Literary Vibes - Edition CV (28-May-2021) (POEMS)
Title : Sun Rising (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
Dear Readers,
I am happy to present to you the 105th edition of Literary Vibes. Despite the difficult, severely worriesome time we are facing, more than fifty poets and writers have found time to pluck literary flowers from their heart and offered them to us. I salute their spirit of joyful creativity and wish such positive vibes to continue to enrich our lives.
There are four new contributors in this edition - all of them fabulously gifted. I welcome Ms. Seema Jain from Jalandhar, Punjab, Ms. Donna Susan Abraham from Kottayam, Kerala, Mr. P. Ranga Raj from Mangalore, Karnataka and Mr. Nidhish G. from Kollam, Kerala, into the family of LiteraryVibes. Let us wish them lots of success and laurels in their literary journey.
It was only yesterday I wrote to a friend of mine what a tragic crossroad of life we have come to. We only exchange sad news, counting the toll every day. It looks like mankind is paying for the many sins it committed against Nature. Bracing ourselves to face the wrath of cyclone Yaas, we are also overwhelmed by the spectre of Corona all around us. We do not step out of home, yet the dreaded disease comes to visit us like an unwelcome guest!
In the last one year I have lost a few friends and relatives to Corona. There was this college mate who stayed in the room next to mine in the hostel and used to advise me all the time not to waste time in mindless gossip and to study harder those days. Post retirement I returned to Bhubaneswar after spending forty two years in other cities and towns. This friend from the college picked up the thread from the old days and used to call at least once a week and chat for long hours. We couldn't meet often although we live in different parts of the same town. And then it all ended suddenly, he succumbed to Covid. I regretted that I should have met him a few more times and spent time with him.
A relative who lived only a few streets from us had a stroke in the brain, went to the hospital, got infected by Covid and passed away. We came to know of it from the newspaper. We had stopped visiting him and his wife due to the restrictions of Corona. He was a renowned archaeologist and I regretted that I didn't spend more time with him to know more about the archaeological wonder that is Odisha.
My friend's elder brother who used to live in Cuttack, twenty five kilometres away, was a self-professed fan and critic of my short stories who used to call quite often to comment on my writings. He had a long standing desire in mind to come and stay with us for a couple of days and "spend the entire time chatting and discussing literature". Alas, it never happened, he left us, without giving us a chance to host him.
The list is endless, the tales filled with great sorrow and void. When someone departs we always regret that we could have given more time to him. I am reminded of a poem of the Nobel Laureate Shri Rabindra Nath Tagore:
When I'm dead.
Your tears will flow
But I won't know
Cry with me now instead
You will send flowers
But I won't see
Send them now instead
You'll say words of praise
But I won't hear
Praise me now instead
You'll forgive my faults,
But I won't know.....
So forget them now instead
You'll miss me then,
But I won't feel.
Meet me now, instead.
You'll wish you could have spent
More time with me,
Spend it now instead
When you hear I'm gone,
You'll find your way to my house
To pay condolence
But we haven't even spoken in years.
Look, listen and reply me now.
And how can one not remember Christina Rossetti's poem of the nineteenth century:
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
Need I say more? Of late, I have developed the practice of speaking to two friends every day while taking my evening walk. A few of them were in for a pleasant surprise when they suddenly got a call from me after a long time. This is one way to reconnect with life, and with hope.
Dear friends, let's stay connected, alone I smile, together we laugh. Alone I speak, together we can talk. Alone I enjoy, together we can celebrate.
Please share the present edition with your friends and contacts through the following links:
http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/380 (Poems), and
http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/381 (Short stories and other articles).
All the previous 104 editions of LV are available at http://www.positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Stay safe, take care. We will meet again next month. LV106 will be published on Friday, the 25th June. Till then, bye and all the best.
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Literary Vibes - Edition CV (28-May-2021) (POEMS)
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
IF WISHES WERE HORSES...
02) Haraprasad Das
MIDAS TOUCH OF THE OTHER KIND (AISHWARYA)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
LOST & FOUND
04) Sreekumar K
THE UNKNOWNS
05) Madhumathi. H
ANONYMOUS FEATHER
06) Bijay Ketan Patnaik
TEARS IN EYES OF HIS HIGHNESS (Chhaamunka Aakhi Luha)
07) S. Sundar Rajan
LOVE LORN
LOVE
08) Donna Susan Abraham
HANDS OF EARTH
09) Seema Jain
UNBIDDEN ADIEU: THE LAST JOURNEY
10) Sharanya Bee
GOD
11) Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura
END OF THE TUNNEL
12) Dr B C Nayak
Bloom of Narcissists
13) Molly Joseph
COCOONS
14) Setaluri Padmavathi
A GLANCE OUT THE WINDOW
15) Vidya Shankar
GOVINDA — I AM
16) Pankajam Kottarath
I SEEK A DATE WITH GOD
17) Runu Mohanty
THE DIVINE UNION (Mahaa Yoga)
18) Dr. Aparna Ajith
HUMANITIES VERSUS SCIENCE
19) Ayana Routray
THE ENTHRALLING DIVINITY
20) Sheena Rath
GULMOHAR
21) Ravi Ranganathan
YUGA PURUSHA AS A DIVINE CHILD
22) Abani Udgata
A BLUE-RED LUNAR ECLIPSE
A BIRCH TREE
23) Thirupurasundari C J
MY BEGINNING
24) N Rangamani
MOTHER'S DAY MUSINGS
25) Hiya Khurana
TRUST
26) Asha Raj Gopakumar
THULASI (BASIL)
27) S. Ritika
A FEW HAIKU POEMS
28) Arpit Jain
IF ONLY...
29) Pradip Rath
FLORENCE WHERE DREAMS CLING TO THE AIR
30) Prof Niranjan Barik
THE MOON & THE STAR!
31) Akshaya Kumar Das
THE LAST WORD HOPE
THE ETERNAL BEAUTY
32) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE FOOTSTEPS
Literary Vibes - Edition CV (28-May-2021) (ARTICLES)
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
MUNNI
02) Sreekumar K
RAINY DAYS
NEW DISCOVERIES IN LIFE SCIENCE
03) Ishwar Pati
RAIN, RAIN GO AWAY...
PILGRIMAGE TO MUSSOORIE
04) Dr. Ajay Upadhyaya
DREAM FOR DUMMIES
05) Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo
NECESSITY IS THE MOTHER OF INVENTION
06) Krupasagar Sahoo
THOSE BLUE EYES
07) Lathaprem Sakhya
KANAKA 'S MUSINGS :: WRESTLING
08) Lt Gen N P Padhi, PVSM, VSM (Retd.)
