn the victim to ashes
by placing his hand on his head.
And then Vishnu
the light of pure bliss
descends
in form of an enchantress
to cast her spell
and the demon is mesmerised
to dance in tandem
with her
infectious and rapturous movements
copying each step and each gesture
matching each of her moves
till she places her hand on her head
and the demon follows suit
only to burn himself into ashes.
The gross and flagrant ego
that is the creation of the sublime soul
and that raises its hood to destroy
its very own creator
succumbs to the Supreme
to meet its ultimate end
through
the dance of death
as does Bhasmasura
the demon of ashes.
And the chase perhaps
comes to an end.
Some star must have been somewhere
linked to your zodiac sign
when the midwife would have held
you upside down
slapping your slimy back to make you cry
and your time would have begun.
The earth would have continued its spin
with the same pace
yet you and your time would have
engaged in the inevitable race
as you would have found your feet
to get up
to amble leisurely and then run together
shoulder to shoulder.
Then you would see it overtaking you
taunting you to catch up
and you put in all that you can
to step up
and eventually you move ahead
basking in your glory
never looking back
to see if it still follows you.
And then a time will come when
time would seem to have become a snail
crawling helplessly
way behind you
and what lies ahead of you
you don't see
no signs of any deadline
just a blurred horizon
that keeps moving away
in sync with each step you cover.
But remember
time is the worst ever predator
that you may encounter
for in due course
it would pick up speed
to outrun you and run you over.
It's just a matter of time.
Dilip Mohapatra, a decorated Navy Veteran from Pune, India is a well acclaimed poet and author in contemporary English. His poems regularly appear in many literary journals and anthologies worldwide. He has six poetry collections, two non-fictions and a short story collection to his credit. He is a regular contributor to Literary Vibes. He has been awarded the prestigious Naji Naaman Literary Awards for 2020 for complete work. The society has also granted him the honorary title of 'Member of Maison Naaman pour la Culture'. His website may be accessed at dilipmohapatra.com.
There is a garden in my house
made of dry twigs and young branches,
smelling of pigeon wings
and nesting birds.
Each morning and evening
we put it to shape so that
it may grow in size
to take the whole house in.
Dreams of rest and flight
allude to it, the spring rain
participates in its growth, sends
more and more birds into it.
I think of a time when
I might not have to go out of
the house at all, in search of warmth
and open fields and other greens.
The birds seem satisfied even now,
unaware of my different dream,
snug and warm in their own company,
dreaming of flying out of their home.
They do and I wish other birds would come
and start from where the nearer ones left—
dry, dropping twigs and young branches
that still smell of their long-past wings.
This unfinished garden in me.
A Pushcart nominee, Padhi has published fourteen books of poetry. My poems have appeared (or forthcoming) in distinguished magazines throughout the English-speaking world, such as Contemporary Review, London Magazine, The Poetry Review, Poetry Wales, The Rialto, Stand, American Media, The American Scholar, Commonweal, The Manhattan Review, The New Criterion, Poetry, Southwest Review, TriQuarterly, New Contrast, The Antigonish Review, The Wallace Stevens Journal and Queen’s Quarterly. They have been included in numerous anthologies and textbooks. Five of the most recent are The Bloodaxe Book of Contemporary Indian Poets, Language for a New Century (Norton) Journeys (HarperCollins), 60 Indian Poets (Penguin) and The HarperCollins Book of English Poetry.
DO NOT ABORT ME, MA (DHARAVATARAN)
Trans-created by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Let me be born
from your dark womb;
my eyes long to see
a serene day and
your radiant beauty,
and rejoice, Ma.
Deliver me
to the luminous world
from this darkness,
’am your little baby
flesh of your flesh,
your blood, your tear.
Let my first cry be
the echo of new life
amid the silence
of aborting female embryos.
let me know the earth, Ma;
a little girl growing into a woman.
On the surface, let me spread,
my limbs like foliage,
my roots going far and wide
looking for my heritage;
let me be a woman of substance
with intellect; a wife, a mother.
Let me lie in your arms,
drink from your breasts
the elixir of life. Let me
bloom like a flower.
Teach me A, B, C of life, Ma.
Write wise alphabet on my clean slate.
Let me acquire wisdom
at your exalted feet,
let me be a nation builder:
a doctor, an engineer, or
a scientist. Let me imprint your
footmark on every path of life.
Give me the support of your finger,
Ma, to cross
my toddler days,
guide me through difficult adolescence;
channelize my bubbling youth
into the world of serenity.
Let me be born, let me see
the light as a living being,
do not abort me, Ma, because
I am female, a girl child.
Do not nip me in the bud,
let me be, let me be.
(The poem ‘Dharavatarana’ appeared in Odia literary magazine Sudhanya, April-May, 2004. The poem is selected for translation into English as a gift to women on the World Women’s Day, the 8th March, 2021.)
Bijay Ketan Patnaik writes Odia poems, Essays on Environment, Birds, Animals, Forestry in general, and travel stories both on forest, eco-tourism sites, wild life sanctuaries as well as on normal sites. Shri Patnaik has published nearly twentifive books, which includes three volumes of Odia poems such as Chhamunka Akhi Luha (1984) Nai pari Jhia(2004) andUdabastu (2013),five books on environment,and rest on forest, birds and animal ,medicinal plants for schoolchildren and general public..
He has also authored two books in English " Forest Voices-An Insider's insight on Forest,Wildlife & Ecology of Orissa " and " Chilika- The Heritage of Odisa".Shri Patnaik has also translated a book In The Forests of Orrisa" written by Late Neelamani Senapati in Odia.
Shri Patnaik was awarded for poetry from many organisations like Jeeban Ranga, Sudhanya and Mahatab Sahitya Sansad , Balasore. For his travellogue ARANYA YATRI" he was awarded most prestigious Odisha Sahitya Academy award, 2009.Since 2013, shri patnaik was working as chief editor of "BIGYAN DIGANTA"-a monthly popular science magazine in Odia published by Odisha Bigyan Academy.