RIGHT PLACE FOR A ‘THAKKAR’
09) Dr. Prasanna Kumar Sahoo
DESTINY
10) Ramesh Chandra Panda
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE - BILVA PATRA FOR OFFERING TO SHIVA
11) Gourang Charan Roul
MY EXPERIENCE OF THE MAJESTIC NEW ENGLAND FALL
12) Nidhish G
LEMON TEA
13) P. Ranga Raj
LAKSHMI
PROJECT UPMA
14) Seema Jain
THE KOELS HAVE TO GO
15) Nikhil M. Kurien
SAM
16) Dr. Satya N. Mohanty
THE PARABLE OF TANDAV KISHORE SARKAR
17) Gokul Chandra Mishra
THE BREAK JOURNEY
18) Hema Ravi
THE CUCKOO SINGS AGAIN.....
19) G K Maya
THE CHEMPADA TAAL
20) Setaluri Padmavathi
WHAT'S SUCCESS?
21) N. Meera Raghvendra Rao
DOMESTIC HUMAN RESOURCE IN CHENNAI
22) Prof. (Dr.) Viyatprajna Acharya
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY
23) S. Ritika
THE DARKNESS ILLUMINATED
SELF EXPLORATION
24) Sukumaran C. V.
SHAKESPEARE AND THE PANDEMIC
25) Dilip Mahapatra
THE TRANSIENT TEMPTRESS
26) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
PERFUME
A beggar at the street corner,
I nudge my sleeping wishes -
Get up lazy bones, let's have a ride.
To Maldives. To Seychelles.
Let’s wine and dine
with novo princes and princesses,
indoctrinated in schools of hate,
fed on puddings of blood;
rub shoulders with imposters,
euphemistic super stars:
cowards shadow-boxing as heroes,
owner of fortunes pinching pennies;
fly among the silk-cotton clouds,
pretend to be the messiah of all,
but butter only own bread, both sides;
let ‘head I win, tail you lose’ be our mantra.
Don't quarrel buddy, you are no horse,
only a wish, a thought, in a beggar’s heart.
Copy me, go grazing in the greenest pasture.
Don't ask for food, I have no food for a thought.
We are left with nothing brother,
the pandemic robs my longevity,
the rulers muzzle your mouth.
Nothing is left for us to lose.
Let's celebrate my death, your muzzle;
be awed by our own martyrdom
as do our bleating thirteen-hundred millions,
fill the pages of our fabricated history.
(In the editorial page of a national English daily of repute, in the month of April, 2021, during the Corona pandemic in India, a writer advises, “Every Indian must eat almonds daily to boost immunity against corona virus.” In the same editorial page, a socialite writer advises, “I know, all of you are bored to your bones. Take a break, go holidaying at Maldives.” The bizarre advices from ivory tower dwellers sound as vain and inane as the French queen Marie Antoinette’s oft-quoted advice, “Let them have bread” when it was reported that her subjects are starving without bread. This poem is a disturbed rejoinder, a satire to those esteemed writers.)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is a poet/ story writer/translator/literary critic, living in Mumbai, India. The publishers - Rupa & Co. and Allied Publishers Pvt Ltd have published his three books of poems – VIGIL (1993), LIPS OF A CANYON (2000), and LITMUS (2005). His poems have been widely anthologized in fourteen different volumes of anthology by publishers, such as – Rupa & Co, Virgo Publication, Penguin Books, Adhayan Publishers and Distributors, Panchabati Publications, Authorspress, Poetrywala, Prakriti Foundation, Hidden Book Press, Penguin Ananda, Sahitya Akademi etc. over the period spanning over 1993 to 2020. Awards won - Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award, JIWE Poetry Prize. Former president of Poetry Circle (Mumbai), former editor of this poet-association’s poetry journal POIESIS. He edited a book of short stories by the iconic Odia writer in English translation – FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM, VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI. He is widely published in literary magazines; lately in Kavya Bharati, Literary Vibes, Our Poetry Archives (OPA) and Spillwords.
MIDAS TOUCH OF THE OTHER KIND (AISHWARYA)
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
From this distance in time,
his changes do not appear
as strange as they
did appear those days.
He seemed to have come
to some sort of riches.
Earlier, like us,
regular at prayers,
coming early, leaving late,
listening to God’s words
to unburden his soul;
he was no exception.
What bothered us, unlike any of us
he stayed jolly all hours;
telling us of his plans
to buy a flat at Rishikesh.
One of us even
grumbled at his happiness,
“Why is he so cheerful
without a bother in the world,
though his son sits idle
after graduation,
his sickly wife lies in bed,
he hasn’t a house of his own?”
“What fortune has he landed
that emboldens him
to kind of tease us
by buying a flat at Rishikesh?”
All felt baffled by
the immensity of his inheritance.
To settle our doubts
we accosted him
on his way home.
He remained enigmatic,
maintained his peace,
smiling even to the worst jibes.
A nag among us
kept him pestering, “Tell me dude,
what are you so cool about?
Have you landed a fortune?
A pot of Amrit, a big loot;
or have found ‘Midas Touch’?”
He didn’t reply, but his calm
was enough of an indicator –
We sensed a city of mirages
buried in each of our hearts,
in a corner of each city,
dwelt desires to enrich the soul.
We sensed: harsher the sun
of that realization, brighter would glow
the lamps of evening oblation,
consigned to Ganga,
overlooking the windows
of his flat at Rishikesh.
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)”
I lost my partner
through the little gaps
on the grating over the gutter
and then found myself
flung into the corroded trash can
round the street corner.
I could feel the decadent
air thrusting its heavy cold ankle
into my innards
and a little rodent scurrying
inside me
nibbling at my non-succulent laces.
I lie there remembering
my heydays
missing my mirror twin
who never left me alone
since we journeyed together
on the assembly line.
Then one day I saw a shadow
face to face
examining me with a pair of
probing eyes from deep sockets
and then a bony claw descends
to lift me up with utmost care.
He wipes me clean
with his dirty rag of a shirt
then he squeezes his oversized
yet ossified foot into me
and hobbles away
with a crutch doubling
for his other foot.
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.
(An Unmetrical Verse Etched on Mocking Walls)
Do you know
How many times I didn't
Marry you?
Or, said bye and came right back?
How many of my teenage letters
Came back to me, luckily?
Have you noticed
How many stories I've read
in which the author fails
To capture you?
Do you know
How much,
Like a devotee's idol,
I eat your favourite dishes?
Did they tell you
I bought for my sisters and mom
Dresses they abhor
(but you love)?
Do you know
How many times
I returned to your place
But never left it even once?
Do you know
How many times
You accepted my proposals,
The ones I never made?
Do you remember
How long I was with you
For a short while?
Do you know
They took the credits
For songs I wrote for you?
Do you know
All love stories are
Distorted history
Of our days together?
Sreekumar K, known more as SK, writes in English and Malayalam. He also translates into both languages and works as a facilitator at L' ecole Chempaka International, a school in Trivandrum, Kerala.
A swirling leaf, drifting feather in the wind
Distract my long gaze at the colorless space
The crisp blue sky trying to cheer my soul
While the golden shower blossoms, sway like wind chimes...
Unable to write poems, my heart crumbled, I felt lost
"Let your poems rest too, while you recuperate", consoled the mind...
Oh the crushing bone-crumbling ache, and fatigue
Too tired to feel tired, too
Wanting to soak for hours, in a warm pond of Eucalyptus
Or sip piping hot ginger tea, to slide through parched throat
Being Positive, is not always a passport to happiness
I felt lost, admitting better half at the hospital, with welled up eyes
"We will try our best", said the doctor
A lump in my throat, blank and frozen
Reality at its harshest, injects numbness...
Tears silently flowed, as the cab moved
But the setting sun gave hope with a golden glow...
Reached home to my pillar of strength, my darling daughter
Ate, slept, trying to believe things will be okay
It was morning, and comes a call "you are tested positive", and I grinned wryly...
Aged ailing parents, knew nothing of the storm
Heart's firm decision not to reveal, not to break them more...
Silence was all I chose to heal
Unattended calls, unreplied messages, waiting...
Amid the turbulence, Dad drooped, so his will...
Juggling, is easier as long as we are spectators
Storms slowly crossed, yet, facing was painful
One day at a time, yet draining
Claustrophobic, turned my heart
Confined within four walls
World around was opaque...
The wanderlust me, not stepping out of the door
Hiding distancing from loved ones...
Only a little have I vented, abstractly
Please do not say, "It is so for all"...
Gratitude never fails to fill my heart
Food on plate, a cosy home, love, support, prayers from souls around
Blessed with several best, while many struggle for their bread, and breath
Yet! Yet! Yet!
I felt lost every time I saw the oximeter
Never heard before, never 99 in Math but this device was kind...
Should I smile, or sigh? For I often flunked at school...
I felt lost when I heard cliches, "This too shall pass..."
Don't we all know that? Haven't we crossed storms before?
Toxic positivity was aching! "Stay strong" tasted sour, crumpled me...
How would I explain, I cried unable to understand how I feel
Sometimes, I wanted to cry, pour out, but too weak to shed tears
Anger and helplessness were twins, that often attacked me
Silence, my space, my cocoon are my therapy
The same often disturbed, questioned by many
Leaving me stare at the impatience of the world!
Prayers? What do I pray, for whom shall I pray?!
HELPLESS, and lost, was how it often felt
So many lives disappear from Earth, while am here alive
Writing, rather trying to write my tangled emotions
Tears too betrayed me, leaving my eyes
Numb, dry, as I stared at the untranslatable sky
While it made efforts to send love, through the birds, blue, and peace-textured clouds...
A daughter isolated
A dad in need of her shoulder
Near, yet far, and I felt lost
Mom making calls, our usual chit-chat happened
I proved I could act well if given a role...
While some light showed up at the tunnel's end
Came a thunderbolt, rushing Dad to the doctor
Double-masked, one for the heart too, faking courage, stepped out
Doctors are saviours, warriors indeed...
I still stare, feeling lost, wondering why I write
But I know, I will feel heard as I write
Why stay trapped in the unspoken, suffer the burden of the inexplicables...
Am one of those chosen voices for the voiceless, too
Little acts of kindness, I could do amid chaos
The happiness of others, was vitamin for my soul
If a Sakha Sakhi, a random stranger find shelter, shade in my words
If someone understands, feeling broken is OKAY
If the world acknowledges, resting is nourishment too
If the world gets kinder to embrace tears, and each other's 'lost' feeling...
If this would be read in empathy, I would feel healed too
For I have written not just for self, but for the world, uninhibited
There is so much joy, and beauty around
to celebrate in gratitude
There is still hope sprouting in our hearts
Yet
There is so much of ache, waiting to be seen, cared for, and healed
There are so many souls waiting to be understood
Before we twist our party poppers, and switch on the fairy lights...
I felt lost, yet, I had my anchors, angels to hold me, and shoulders to lean on
Reminding me to be so, for others
I felt lost, in moments phases of life, I can keep writing on
But I restore myself, find my answers
In all the words I sow, soaked in tears, gratitude, and loads of love...
Madhumathi is a bilingual poet-writer (Tamil, English) and an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry, Photography and Music. Her poems are published in Anthologies of The Poetry Society(India), AIFEST 2020 Poetry contest Anthology, CPC- Chennai Poetry Circle, IPC – India Poetry Circle, multilingual Anthology Amaravati Poetic Prism, and in e-zines UGC approved Muse India, Storizen, OPA – Our Poetry Archives, IWJ - International Writers Journal, Positive Vibes-Literary Vibes, and Science Shore.
‘’Ignite Poetry'’, “Arising from the dust”, “Painting Dreams", “Shards of the unsung Poesies" are some of the recent Anthologies her poems, and write ups are part of.
Besides Poetry, Madhumathi is a mental health advocate. She writes on Mental health, to create awareness and break the stigma, strongly believing in the therapeutic and transformational power of words. Her Blog:
English: https://madhumathipoetry.wordpress.com & Tamil: https://madhumathikavidhaigal.blogspot.com/?m=1
TEARS IN EYES OF HIS HIGHNESS (Chhaamunka Aakhi Luha)
Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra
Why do the royal eyes well up?
By God! Something is amiss,
terribly amiss. Have the people
of the kingdom run away?
Have the ministers left him?
As well the courtiers, servants,
and the attendants?
Why are his royal cheeks wet
with tears? Has anyone
been critical of him, of his whims?
Who did one dare the audacity?
No dearth of flowers
in royal gardens,
not even of varieties;
the rivers are feeding
the royal lake incessantly, keeping
its water sweet and pristine.
His excellency commands
all the powers over his fiefdom,
as the arbiter of good and bad.
His fragile tolerance can’t be called intolerance,
his hunger to possess is not greed.
His blind-folded judgements are just.
In addition to behaving
mute and deaf,
his wishes and whims
make the lands mandates and laws,
create conventions.
His adventures and risks are gospels.
He is the monarch
of all he surveys,
he is God, the preserver,
the protector and the terminator
of his mute, deaf and blind subjects.