After super annuation from Govt Forest Service in 2009,Shri Patnaik now stays ai Jagamara, Bhubaneswar, He can be contacted by mail bijayketanpatnaik@yahoo.co.in
I wish
Life is simple
Normal,
As usual
Systematic
A routine affair.
Like a child
It laughs
Very natural
Cries when wants,
No need
Holding back.
I wish
It flows
Like a river
Without any hold,
Like a star
It glows
Unaware of any show,
Follows the breeze
As it blows
Across the valley
Kissing the grass
Bending low.
I wish
My life changes
Making me forget
My past regrets
Failures
As well as successes
I learn to live
In the present
Start seeing goodness
In every moment
In the broad daylight
Also, in the night’s
Blinding darkness.
I wish
Sleeping well
Waking up
New and fresh
With a ray of hope
Rejuvenated
Setting out
In a quest
Discovering self
In nature’s nest
Realizing the dream
Before the sun sets.
It just happened,
Can’t say
When and how
It came
On its own,
Had no time to say
Either yes or no
Neither did it wait
For my nod
Slowly and steadily
Captured
Part of my soul.
Kept enjoying
The rule of the new master
Thinking it was God,
Nurtured it with my love
Without asking for
Any return,
Gradually
Turned into a monster
Brain washing me
In the name of religion.
Finding my soul
Inside the prison
I woke up one day
From the slumber,
Saw a ray of hope
Coming through a hole,
Enough to remove
The glooming murk
From the blue horizon,
Bending down
With gratitude
In front of the shadow
For the realization,
I murmured to myself,
Unaware,
If it was the onset
Of another religion.
Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura, is an Engineer from BITS, Pilani and has done his MBA and PhD in Marketing. He writes both in Odia and English. He has published three books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” , “The Mystic is in Love” and “The Mystic’s Mysterious World of Love” and a non-fiction “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. He has also published three books on collection of Odia Poems titled “ Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” and “Nirab Pathika”. Dr Behura welcomes feedback @ bkbehura@gmail.com. One can visit him at bichitrabehura.org
Sitting in the isolated cottage amidst nature, awaiting dawn
The magical symphony of nature enthralls me
From a distant temple enchanting recitals
Of 'krishna, krishna mukunda Janardhana'
Assails my being, drawing me to dwell
On my creator, My Lord, who keeps me and mine
And the world enlarge, in His mighty palms.
The distant koel, the crows and the twittering birds
Natures' s choristers' mesmerising morning litany
Mingle with the sounds of farm fowls welcoming dawn,
The distant roar of vehicles mar the symphony, as they ply
The twisted, hilly terrain with their morning burden.
I await eagerly for the sun to soak me in golden warmth-
As the eastern sky pulls aside the dark curtains
Revealing an enchanting mix of pink and golden ribbons
As aurora and her mighty entourage herald Apollo
The fresh morning air wafting the scents of the viridian woods
Rejuvenate me as the day dawns, a new gift from God
Filling me with gratitude for His Love and tender mercies.
Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, a poet, painter and a retired Professor of English, has published three books of poetry. MEMORY RAIN (2008), NATURE AT MY DOOR STEP (2011) - an experimental blend, of poems, reflections and paintings ,VERNAL STROKE (2015 ) a collection of? all her poems.
Her poems were published in journals like IJPCL, Quest, and in e magazines like Indian Rumination, Spark, Muse India, Enchanting Verses international, Spill words etc. She has been anthologized in Roots and Wings (2011), Ripples of Peace ( 2018), Complexion Based Discrimination ( 2018), Tranquil Muse (2018) and The Current (2019). She is member of various poetic groups like Poetry Chain, India poetry Circle and Aksharasthree - The Literary woman, World Peace and Harmony
Sa Re Ga Ma Pa Dha Nee Sa,
Ring the rails, on a tap, in awe,
Gaud of stone, lace the steps with rails,
Marvel the art work in such trails,
Par with masterpieces of yore.
Documents the past glories to soar.
New themes still leave this one in awe,
Sa Nee Dha Pa Ma Ga Re Sa.
(Note: This is the art work at Dharasuram Temple, Kumbakonam, Tamil Nadu. The Musical Steps is an Acrostic and Ekphrastic poem)
Science and new technology ruled the roost,
Humanity, scaling dizzy heights to boot.
Pride and greed shut the eyes to reality,
Powered by the reach to "infinity".
Pandemic shock waves sent a pall of gloom,
Grappling for solutions, in dark of doom.
Grounded and lockdown sent a shudder in any nook,
Calling each, at Life, to take a RELOOK.
Initial lockdown was a boon to many,
Gone were the traffic snarls, very frenzy.
But confined indoors for days, took its toll,
Unable to fathom to take the right call,
Layoffs, earnings drop, had come to stay,
Which hitherto had never held the sway.
The resilient worked towards a recoup,
To adopt strategies for a REGROUP.
Days, weeks and months swallowed the year,
No pointers in sight to allay the fears.
The spurt very soon, began to taper,
A real puzzle to detect the shaper.
On a thaw, many were ready to embark
And step out of the engulfed fear, so stark.
Optimists readied themselves for the surge,
Working on ways to get the right RECHARGE.
Ships with hope will steer the choppy seas,
Steading the roots for schedules to ease
Cautious of new strains that could curb the march,
Ensure that it'll ne'er be an uphill task.
Experiences keep one sharply guarded,
To foresee all obstacles that are forded.
Though a wee bit early to clearly guage,
Here comes a silent call for a RESURGE.
NOTE
THE KEY IS
RELOOK
REGROUP
RECHARGE
RESURGE.
S. Sundar Rajan is a chartered accountant, a published poet and writer. His poems are part of many anthologies. He has been on the editorial team of two anthologies.
TIME WARP (An Ekphrastic Poem)
Darasuram temple is a work of art
With tiny sculpted figures at work or play
And great carved pillars with heroes from epics
Time warping us from past ages to today.
The sculptor's labour of love, his art sublime
Reminds us of our culture's very essence
His perfect figures that have transcended time
Take us to a higher plane of existence.