His writ runs absolute.
Even time awaits his commands
before deciding its motion and direction,
mixing the present with past and future.
Yet, why is his excellency weeping,
shedding invaluable pearly drops?
Is it a feeling of loss, missing
a goalpost, or being stung
by the barbs of conscience?
Has his royal existence
turned coat to seem a travesty?
A prince neck-deep in opulence
is missing the taste
of an ordinary savoury
from the hurtling cart
of his childhood’s street peddler.
But, what of the court-jesters
who have to keep his majesty in splits;
or are they allowing the king
the luxury of crying?
“If he cries, he is to shed pearls”,
was his myth, but his real tears
defy his own mandates, beliefs.
Have the flatterers fled, afraid of the truth
of real tears from the royal eyes
instead of pearls?
Something is terribly amiss,
what has gone wrong, why do
the exalted cheeks look wet?
Where are his men, his courtiers,
and soothsayers who would
forecast ‘all is well’,
subscribe to his infallibility?
(The poem is selected for translation for its contemporary relevance when Corona preys on people, but the powers that be look the other way, doing little precious except occasionally acting emotional. The poem appeared in Vijay Ketan Patnaik’s book of poems, ‘Chhaamunka Aakhi Luha’, in Odia, published in 1983.)
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
In pitch darkness, I see your charming facade,
My arms stretch out to hug you for your reward,
Dismayed, I still find you to be elusive.
I preferred a candle to stay reclusive,
The candle sparkles bright with your glowing face,
As my heart melts like the candle wax, in a daze.
Though outwardly your true love for me, you feign,
I know sure my wait for you is not in vain,
My melodious, soulful songs of torn love,
Clothes you forever with my thoughts, to approve,
For time has its own tale to melt hardened hearts,
Unstinted love begets the lover so sought.
(An Acrostic verse)
S. Sundar Rajan.
Longingly I embrace with love all I see unfold,
Overwhelming positive thoughts flow thro' me, untold.
Ventilating the boundless joy building up within,
Encompassing in me the wall less Temple of Love to win.
(An Acrostic verse)
S. Sundar Rajan.
Love's lingering levity
Obscures Odyssey;
Venerable vibrance,
Emanates elixir.
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.
Look deep into his
guileless eyes
Can you see pain there?
Pain that got instigated
by three pieces of paper
Destiny of him was sealed
in the pockets of Money bags
Can you touch these sweat drops?
It is his blood that is circulating
inside the veins of crops
Feel the bated breath
around this Earth
Muddy hands writing
Genesis of life
Can you taste those tears
in your food
Which is an after effect
of his staggering emptiness
This is a story
Not about gain but about pain
From dal chawal to cheeseburger
Each food journey
will tell you tales of hard work
“Dearest son of Earth
Let your wounds heal
by our words and deeds
So long dear brother So long”
Ms. Donna Susan Abraham, a student of B. Sc. Physics, is a young poet from Kottayam, Kerala. She is passionate about literature. Her hobbies are writing poetry and painting. She can be contacted at selinchechi@gmail.com
UNBIDDEN ADIEU: THE LAST JOURNEY
It is a known fact that every mortal
Will one day embark on its last journey
But when where and how it will be
Is totally shrouded in mystery
Whenever that inopportune moment knocks
All near and dear ones surround their kin
So the departing one may speak his heart out
And vent out all that afflicts his last thoughts.
Who knows what countless memories
Of life-long events of penury or luxury
Float in the dark caverns of consciousness
During those last hours of helplessness
Crying for an expression before loved ones
Before the last few breaths are taken away
Enabling the departing soul some relief
Imparting it some peace before it sails away
But certain cruel times in mankind’s history
Make even this reprieve a forbidden luxury
The corona pandemic that has afflicted millions
Has gripped human heart with unknown fears
Such is the dread of contagion it creates
With Covid-19 one forfeits even one’s last rites.
No family member, no relative can even see the face
Of their loved one whom they held so dear once
Strange are the mysterious ways of destiny
Those who couldn’t ever imagine their existence
Without their pillar of strength and support
Had to abandon their hero to his lot
Strange are the enigmatic designs of Nature
Someone who was always there for everyone’s care
Had to be solitary with no kin around
And had to depart with an unbidden adieu.
Seema Jain is a bilingual poet writing in English and Hindi, a short story writer and a translator with four books of Hindi and English poems, one book of translation and two edited books. She recently retired as Associate Professor & Head, P G Dept of English at KMV Jalandhar with 39 years' experience of teaching English Literature and Language.
Her poems and short stories have been widely published, translated, anthologized and recited during International Poetry Conferences, Webinars, and on TV and radio. Recipient of many awards, she is the Founder President of Litspark: A Literary Forum.
Who is God?
Perhaps he is that tiny creature
Strutting around
In your veranda’s cage
That won't fly away even if set free
Perhaps he is that infant you last saw
Cooing, drooling, bawling
An unfixed head and gaze
Perhaps he is that woman
Knocking at your vehicle's
Window glass
with various artifacts,
Sun-burnt, turned down from car to car
Perhaps he that sapling
You water religiously, everyday
Sprouting out, seeking light
From the mud,
or maybe he is that mud itself
Perhaps he is that piece of furniture
You keep stubbing your toes on
And leave cursing every time
Perhaps he is that strange imagination
Inside of you that says "Forgive it"
Before you press on that toxic spray
Towards a rodent
Or Perhaps
He is simply you
Brushing off all such thoughts as insane ones...
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.
END OF THE TUNNEL
Bichitra Kumar Behura
He wants me here,
Whatever happens
I will stand still
Without uttering a word,
Waiting patiently
For this-time to pass off.
Have seen many cyclones
Walked miles in the desert,
Sick and thirsty,
Slept under the sky
Dreaming for a better day
In the next morning.
He doesn’t want me to cry
I should remain bold
Even if there is turmoil,
And misery everywhere.
I may not understand
He might be having some plans.
He should, at least know
I am little tired,
After all, I am not a god,
Just a simple human,
There is a limit I can stretch
Beyond which I may break.
How can He be helpless
Who can perform miracles
As a routine, every moment.
Let me stand and wait
Anytime,I may see the light,
At the end of the tunnel.
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
Yes it is
The harsh whisper
Of corona ,cruelty thy name
“I am the storm,
You human beings,
Withstand the storm “.
Bloody shit……
Dawn to dusk
Shamelessly change
hues after hues,
Shamelessly stealth,
shamelessly consume
the one who feeding you,
No diagnosis certain, neither medicines,
Everybody only talks.
Hackneyed collage
of street lectures,
Development still in embryo
2-Deoxy-D-glucose
why not to try ?
Why, what,
The narcicisst’s voice,
Echoing from all corners,
Add to the woes.
Treating doctor knows the best,
His editorial the finest
Trumpet need not be blown
To make the treating physician deaf
Dumb ,when exceeds 120 deci bells.
The pandemic invincible,
The people knowledgeable,
Corona making all narcissistic,
Pessimistic many
Optimistic few ?
The corona the way it is spreading,
making the life unpredictable
Difficult to reply
Corona’s query
“Yes of course,with defiant note,
I am the storm.”
And if no defeat,
The omnipotent corona,
The omnipresent Covld 19.
Would be without leash,
The death macabre,
Will be thunderous.
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.
in our
self made
self imposed
cocoons
of complacency
how well
we hide
cheating
ourselves..
hah!
all is well
with me
what if
the world
around
goes
haywire..
not lifting
a finger
to remove
the blinkers
blurring
our sight ...
how man,
the average
man
struggles
against
the system
that denies
his basic
rights
to live,
to breath
to get
proper
medical
aid . ...
how the
committed
crew
at work
struggle
for facilities
to reach out
to all...
God!
are you
watching
from above
this cruel
game
of hypocrisy
on one side
hapless cries
on the other..
Dr. Molly Joseph is a Professor, Poet from Kerala, who writes Travelogues, Short stories and Story books for children. She has published twelve books,10 Books of poems, a novel and a Story book for Children. She has won several accolades which include India Women Achiever’s Award 2020. She believes in the power of the word and writes boldly on matters that deal with the contemporary. She can be reached at E mail- mynamolly @gmail.com ; You tube- https://www.youtube.com/user/mynamolly
Whitish flowers lighten up the heart
The heavy branches sway, as a part
Pinkish flowers brighten up the land
Evergreen bushy trees stare and stand!
Light green leaves on branches, a few
Dark green leaves on trees, a good view
Yellowish green leaves certainly shine
Pale green leaves look pretty in a line!
Clean roads welcome travellers one side
With systematic methods, they do ride
Citizens who reside in a developed city
Blessed are those who live in sociality!
Progress states the state of any nation
The mankind's discipline makes a formation
A great view of the city is the soul's elation
It's not at all one man's wonderful creation!
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.
( photo credit: Shankar Ramakrishnan)
I looked at the void ahead
A wrinkled brow contorting my pretty face.
Pulling myself together, I tried to gauge the darkness,
And prayed for the Sun to show up.
There wasn't darkness yet around where I stood,
But there... up ahead,
Was nothing but gloom.
I moved on,
Had to, with Time.
There wasn't darkness yet around where I stood,
But I could still see, up ahead,
Only gloom.
What if Night engulfed me?
Should I stop, turn away, or turn around?
What would I need as talisman to keep me safe
In my journey through the ominous darkness?
And so the questions surged.
Oh, Govinda! Where are you?
Why don't you show up?
There wasn't darkness yet around where I stood,
But there... up ahead,
Was nothing but Gloom.
Govinda never came.
Bracing myself to face Fear of the Unknown,
I took a deep breath and willed my mind
To Silence.
Not a moment too soon,
For in that Quiet I heard a sound,
A strain of music so faint, so barely audible,
Yet had an assuring tenor to it.
Krishnamurari! The Flautist!
Comforted, I paused, and inhaled deeply again.
Hey, wasn't this where I had thought
The impending dark Fear was?
But there was no darkness around where I stood.
Only light!
I saw Light. Light smiled down at me.
Ghanashyama! Sundara!
So, hadn't I moved at all?
“And why not?” smiled Ghanashyama.
“You had, with Time, jostled along,
But always in dread of an adversity you feared
Would snatch your Happiness away.”
“You had moved on a great way with Time,
Yet, even once have you faced night
Around wherever you stood? Questioned He.
“So, what was that dark cloud hovering around me
Time through Time?”
Meghashyama smiled pityingly,
And I felt foolish for not having perceived Him.
But He took me into the fold
Of His strong arms in a tight, compassionate embrace,
Placed His warm lips upon my quivering ones,
And merged me unto Himself.
I had prayed for Govinda to show up
But I had failed to perceive Vibhavasu's light and warmth
Around me!
This beautiful, soft, comforting Luminescence that brought gladness
To all who came into its enfold was surely
Succour, Protection, Hope!
I saw Sunshine now,
I felt Sunshine, I was in Sunshine,
The source of all Love.
The source of all Love?
I looked around, then I looked within me... Sunshine? Sunshine!
Parasmai Jyotish!
I am Sunshine!
Vidya Shankar, a widely published Indian poet, writer, editor, 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.
Sleepless nights catching up swift
reflect that life is fading fast.
It goes hollow and dry
and in swelling sorrow heart when strays,
the soul wants to chase
its deepest desire of spiritual quest,
that once went back limping
as I was too busy to listen to Him
thinking that life is eternal music
and death, an unwritten song.
Wiles of devils acting smart
sending me to the brink
I might have sinned with my tongue
flawed in my thoughts
or digressed from my duties
and now weight of those regrets agonizing,
I want to confess; seek a date with God,
for I realize, deepest of joys lie only in His hold
which fact was hitherto veiled as fire by ashes
from my drunken senses, now awaken from stupor.
Pankajam, retired from BHEL as DM/Finance is a bilingual poet and novelist settled at Chennai, India. In addition to several poems, book reviews and articles published in national and international journals, she has twenty-four books to her credit, including thirteen books of poems, a translated poetry collection in French and three fictions in English. Three books on literary criticism viz., Femininity Poetic Endeavours, History of Contemporary Indian English Poetry-An Appraisal and Socio-Cultural Transition in Modern Indian English Writing & Translation discuss her works in detail. She has won many awards for poems and short stories including Rock Pebbles National Literary Award 2019.
Translation – Prabhanjan K. Mishra
In matters of love,
rare are the people
born with silver spoons….
the queen bee only is privy
of the flowers with honey-cores.
From a king to cowherd
who does not take his partner
to bed? Be it amid opulence,
be it in the field of standing crop,
be it a roadside night-shelter!
Love tastes divine, be it on
a houseboat or amid rolling country sides,
love weaves its nest like a weaver bird
in every corner of the life’s loop,
redolent with the fragrance of union.
The path to the supreme is laid
along the way to a pristine union.
Love rules eternal as the last residue
after sieving, sifting, boiling and decanting,
the seamless glue that joins hearts together.
Ecstasy in the love’s plateau,
bliss in love’s peak - sing hosanna to it
in every land, through civilizations;
none is spared from its magic, its mystic.