Yet in the days of yore, down to earth they were
Providing water for earthly existence
For returning soldiers, from war, some succor
And the awe of architectural brilliance.
This ancient Chola temple harvests the rain
Ceremonial milk and all offerings
Through its gargoyles and artistic pipes that drain
Into the temple tank, recharging wells, springs.
Caressing the splendid temple spires, the rain
Meandering by artefacts in its line
Feels the breathtaking beauty in the terrain
Before being guided into channels fine.
The sky opens to pour its benevolence
Into scuplted mouths that catch the elixir
Nature's bounty is harnessed through man's brilliance
The eternal pair making the world richer.
*Dharasuram was built as a stop over to the returning army by Raja Raja Chola.
This poem is a collaboration by S Sundar Rajan, J Padmini and Gita Bharath, edited by Anju Kishore. They were inspired by the art of the Cholas, exemplified in the Darasuram temple, where even mundane water pipes are intricately carved, and functional beauty and eco conservation were a part of life. (Pictures by S Sundar Rajan.)
S. Sundar Rajan is a chartered accountant, a published poet and writer.
Padmini Janardhanan is a psychologist focusing on personal effectiveness, a poet and writer.
Gita Bharath is a retired banker, a published poet and writer.
Anju Kishore is a published poet and editor
Women want to adorn their hair
with the showy white blooms
for their heavenly fragrance,
men crave for a long bath
infused with their perfume.
Fascinated by their beauty
bards write poems,
priests make garlands to god.
Sedated by the heady scent
lovers offer them to their sweethearts,
merchants plan to earn riches
scientists study their attributes
while Jasmines intoxicated with moonlight
want to fly high in the sky
to forget the looming sorrows
till they fall on the earth and weep
as they know they belonged to the dust.
At the dead of the night
when flowers wait for lovers
who have so much to say and hear
from the roving butterflies,
trees sunk in sorrows stand stone-dead,
bewailing from within
over the ominous solitude
and when the moon curiously looks
into my bedroom window,
I furtively wear the hat of a poet
to tell the world, truth clothed in lies,
so far unsaid, muted, half-said or shouted,
compel my eyes not to drift off to sleep,
nibble at the edges of the pudding of poems
to discover my level of ignorance in making them
and stunned at the fringes of their complexity
as struck in the pit of my stomach,
I train my mad zeal to eat only from their hem
instead of gobbling from the centre
not to burn my tongue in the process
and wait for the sun to return to the horizon
to light up the sky and root out
the breeding inadequacies from my mind.
In quiescence I preach;
I take pride being a woman,
would like to look feminine
with sweet shyness and blushing cheeks,
yet blanket my feminine trails
like the ‘touch-me-not’ leaves
annoying compliments don’t enslave me.
Melanin in skin decides ones attributes
soft rhythm in trots accentuates traits
my body is a temple of nurturing powers
none assigned with rights to relegate it.
I wish to admit my mistakes,
to show my strength through it and grow,
not a weakness it is, I counter,
Don’t take for granted, or brand me timid.
I want to be everything,
nothing at all at the same time
be smart, but not appear smarter than you
in your guess precisely, not to hurt your ego,
maintain peace between us is my motto
as we travel together between life and death .
I want to be independent,
be on my own to boost my confidence,
not that I do not need you,
you can be the shade I embrace to be in light
like the maple leaves to the butterflies in rain.
We are different, but no discrimination
mutually reliant we are, none superior.
You and I are fed with the same milk
both at birth, and after death too.
Pankajam retired from BHEL as Deputy Manager/Finance is a bilingual poet and novelist(writing in English and Malayalam), settled at Chennai. In addition to several poems, book reviews and articles published in national and international journals, she has contributed articles to anthologies/journals. She has twenty-three books so far published, including fourteen books of poems, a translated poetry collection in French, three fictions in English and six books in Malayalam and a couple of books in the pipeline. Three books on literary criticism viz., Femininity Poetic Endeavours by Dr. VVB Rama Rao, History of Contemporary Indian English Poetry-An Appraisal by Prem Katoch and Socio-Cultutal Transition in Modern Indian English Writing & Translation by R K Bhushan Sabharwal discuss her works in detail. A book of critical essays and research papers on her poem edited by Dr. S Barathi titled “Poetic Oeuvre of K Pankajam” has also been published. She is the recipient of many awards such as Rock Pebbles National Literary Award 2019; Cochin Litfest Prize 2019; Essay competition award conducted by ISISAR, Calcutta in the World Thinkers and Writers Peace Meet 2019; Literary Excellence Award from Gujarat Sahitya Akademi and Motivational strips on the eve of India’s Independence Day 2020, etc. She can be reached at kp_bhargavrag@yahoo.co.in
When all seems so bleak and nothing seems to work,
Emerges a ray of hope from nowhere, as a divine perk.
In times of distress, when all seems so dreary and dark,
Appears a beam of light that within you, ignites a spark.
When surrounded by people obsessed with themselves,
You come across someone who is generous and selfless,
Who reinstates your faith in humanity with his kindness,
And you know he is your glimmer of hope in the darkness.
When you seem to be drowning in sorrows and grief,
And your peace of mind is stolen by an invisible thief,
Tiny little joys making an appearance, even if too brief,
Lifting your sprit, rejuvenating and rekindling your belief.
When the struggle for survival and cut throat competition,
Threatens to increase the accumulating stress and tension,
And you anxiously await for a revival and transformation,
That little flicker of hope becomes your positive affirmation.
When all seems so bleak and nothing seems to work,
Emerges a ray of hope from nowhere, as a divine perk.
In times of distress, when all seems so dreary and dark,
Appears a beam of light that within you, ignites a spark.
Destiny and Divinity
Both these words start with the alphabet D and end with Y
Both these terms are important for our survival.
Both teach us about trials and tribulations.
Both teach us the most important lessons in life.
Both are an inseparable part of our lives.
Both allow us to explore, experiment and experience life.
Both either rule us or allow us to rule them.
Both have infinite versions and dimensions.
Both pose innumerable challenges for us.