It has brought the kings to their knees,
the queens kissing humble feet;
the ultimate equalizer;
all serving as its slaves - from high
to low, from a king to beggar -
licking the same saucer of joy.
Love is earthy - down to earth,
an animal - as innocent,
a blessing for our uncertain length
of sojourn through the earth; begging us
to rock relishing it, roll cherishing it.
Making love is divine -
may it resonate with giggles of joy,
may it howl in pleasurable pain,
all but lead to an ultimate silence -
a pilgrimage, epiphany, communion.
(‘Maha Yoga’, the Odia poem of Runu Mohanty, is selected from her book SAHAJA SUNDARI. I found the poem resonate with surprising insights into the oldest human emotion called ‘Love’.)
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.
Humanities and Science encountered some day.
Everybody mumbled ‘no way, no way’.
Destiny made them meet each other.
That rendezvous made them treat each other.
Here begins the war of words,
mightier than the power of swords.
You have no cognitive effort, Humanities
You have no laboratory work, Humanities
You have no creative effort, Mr. Science.
You have no library work too, Mr. Science.
‘I aim for Nobel Prize’ retorts Science.
‘I aim for Booker Prize then’, rejoins Human Science.
Eh Humanities, I am a physical scientist.
Oh, then I am a liberal scientist.
Humanities won’t surrender at any cost
and Science will never get lost.
Situation gets complicated
and their queries become outdated.
The docile Humanities feels profound sorrow
and the dominant Science feels too narrow.
Science screams – We are always in fire, you know.
Humanities consoles- We are like water to extinguish the fire, you know.
Conversation takes a new U turn…
For Science to learn/earn?
Humanities decides to conquer Science’s dark territory
And Science discloses Humanities his hurry burry.
There springs a gradual symphony
of their mutual harmony.
Calyx and Corolla are lovelier like a red -red rose pulsation.
Carbylamine reaction is sweeter like a morpheme formation.
Complements do coexist
So, do Humanities and Science exist.
Humanities when equated with Science
destroys the very semantics of superficial signs.
They should not be kept in two compartments
Instead should be kept in same apartments.
Let them feel they are not above or below par,
They are and they can only be in par.
Humanities weds science
as bride wins prejudice.
Science conspires within the alchemy of Humanities
giving way for adorable and astounding ties.
Let them trail a new path of heart and brain intact.
Let them trace a new journey of emotion and intellect.
Let them exemplify the ‘Ardhanareeshwara’ myth
and prove their mutual worth.
Humanities is for science’s sake
And never for anything to fake.
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.
There's a verse in every bloom
A sonnet in every tree
A fable in every jungle
It's just yet for us to unveil it and see
There's a rune in every word
A mellow in every phrase
Lyrics in every book
It's just the difference in outlooks
Cause there is always more than what one displays
There's rhythm in every sound
And ode in every throbbing heart
Motifs in every forming wave
There's always a hidden vibe in every single art
And just as there is marvel
In every new life created
There is sorrow and gloom
For the unsaid and the one's cremated
Yet life continues the same
For the ones who conquer what's fated
Just listen for the music
That your ears cannot hear
Just seek yourself for the melody
That's far apart yet you feel it so near
The artistry of the creator
The enchant of the divine
It's here, it's everywhere
It just awaits us to recognise it's shine!
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.
Summer Flamboyance
Seeking connections
Spreading affection
Devoid of ignorance
Blooming in every fashion
Colour of love and passion
Fiery scarlet
Flame of the forest
Exhibiting energy in abundance
Full of enthusiasm
Bloom in the month of May
Carpeting the earth as they play
Sunkissed flowers
Fall in every nook and corner
A fascinating sight
As they spread with all their might
Auburn umbrellas at every corner
As the days get warmer.
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
YUGA PURUSHA AS A DIVINE CHILD
KRISHNA is the World’s most beautiful Song
Beautiful song of the God child
Who wanted to play with the moon
And not its reflection in the mirror
When shown innocently by mother Yashoda
Though the child dazzled
Like thousand splendid moons !...
Beautiful song of the God child
Who wanted to masticate the mud
Like the cow delightfully chewing the cud
Yashoda it was who was real time dazzled
When she saw in his mouth entire Universe
Churned in a thousand splendid verse !...
Beautiful song of the God child
Who stole gleaming butter from mud pot
No matter where it was hidden He was on the spot
Yashoda who came to beat had to hastily retreat
Seeing His face buttered with thousand divine designs ! ...
Beautiful song of the Celestial God Child
Who in Gokula was a veritable darling of the Gopikas
Drinking milk from the hay laden cow sheds
Yashoda seeing in his form a thousand Glorious Gopalas ! ...
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.
A friend turned a stranger
Covered in dark mist he dozed off.
The curves, ups and downs
The ellipsis , straight and narrow
Night turned astringent as you smiled
Your face was red and blue
Mine stayed dead white till
The swirl of the dark mist lifted.
The city strained its rickety fingers
To clutch a fistful of sky
But retreated to a blue-red night.
A poet** wrote about a birch tree,
its branches bent down on earth
by swinging little children
The poet left it there long back..
I never went near that tree though
sometimes when the weather
was clear and the sun shone,
I saw the bent- down branches
through the window of my room.
I could never crack the secret whether incessant rains or gusty wind
or the kids bent them so low .
There was never a simple answer.
Why a promise was never kept,
Why precious moments freeze
in to cold icy-sheets of memory,
Why an emptiness pervades.....
(** ‘Birch Trees’ by Robert Frost)
Abani Udgata ( b. 1956) retired as a Principal Chief General Manager of the Reserve Bank of India. in December 2016. 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. He can be contacted at his email address abaniudgata@gmail.com
My Mother, a strong soul,
My heartfelt thank you,
For giving me all love,
Will this thank you note suffice?
You nurtured me,
You supported me,
You were iron-willed,
You were inflexible.
You had the lustre within,
You were vivacious,
You sculptured me righteous,
You were my ideal mentor.
Your heart a safety locker, yes, your heart,
You might have possessed, implicit emotions,
Unvoiced desires, undeclared aims,
Have I ever asked? Ah! I doubt.
Now I sit and ponder,
You melted into thin air,
Without sharing all those,
Just memories remain.
This love has ended,
You ceased to be visible,
I talk to you in silence, now
Your blessings are all that I need.
A cheerful Biochemist and Molecular Biologist, Dr. Thirupurasundari C J (Dazzle) has a university rank and gold medal in her Bachelors and Masters respectively. She fetched her state and national level fellowships for Doctoral studies. She started her research and teaching experience at a Diabetes Research Hospital. She is recognised as someone who teaches with passion. She took this ethos to a school and also excelled as Assistant Professor in a reputed University, Chennai and then for a brief stint at the Vector Control Research Centre, Puducherry. She has PG diplomas in Bioinformatics, Clinical Research and Patent Rights. She has participated in national and international scientific conferences and has published her research findings in peer-reviewed journals. Cancer, Diabetes and Horticulture are the fields, she has traversed. The last of which is being put to use currently at the Indian Institute of Horticultural Research. Her other passions include yoga, sudoku, poetry, sketching, gardening and experimenting new cuisines. Besides a freelancer, science content writer, an editor for “Science Shore” e-zine, she has published her oeuvres in Bangalore Poetry Circle (Antargata), Adisakrit (Green Awakenings), Positive vibes, Chennai Poets’ Circle (Efflorescence), Indian Periodicals, International Writers Journal, Inner Child Press International, INNSAEI, Spillwords and other anthology groups. Her oeuvres are also available on literary platforms like Muse India-Your Space, Story mirror, Pratilipi and others. She draws inspiration from others!
Gazing dreamily this morning at her portrait,
Wished I pen a few verses from my heart, straight...
In memory of the wonderful noble soul
That selflessly served the family her lifetime whole.
Pat then I heard an inner voice with awe:
" Thou art a poem thyself, Ma"!
Love, care and grace all exemplified,
You're beauty, intellect and modesty personified!
Whatever good I see on this planet, a feast
You've epitomised Ma, to say the least!
For all your words and deeds were true, with no stake
When you're not around, I find it's all fake!
Left no note nor a recipe for your dishes delicious
As ever supplemented with your love copious.
Many an occasion, normal, festive or auspicious,
Proved your absence in our midst conspicuous!
Cared and protected me when in your womb with umbilical cord
And all your life, latterly, too, as if it were a written accord!
Wish and pray nature gifts you a re-birth
To be my mom again on this supreme earth!
Bereft, as I am, I seek thy blessings till then, day after day,
For, every day is Mother's Day!
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
He planted me with love and care,
I was so contented to be there...
Be it the wind, fungus or termite,
He protected me with all his might...
My life was quite secure,
As he was always there with me for sure...
But one day was quite strange,
He was nowhere to be seen in my range,
I suddenly got his sight,
And my heart was again filled with delight,
But on the parallax,
In his hand he had an axe...
He cut my trunk in a motion slow,
But broke my heart in just one go...
Hiya Khurana is 14 yrs old and is studying in 10th Standard. She developed an interest in writing since a very young age. She enjoys writing essays and poems. She started writing poems at the age of 10. She likes reading short stories and poems. She won an essay writing competition at the age of 8. She has also won many school level speech competitions in English as well as in Hindi. She represented her school and backed a position in the Top 10 in a national Hindi speech competition held last year. She is also interested in painting and crafting. She has won many school level drawing competitions. She also enjoys playing chess and has participated in an inter school chess competition as well. She has won chess awards at the school level.
Charming and elegant.
Greeny beauty as hope.
Fragrance like Camphor.
Valuable and blessing for all,
Like an eternal medicine.
Unlucky to curse my God,
Still lucky to be his consort.
‘He’, the Ultimate power,
Lovable and kind,
To His devotees.
Being a garland for my Supreme.
Became a sacred plant-
A sign of spirituality.
I am the Goddess Lekshmi.
Once named as Vrinda.
Later became Thulasi…
The gem of my Krishna.
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.
Carrying today
The burden of bright future
School bags
------------
All day long
Pulling my ears
Ear rings
-----------
Sea side view
Lost all day gazing
Office laptop
-----------
Morning walk
Following me closely
Passing cloud's shadow
----------
Urban beautification
Birds miss their meeting point
Overhead wires
----------
Bane of agelessness
Seeing your comrades perish
Plastic
-----------
Shivering
With the cold breeze
Tender leaves
----------
First date
during the wait with me
My beating heart
----------
Rainy day
Under the weather
Sun
Ritika likes to find an unusual angle in the usual things. Her work is mostly written in hindi and english, but she likes experimenting in other languages as well. Her articles are often published in the newspaper ‘The Hitavada’. Her poems can be found under the pen name ‘Rituational’ in Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rituational and in her blog: http://songssoflife.blogspot.com/ & Her Contact: ritika.sriram1@gmail.com
A silence marked the beginning
"An era has passed" sighed the heart,
"only one revolution" corrected the mind
And now a silence grips again
The last light remains,
Will the darkness engulf?
Or the light consume?
"Your command, Sire" Fate whispered.
Wanting neither, he stood gazing, unable to speak,
Alas the eternal dillema!
could he escape consequences of his choices
If Only......
Arpit is an aspiring poet, who pens his views in couplets and short poems.. his creations are mostly in hindi and a few in English. You can get glimpses of his work on https://www.instagram.com/lostmindwanderer/
FLORENCE WHERE DREAMS CLING TO THE AIR
A soft foray into plumed time
brings wonderful recompense,
myriad hues of great cities in Western lands
flash in my mind and fill it with mirth.
Yet I pine for the fairest of them all,
paucity of time didn't allow me to drink it's nectar of beauty to the full,
the blessed land hallowed by the imprints of greatest poets and artists of yore,
Florence, city of unparalleled hue,
In your superb lanes traversed Dante and Petrarch, Leonardo, Michel Angelo,
Renaissance in various gamuts rolled in full measure.
New vibrations set in,
art, paintings and sculptures saw enraptured heights,
freedom, fragrance and frivolities marked the time as never before.
Had I more time,
would have gazed at the cathedral for a full night and day,
inhaled the fine air of palaces where great arts of Uffizi lay,
feigned friendship with David, roamed Medici's square,
visited the guilds and city Hall where Leonardo and Angelo competed with new fervour.
You didn't wait a bit, O time,
never waited for mighty kings and generals,
The great art works at Uffizi had me bewildered,
Fortunate am I to have a passing glimpse of the works of great artists.
If there is a chance anew
I'll flee to the splendid lap of city of pure beauty,
traverse the entire city on foot,
drunk with sheer artistry,
don't know whether such a fortune lies in store for me.
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.
The Moon appeared walking near the window
Of the house I was in, on my exploration,
A serene sweet face
The glimpse opened the door in my heart before she entered the door
Her eyes were sparkling, bewitching smiles were coloring her lips rosy and gentle.
Dressed in a white somber sari with a narrow border like a rivulet in a scenic village
No bindi, no vermilion on her forehead,
Privilege withdrawn since long by God
Simplicity oozed out of her eyes ingrained from toes to head.