Both are the guiding light and the guiding force in our lives.
Our lives are revolving around these ‘two very important dimensions of life itself’, Destiny and Divinity.
There is no escaping these two realities of life, divinity affects our destiny and destiny plays an important role in the extent of divinity affecting our lives, they shape us and allow us to shape ourselves and our future, they are an inseparable duo and inseparable dimension of our life, forever trying and testing our strength and will, at the same time coaxing and cajoling us to accept the challenges and move on, simply move on with dignity.
As an example, I share a short story from the pages of my life
Shubha Sagar is an educator, a counsellor, a Tarot Reader, a Reiki Master, a poet, an author, an avid blogger, and a healer. APost Graduate in Zoology and Psychotherapy & Counselling, her career as an educator spanned twenty five years during which she worked in various reputed schools across the country. She loves penning down her thoughts especially in form of verse. She has published two solo books 'Heartfelt Poems' and 'Soul Stirring Stories, Women With Extraordinary Spirit.' She has contributed poems and short stories to more than three dozen anthologies.
A centre
that cannot hold
dissipates..
desperate
it devours
the peripheries
on facades
of gathering..
the best
lack conviction,
courage..
silence
their strategy
the time old
evasive
escapists!
caught up
in the rut
the average
struggle
to survive..
who cares!
lust for
power
pelf
rules
the roost!
decadence..
white
ants
eating
away
the wooden
panellings...
Dr. Molly Joseph, (M.A., M.Phil., PGDTE, EFLU,Hyderabad) had her Doctorate in post war American poetry. She retired as the H.O.D., Department of English, St.Xavier's College, Aluva, Kerala, and now works as Professor, Communicative English at FISAT, Kerala. She is an active member of GIEWEC (Guild of English writers Editors and Critics) She writes travelogues, poems and short stories. She has published five books of poems - Aching Melodies, December Dews, and Autumn Leaves, Myna's Musings and Firefly Flickers and a translation of a Malayalam novel Hidumbi. She is a poet columnist in Spill Words, the international Online Journal.
She has been awarded Pratibha Samarppanam by Kerala State Pensioners Union, Kala Prathibha by Chithrasala Film Society, Kerala and Prathibha Puraskaram by Aksharasthree, Malayalam group of poets, Kerala, in 2018. Dr.Molly Joseph has been conferred Poiesis Award of Honour as one of the International Juries in the international award ceremonies conducted by Poiesis Online.com at Bangalore on May 20th, 2018. Her two new books were released at the reputed KISTRECH international Festival of Poetry in Kenya conducted at KISII University by the Deputy Ambassador of Israel His Excellency Eyal David. Dr. Molly Joseph has been honoured at various literary fest held at Guntur, Amaravathi, Mumbai and Chennai. Her latest books of 2018 are “Pokkuveyil Vettangal” (Malayalam Poems), The Bird With Wings of Fire (English), It Rains (English).
(A video rendering of the above poem by the poet is at the bottom of this page.)
Am I my words, I claim to be
Do I evolve with them
From a drop, to a stream
A river
Flowing towards the ocean...
Do my words lift my soul, like
A full moon held by the gentle arms of the night
While I paint multicolored hope
Pour petrichor-scented love
Land in love with life
Am I truly evolving through my words?!
Do I germinate in my poems?!
Near, or far, tell me dear universe
I cringe at times
When I shed my words, like a snake
Shedding its skin, and slither
A stranger to my own thoughts
I stare, inhale chaos
Exhale anger, tears, and fractured questions
That have no answers
I look deeply into each word's eyes...
Sit beside them for a while
Nouns and adjectives make tea for me
Beloved verbs put their arms around my shoulder
Smile and whisper
"Metamorphosis, is what you are going through - us"...
A long silence...
I hug them all, my eyes
Thank through liquid smile in drops
Hope fills my lungs and soul
Heart beats, to the rhythm of love
Am neither near, nor far
I AM, my words.
Madhumathi is an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry(English and Tamil), Photography, and Music, Madhumathi believes writing is a soulful journey of weaving one's emotions and thoughts, having a kaleidoscopic view of life through poetry. She experiences Metamorphosis through writing. Nature is her eternal muse and elixir. Poetry, to Madhumathi, is a way of life, and loves to leave heartprints behind in gratitude, through her words. She strongly believes in the therapeutic power of words, that plant love, hope, and enable a deep healing. Madhumathi loves to spread mental health awareness through writing, breaking the stigma, and takes part in related activities, too.
Madhumathi's poems are published with the Poetry Society India in their AIPC anthologies 2015, 16, and 17, the multilingual anthology 'Poetic Prism' 2015(Tamil and English), Chennai Poets' Circle's 'Efflorescence' 2018, 2019, India Poetry Circle's 'Madras Hues Myriad Views'(2019) celebrating the spirit and glory of Madras, in the UGC approved e-journal Muse India, in IWJ-International Writers' Journal (2020), and e- zines Our Poetry Archive(OPA), and Storizen.
Blog for Madhumathi's Poems :https://multicoloredmoon.wordpress.com/, http://mazhaimozhimounam.blogspot.com/?m=1
Is it true that people have a heart
Heart that is filled with love and kindness
Kindness that reaches out to souls in distress
Distress is when the individual requires help
Help to tide out the crisis
Crisis appears and reappears
As the Sun and the Moon, day after night
Night, when the woes are magnified
Magnified deadlier than the Corona
Corona has come to stay
Stay until it leaves behind its scar on many
Many more affected will help in herd immunity
Immunity needed, just just against the pandemic
Pandemic of the mind tinier than a seed
Seed can manifest into a mighty Banyan
Banyan that prevents the growth of others
Others try to find shelter under its canopy
Canopy of the heart not easy to detect
Detect - Is it true that people have a heart?
Hema Ravi is a freelance trainer for IELTS and Communicative English. Her poetic publications include haiku, tanka, free verse and metrical verses. Her write ups have been published in the Hindu, New Indian Express, Femina, Woman's Era, and several online and print journals; a few haiku and form poems have been prize winners. She is a permanent contributor to the 'Destine Literare' (Canada). She is the author of ‘Everyday English,’ ‘Write Right Handwriting Series1,2,3,’ co-author of Sing Along Indian Rhymes’ and ‘Everyday Hindi.’ Her "Everyday English with Hema," a series of English lessons are broadcast by the Kalpakkam Community Radio.
The afternoon sun shines bright
As I stare at his blinding light
An inverted shadow's seen on the marble floor
And one falls on the painted wall
What a sharp outline of myself!
A tint of grey dropped within
it spreads uniformly
And stops precisely at the boundaries
Of the figure
I marvel at the sun's portrait,
He paints us all the same
He paints us right
We are all
Shades of grey trapped with
Slightly varied outlines
Sharanya Bee, is a young poet from Trivandrum, who is presently pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature in Kerala University. She also has a professional background of working as a Creative Intern in Advertising. She is passionate about Drawing and Creative Writing.
Such a sudden air crash
With a single second’s flash!
Why did they travel?
Just to be a part of this travail?
They have created a terrible pain
With the tragic landing of a plane.
Was it a furious flight
to change their plight?
What has happened on the runway,
that has taken sundry lives away?
The downpour and lockdown are in inclement
People do not see any sort of increment.
Mission Vande Bharat landed
Miserable minds stranded
They have nothing to be upset
As they won’t witness any more sunset.
Upended ordinary activity
Reeling in the rhythm of passivity
Ambitions and burning desires sans grin
Couched in the tangles of COVID -19 breathing in.
The tickling of the monsoon rises,
The animus of man rouses.
Turning and turning in life’s daily wheel
Let the skirmishes of the verities heal!
Dr. Aparna Ajith is an academician as well as a bilingual writer who loves to dwell in the world of words. She was awarded PhD in English from Central University of Rajasthan. Her area of specialization is Comparative Literature and Translation Studies. Her interest lies in Creative writing, Gender, Diaspora, Film and Culture studies. She holds a Master degree in English Literature (UGC- NET qualified) from University of Hyderabad (2012) and Post Graduate Diploma degree in Communication and Journalism from Trivandrum Press Club (2014), Kerala. She has presented papers in national and international conferences. She has published articles in journals and edited anthologies of national and international repute. She serves as the honorary representative of Kerala state in the advisory council of Indian Youth Parliament, Jaipur Chapter since 2015.Being a freelance journalist, she has translated and written articles for the Information and Public Relations Department, Government of Kerala. Her creative pieces have found space in ezines and blogs. She is an avid reader and blogger who dabbles in the world of prose and verse. Having lived in three Indian cities and a hamlet, she soars high in the sky of artistic imagination wielding out of her realistic and diasporic impressions.
Fragrant flower does not fragment its smell
All are free to inhale its aromatic sweetness
Sunlight shows no bias as it casts its spell
All are free to bathe in its brightness.
Is moonshine partial towards the stars?
All are free to bask in celestial sparse
Generous too are stars in space
No trace of preference in their glittering face.
River glides gracefully not for you alone
All can dip on it and sins atone
Are Peaks prejudiced only for few?
Such notion, such view is surely untrue.
Why then this chasm, this deep divide?
Why this broadside, can we not move alongside?...
Ravi Ranganathan is a retired banker turned poet settled in Chennai. He has to his credit three books of poems entitled “Lyrics of Life” and “Blade of green grass” and “Of Cloudless Climes”. He revels in writing his thought provoking short poems called ‘ Myku’. Loves to write on nature, Life and human mind. His poems are featured regularly in many anthologies. Has won many awards for his poetry including , Sahitya Gaurav award by Literati Cosmos Society, Mathura and Master of creative Impulse award by Philosophyque Poetica.
You are the sunlight of my day
You are the moon, which I see far away
You are the words of my song
You are my life, oh my dear mom.
Your hand cares me with warmth
That strengthens me to walk forth
You are the eyes, that help me see
You are the one who cares for me.
You are the one, who succoured me to dream
You pacified me the nights, I screamed
I remember the days when I was ill
You felt the same pain which I used to feel.
Waking up all the nights and gazing at me,
You only prayed to the lord, for my well being
Remembering the sacrifices, u made for me
Now, it's my prior duty to see
That your life is groovy and tension free.
Ayana Routray, a student of Class X in Bhubaneswar, is a young poet with keen interest in Literature, Fine Arts, Singing, Modelling and Anchoring. She is also a television artiste in Odiya TV channels.
You’re an epitome of love,
selflessness and sacrifice
You ever bless your children
for their success and happiness
Their smile is a treat for you
You cherish anything they do
They show your beautiful image
They dwell in your protective cage!
For their prosperity, you ever strive
and always help them gladly survive
You taught them discipline and skill
and always prayed for their goodwill
Your voice is a great strength to all
You stood by them in every single fall
They could lie on your shoulder, in pain
You don’t do anything to acquire gain!
O mother, you don’t expect any award
You proudly say the child is your ward
Every person has limits to work hard
But you don’t have any notable record!
Thick lush green woods
where many animals creep,
chirping birds welcome,
branches constantly sway,
cool breeze kisses my face,
brought a smile on my face!
I wandered in a fine-looking place
where my tortured soul found solace,
a tired body could reach a comfort zone,
busy feet avoid their unstoppable steps,
mind and heart genuinely feel the serenity
and both tiring eyes peacefully relax!
I had a break from hustle and bustle
of the busy schedules and plans,
that made me have rest and pleasure!
Where does happiness lie on the earth?
It is acquired in each and every happy soul
and the hearts of goodhearted folks!
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi, a postgraduate in English Literature with a B.Ed., has been in the field of education for more than three decades. Writing has always been her passion that translates itself into poems of different genres, short stories and articles on a variety of themes and topics. She is a bilingual poet and writes poems in Telugu and English. Her poems were published in many international anthologies and can be read on her blogsetaluripadma.wordpress.com. Padmavathi’s poems and other writings regularly appear on Muse India.com. Boloji.com, Science Shore, Setu, InnerChild Press Anthologies and Poemhunter.com.