Was an introduction necessary?
We felt introduced to each other
Knew each other for ages
We talk and talk,
Is there anything sweeter than sweet talk?
Our talks unending as if we were first time lovers.
She caressed my head, combed my hair with her delicate fingers
Took my hands into hers
First time meet but talking heart to heart
We are more than friends
She so dear to me and I to her
I must then go to her house adjacent,
A small thatched house of mud
Where the serene Moon lives all by herself
Where she stays put in her own universe.
I must sure sit with her in her small mundane dwelling
No Sofa ,no Cot
But tidy and neat her thatched hut
She pulls me to sit close to her on a desi mat
As if for ages she has not seen a fellow mate
So she pulls my hand and I have to follow suit,
Forgetting the social distance nuts and bolts of Covid protocols
There in her hut she would more pour out her heart
How suffocated she had felt in her first and last Cinema Hall visit
In her new avatar of a young bride with her sweet-heart
Quite far from her rural villa in the small town of the upcoming port
Could not relish the cat calls and blowing whistles of the frenzied lads
Why not stay at your cottage, with your peace not bartered?
She had been left alone early when her husband left for the heavenly abode,
She lived with many a woes, but tiny hut was her great solace and support
The paternal property her husband had inherited in which as the queen she had ruled,
Here he had worked hard to dig a pond and grow vegetables for a livelihood
Of course neighborhood was there to extend a helping hand
She has not left her homestead to see the outer world or any other part of the motherland ,
Got peace and fulfillment in that thatched palace and its backyard ,
Where fish swims and jumps to show its silverface
And on the branches of tree sing symphony the colourful birds ,
That is her world , the heaven on the Earth !
But of late , there has been the sound of the boots and bayonets ,
the Khaki flag march,
The noise of sound of people, cries of men ,women and children ,
of firing shots from goons sarakari and besarakari and their tossles
Have learnt how a few village lads fell to the bullets or pellets,
To leave that small palace, pond and land, she has got a ticket
For a pucca house in a colony makeshift .
My sweet daughter, nay my granddaughter, can’t you stop it?
Let me enjoy my few more days with his memory on the soil here where he did his life’s toil
I don’t want any Company or sarkari doles ,
I live simple with my small villa here ,my peace palace
Don’t need a town , I cannot stand the sound of the psychophrenic catcalls
Heaven is my palli , my small patch of soil .
Before parting I take a piece of paan from her hand
Assuring that I will paint her words and woes in my research paper,
Which would be read world over
The serene moon face went on flashing in my mind ever and ever thereafter,
My research paper did linger
Case studies one after another!
But Moon was the brighter than all to whom I run to show the finished chapters
The rendezvous with her
My degree and her face in the published cover
Lo, there was the Earth, Sun and Sky, but Moon nowhere
No cottage, no pond, no tree, no creeper as the roof cover
There were Khaki Uniforms, Boots and a big Bulldozer
To the village folks she was the lost soldier to fight the war against power
To my question, where was the Moon,
At the Sky a villager pointed his finger
To another she had joined there as a Star!
(From the recount of my daughter, who is a researcher, a DU Ph.D. Scholar)
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
Such a devastating pandemic,
Life throttled time & again feeling sick,
How to face the situation ?
Before the world A big question ???
Countries adopting mass vaccination,
Populous countries gasping in the situation,
Life can't survive without oxygen,
Lungs are damaged beyond imagination,
Acute crisis for Artificial oxygen ,
Life under severe pressure & tension,
Helpless doctors advising self isolation,
Face Masks & routinely sanitation,
The system collapsing under severe pressure,
No one ever imagined such a tiny viral war,
How can be nature be so cruel ?
Leaving the humanity to suffer the sad gruel ,
Countless dead bodies on the pyre,
Insanity spreading threatening life with venomous ire,
Death playing it's loud music of funeral songs,
Will life be able to face the pandemic affecting the human lungs ?
A big question before the universe,
Whether the universe will survive or perish ?
Still Hope the last word in the human dictionary,
Let us hope the pandemic leaves soon to nature's mortuary,
What a white beauty before eyes,
Attracting everyone to have a glimpse,
Love flows like a cascade,
A Soulfully sublime arcade,
Displaying her beautiful petals,
She sings the muse of her soul,
A butterfly kisses the pollens,
Honeybee flock to suck the nectar,
Rose is a dream flower,
Turns the ailing heart to power,
Love flies in abundance,
Souls dance in great craze & poise,
Soothing appealing to every soul,
Fragrance pervades the atmosphere from the silken petals,
Eases the tensions of the hearts,
Once again the soulful bytes,
What a beauty before the eyes,
Twinkling & smiling with magnanimity,
The perfume packed twirl since infinity,
Sri Akshaya Kumar Das is poet from Bhubaneswar , Odisha the author of "The Dew Drops" available with amazon/flipkart/snapdeal published by Partridge India in the year 2016. Sri Das is a internationally acknowledged author with no. of his poems published in India & abroad by Ardus Publication, Canada. Sri Das is conferred with "Ambassador of Humanity" award by Hafrican Peace Art World, Ghana. Sri Das organised a Intenational Poetry Festival in the year 2017 under the aegis of Feelings International Artist's Society of Dr.Armeli Quezon held at Bhubaneswar. Sri Das is presently working as an Admin for many poetry groups in Face Book including FIAS & Poemariam Group headed by Dr.N.K.Sharma. Receipent of many awards for his contribution to English literature & world peace. Now Organising a fortnightly P.R.O.P. for promotion of budding & aspiring poets & authors in Poemariam Poetry Page. A featured poet of Pentasi B Group. Sri Das presently retired Insurance Manager residing at Bhubaneswar.
THE FOOTSTEPS
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
All of today
and last night
and the nights before that,
for many many days
I lie at the bottom of the wardrobe
amidst old clothes
I may or may not wear again
Curled with memories
I may or may not visit again.
I lie with a quivering heart
dreading the footsteps
that may come
to tell me that the hearse is ready,
waiting at the doorstep
to join the caravan of sorrowful shadows
trudging painfully on the path
darkened by unlit stars.
I lie with a nagging fear
that the footsteps may not come
to assure me all is well,
small smiles floating in the air,
little lights peeping from fleeing shadows
children playing in the park
their thin shouts muted by layers of hanging clouds.
that life still lives
in the broken down carts of street vendors
and the whimper of the occasional passing cars.
I still lie here,
my mind a bottomless pit of despair
dreading the footsteps
that may or may not come.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing short stories and managing the website PositiveVibes.Today. He has published eight books of short stories in Odiya and has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj.
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