Trans-created by Prabhanjan K. Mishra on the 8th March, 2021.
The lamp burns bright, luminous.
The water lies calm, no tide, no ebb.
My sacrifices lie listless.
Has my muse deserted me?
If the green shoot is withering
before raising its head, no joke.
I put the right spell, induce its silence
to play like the goddess Matangi*.
Because I remain a nonconformist,
refuse to walk the beaten path,
my purity is questioned, ’am called
a fallen woman, wallowing in sin.
I am lost in a jungle,
you may find me
as a river in spate
in a moonlit night.
This union is not orphaned.
Oh! Give me a break, I will teach you all -
what makes a holy confluence?
What desecrates the sacred?
The lamp of love dispels
the virulent darkness of lust.
The former rich in benign radiance;
the latter suffocates, scorches.
Love is as resilient as the soul;
unlike a mansion that crumbles with age,
unlike an attire that goes
to shreds by overuse,
eternal as the sea, or the wind,
eternal as Atash Behram* of Udvada.
Its songs are serene
as the melody of purring streams,
the murmur of leaves,
the distant enchanting echo
of a frothing swollen sea,
soothing as the cicada’s solo.
My love rejoices in its own halo,
no less holy than the attraction
of the moon for the sun, or
of the aborigine Sabari for Ram.
No less than the pure
sensuality between
the ancient yoginis and yogis
in their quest for Kundalini.
This celebration of love
is worth a holy adoration
in a shrine, no less than
the holy offerings,
prayers and hymns,
seeds of ultimate nirvana.
Note – Matangi* one of the ten Mahavidyas (goddesses) in Tantric tradition, equivalent to Sarasvati, the Hindu goddess of music and learning. Atash Behram* is the eternal sacred fire of Parsees burning at Udvada of Gujarat. The fire was brought by fire-worshipper Parsees when they fled Iran for India.
(The poem appears in the poet’s book of poetry SAHAJA SUNDARI, 2011. Selected for translation in the honour of Women on the World Women’s Day, 8th March, 2021.)
Runu Mohanty is a young voice in Odia literature, her poems dwell in a land of love, loss, longing, and pangs of separation; a meandering in this worldwide landscape carrying various nuances on her frail shoulders. She has published three collections of her poems; appeared in various reputed journals and dailies like Jhankar, Istahar, Sambad, Chandrabhaga, Adhunik, Mahuri, Kadambini etc. She has also published her confessional biography. She has won awards for her poetic contribution to Odia literature.
Immersed in
Mangled thoughts
Aching to find the truth.
Garnered many theories.
Insipid, how they all seem to be;
Notions clang within my head
All devoid of any sense
Tinkering with these wayward
Imaginations
Only to realise they just
Nullify my mental
Sanity!!
Pangs of suffering cause
Aches untold.
Internally corroding
Nauseating the soul!
Lovingly nurtured in the womb
Ignorant of everything, just waiting to bloom.
Flamboyant dreams in my mind cocooned
Effervescent spirit grows restless, to commune!
Star crossed lovers with their fingers intertwined.
Telling tales, making each other smile.
Attracting glances of passersby
Radiating their love light, to all nearby.
Bursting at the seams with adoration so pure
Using a cup of hot coffee, to their longing cure.
Cappuccinos, espressos, lattes
Keenly they consume.
Sitting together in the coffee shop, their love, they let, freely bloom!
P-A-I-N (Acrostic + Alliteration)
Piercing, penetrating, pounding pain.
Acute, agonizing ache
Intolerable, infinite injury
Neurotic, nightmarish nemesis!
\
Neha Sarah is a Wild Child, a voracious reader with a wild imagination, who has always found beauty in the written word. By the grace of God, She is blessed with the talent to write her heart out and her poems reflect her thoughts, fears, triumphs and defeats.
Gripping the pale pink handle with my left,
I squeeze out a dab of toothpaste
On the soft white tuft with my right.
‘A pea-sized dab...anything more than that
A colossal waste.’
Why did my dentist’s voice of twenty years back
Still run in my head
Every morning I did this dab?
I looked into the mirror and smiled at myself
Remembering those few times when,
On a spur to refute,
The incorrigible youth that had been me
Had, with resolute purposefulness,
Dabbed an extra bit of “anything more”
On my brush.
Oh, what a colossal waste it really was!
The washbasin tap had to be run
A good ten minutes longer,
Gallons of precious water being required
That mouth full of foam to wash off.
The gallons ran endlessly too,
All day,
Hours after my tooth brushing was done
And the mouth full of foam gone,
For, I couldn’t savour anything else
Except the tingling lingering minty flavour
That the toothpaste boasted of.
Thank goodness for some dentifrices nowadays
That have moved away
From de-faulting mint!
So here I am, wiser with age and aware of wastage,
With my pink-handled polisher,
A carefully-laid, creamy pea blob on its head—
A daily morning brush with myself.
Vidya Shankar, a widely published Indian poet, writer, editor with Kavya-Adisakrit (an imprint of Adisakrit Publishing House), English teacher, and a “book” in the Human Library, says poetry is not different from her. The recipient of literary awards and recognition, she uses the power of her words to sensitise her readers about environmental issues, mental health, and the need to break the shackles of an outdated society. Vidya is the author of two poetry books, The Flautist of Brindaranyam (in collaboration with her photographer husband, Shankar Ramakrishnan), and The Rise of Yogamaya (an effort to create awareness about mental health.) She finds meaning to her life through yoga and mandalas.
The certain presence of the radiant sun
now forgotten behind the yellow rain
that scraps at the edges of life moulting as always,
Emaciated arms of leafless branches weave. feint,
paint pictures of the dance of a mad dervish
twirling to the gravelly roar of the sea of sands.
This storm is the only subtext that runs through.
It rose from the distant stars and permeates .
The yellow rain hangs in the dark interiors,
the dividing lanes, on our lips and eyelashes.
Days and nights neatly stacked in drawers soak.
Our ancestors bathed in the rain meet us in dreams.
Photo credit: Photo by famous photographer Steve Mccurry of Rajasthan women caught in dust-storm
Abani Udgata ( b. 1956) completed Masters in Political Science from Utkal University in 1979. He joined SAIL as an Executive Trainee for two years. From SAIL he moved on to Reserve Bank of India in 1982. For nearly 34 years. he served in RBI in various capacities as a bank supervisor and regulator and retired as a Principal Chief General Manager in December 2016. During this period, inter alia, he also served as a Member Secretary to important Committees set up by RBI, represented the Bank in international fora, framed policies for bank regulations etc.
Though he had a lifelong passion for literature, post- retirement he has concentrated on writing poetry. He has been awarded Special Commendation Prizes twice in 2017 and 2019 by the Poetry Society of India in all India poetry competitions and the prize winning poems have been anthologised. At present, he is engaged in translating some satirical Odia poems into English
Magical summer
Looking like a stunner
Sipping fresh fruit juices
All infused
Quenching thirst
With pomegranate bursts
Along with ice cubes immersed
Cotton fabrics
Hugging my skin fantastic creamy strawberry periwinkle blossoms
Oh!! they look so awesome
Tiny umbrellas providing shade
Colours of every grade
Each petal shining blade
Sun tan lotions
For everyone in motion
Enamored by the heat
Every visual a treat
Sweaty season
Excuses for no reason
Cool breeze uplifting spirits
Birds chirping every minute
Children on the fields play cricket
Morning leisure walks
With every passerby you talk
Swings in the garden
And shrieks sharpen
Cold soups with floating wantons
Mixed with spices at the bottom
Extra portions no problem
Oh summer !!
With a rainbow of colours.
Sheena Rath is a post graduate in Spanish Language from Jawaharlal Nehru University Delhi, later on a Scholarship went for higher studies to the University of Valladolid Spain. A mother of an Autistic boy, ran a Special School by the name La Casa for 11 years for Autistic and underprivileged children. La Casa now is an outreach centre for social causes(special children, underprivileged children and families, women's health and hygiene, cancer patients, save environment) and charity work.
Sheena has received 2 Awards for her work with Autistic children on Teachers Day. An Artist, a writer, a social worker, a linguist and a singer (not by profession).
She has been writing articles for LV for the past one and half years. Recently she has published her first book.. "Reflections Of My Mind",an ode to the children and families challenged by Autism
The eyes is always caught by light, but
Shadows have more to say .....
Your identity is like your shadow not always visible and yet always present...
I like my shadow ; it reminds me that I exit.....
There is no light without any Shadows
The eyes is always caught by light, but
Shadows have more to say .....
Your identity is like your shadow : not always visible and yet always present...
I like my shadow ; it reminds me that I exit.....
There is no light without shadow just as there is no happiness without pain....
Your identity is like your shadow : not always visible and yet always present...
Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings as there is no happiness without pain....
Your identity is like your shadow : not always visible and yet always present...
Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings.
Sukanya .V.Kunju is a post graduate student of St. Micheal's College, Cherthala
I saw you in a journal,
In a corner of a sheet,
A beautiful depiction.
Loved you at first sight.
Cut and pasted on my wall,
Without knowing who you are,
Started to talk to you,
Shared all my worries with you.
My brother to protect me,
My friend to support me,
The charioteer of my mind.
You heeded me with smiling face.
You consoled me with sparkling eyes.
You guided me at a serene pace.
You are always around me
Like the silent, invisible air.
My First and Last Hope
My Krishna,The Supreme.
Asha Raj Gopakumar, a postgraduate in English Literature and a novice in writing. She has been living in the Middle East with her family for more than a decade. She is an ardent lover of music, nature and spirituality. She is an active bajan singer in many devotional groups. Presently she focuses on reading, writing and is very much busy creating a personal vlog for bajan lovers. She had been a teacher for almost six years and gave it up for family matters.
Traveller radiant, of the azure blue!
Know thou what sound or sight,
Beheld you, in your daily flight?
You seem to be in such a hurry,
Pray, what might be the cause of this flurry?
Ahead you are, of time,
Beaten you have, the even chime.
But in all that ensuing commotion,
And consternation,
You have left such a tale of trepidation.
Culprit divine,
In such a manner as thine,
You have disturbed the platter of colours,
That the day had dared,
In her time had lovingly gathered.
Aware art thou,
Of this glorious turbulence,
The very scene of the tell-tale agitation,
Thus manifested on the even’s horizon,
A canvas of happy confusion!
A riot resplendent,
A bias transcendent,
The skyscape on the eve of spring,
Looks like someone on heaven’s courtyard, had sprayed
A thanksgiving in hues, the tints and tones of a cracker-jack *Holi!
Holi is an Indian festival of colours , heralding the spring season in the month of March.
This awakening,
The dawn of a new being
Shun it not as pride,
It’s but the comfort of my hide.
Tossed around in the floodwaters,
Like an uprooted tree,
This trajectory, unrehearsed,
Of hurt, fatigue, yet unbroken spirit.
Searching my shore,
Beyond and more,
The quest continues…
Years have passed by,
So have seasons,
Places traversed
No more clothes of charity
No more veiling myself in,
No more muffling of self!
My silence, I know,
Has been convenient
My hurt too
Now blows the winds of change,
Now bows down this season of despair
And on my path, I continue, again and again,
Till my land and my band, I gain.
Sindhu Vijayan (Rammohan) has a Master's degree in English Language and Literature and a Post Graduate Diploma in Journalism. After a brief stint as a journalist with the New Indian Express she worked for eleven years in L'ecole Chempaka, Trivandrum as a Language teacher of Malayalam, French, and Creative English. She was the editor of the school magazine for seven years. She writes poetry in English and Hindi, has dabbled with theatre and was an active participant in 'Kavitha', a poetic initiative of the late Malayalam poet Ayyappa Panicker. Currently a freelance writer and translator, she has abundant passion for literature.
You can't call me a bard, I know - Oh, no way!
Texts and manuals aside, rest'd put me in a trance.
Ain't a voracious reader either, I should say,
Visited LV-Positive Vibes.today- perchance!
A blissful journey it was to read, none can refute,
Lovely poems that breathe the eternal fragrance,
Or the prose(s) and verses from scholars of repute.
And the stories,too, of great value and substance!
Writes on nature, mankind or seasons, in words well cast
Who wouldn't thus ask for an encore?
Be it on Loneliness or Togetherness, as well, in contrast
Sure, as surfeiting, mellifluous music in a book-store!
Sonnets fail me........words further to limn,
Vibes created ever positive, full of vim!
(The above sonnet has been inspired by Jerome K Jerome's ' On Seeing People Off ', ' On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer ', a sonnet by J Keats, and the 'collaborative poem', Transience, which appeared in the 102nd edition of LiteraryVibes.)
N. Rangamani, a resident of Chennai, graduated from IIT Madras; superannuated after more than thirty-five years of service in (Aircraft Maintenance) Aviation. He has revived his writing passion post retirement. He likes to write and puts it to action, sometimes. He writes in Tamil and English. Contact: rangkrish@gmail.com
Dr (Major) B C Nayak MBBS, MD, FCCP
This is rarest of the rare,
But not like the purple cow,
Which exists only in imagination,
Here it hangs,
Like a river,
With dead slow motion,
Of parijat flowers from heaven,
Lands ,vanishes and mingles,
With the cloud beneath.
Laws of the nature,
“Cometh you child of nature,
Goeth you certain”,
Sojourn with activities,
Or Sans it,
Life span short or long,
Youth or grand old,
Diseased or healthy,
A genius,
Or without the knowledge,
Of the abc of the alphabet.
All will have to take,
The highway,
One Day ,
to the unknown destination,
The eternity.
For your smooth ascendance,
And comfort,
Bedecked with fragrant white flowers,
To provide soothing balm,
To your jaded nerves,
to get rid of Earthly harshness,
and its kith and kin,
“arduous journey”,leading the list.
But the journey,
Not always sans traffic jam,
Once in a century or two,
Or more,
Bolt from the blue,
Belly lands on earth,
And takes revenge,
Of “Not smooth landing”.
Corona ,very inappropriate name,
Presently in satavic spell,
Doubles or trebles that figure,
Of usual traffic.
And the passerby,
Keeps on chanting,
“An emperor sans empire,
An empire sans subjects,
And subjects with subjugation,
No highway is safe”.
Notes - The above picture was photographed by my friend Dr Ajaya Upadhyaya
Dr (Major) B C Nayak, MBBS,MD,FCCP
The childhood water sports
With special Langoti,
in Bay of Bengal,
now replaced with,
motorised equipments,
in Atlantic,
The camphor is gone,
but for the smell,
the pearl.
Same perfectionist
to the core !
Not for yesterday,
Not for today,
But forever.
Never content
with the rat ,
continues digging,
till sighting,
the Amethyst.
Not the pearl of India,
Not the pearl of Europe,
Not the pearl of Asia,
Not the pearl ,
of the world
But the pearl
of the peninsulas,
sans ambiguity
And sans sycophancy.
Mastery in mystery,
Perfection in Psychiatry,
Prominent in peninsulas,
All befit, “The Pearls”
Dr. (Major) B. C. Nayak is an Anaesthetist who did his MBBS from MKCG Medical College, Berhampur, Odisha, MD from the Armed Forces Medical College, Pune and FCCP from the College of Chest Physicians New Delhi. He served in Indian Army for ten years (1975-1985) and had a stint of five years in the Royal Army of Muscat. Since 1993 he has been working as the Chief Consultant Anaesthetist, Emergency and Critical Care Medicine at the Indira Gandhi Cooperative Hospital, Cochin.
AS DUSTS CLING IN SILENT HOURS
Centuries of slime
and dust cling to my limpid limbs
and I can't shake them off
in the silent breezes of morning
and twilight hours,
thousands of people thronged my hurried sojourns in myriad phases,
some faces I recollect
others vanish from my vacant mind
and I vainly search and seek their presence in thse nameless hours,
some fairies crossed my idle path and flapped their wings as
I hurried off their presence in the lost decades,
they reappear and cloud my brain as I doze off in these tired moments
and ruminate over
the green garden lying unkempt somewhere in these vast wildernes
Pradeep Rath, poet, dramatist, essayist, critic, travelogue writer and editor is an author of ten books of drama, one book of poetry in English, 'The Glistening Sky', two books of criticism, two books of travelogues and two edited works, Pradeep Rath was a bureaucrat and retired from IAS in 2017. His dramas, compendium of critical essays on Modernism and Post modernism, comparative study on Upendra Bhanja and Shakespeare, travelogues on Europe and America sojourns, Coffee Table book on Raj Bhavans of Odisha have received wide acclaim. He divides his time in reading, writing and travels.
Did the sun rise today ?
Perhaps it did on the East as usual
In that distant horizon of the Silver city
Perhaps its rays were scattered soft red as usual
On all and sundry
On everything that lay beneath
In and outside the city
On Roads and Rivers
On sands and cements
On roof-tops and pavements!
Yet why I did not feel its warmth ?
Its ever enveloping presence ?
The sky was clear and blue
In that the Sun swam with its radiant glue !
But then why the warmth was not felt
As if it was as good as the Sun hidden in shady smokes !
Making the otherwise sunny day a dull day !
Making the soul suffer a void
Making it feel as if something was missing?
Something precious !
Missing on the soil , missing in the air
Missing in the bazaar , missing in the river
The sunlit day was felt as a sun-less day
Did the sun come over the silver city
Or it moved towards the rose city
I curse that magician who stole the sun
From this eastern city to perhaps the western part
Even for a day or half a day,
Making its land , water and river lifeless
And chilled my heart,
I curse the magician who stole the Sun
God may not forgive him!
Dr. Niranjan Barik is a retired Professor of Political Science from Ravenshaw University, Odisha and is currently attached there on teaching and research on an ICSSR project. He is passionate about literature and writes poems, short stori
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