Literary Vibes - Edition CVI (25-Jun-2021) - POEMS
Title : Siblings (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
Dear Readers,
I have great pleasure in presenting to you the 106th edition of LiteraryVibes, filled with beautiful poems, excellent short stories, entertaining anecdotes and enjoyable travelogues. Hope you will like them and give your feedback in the Comments section at the bottom of the web page. Due to the large number of articles received, we have divided the eMagazine into two parts. You will find the poems at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/384 and the other articles at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/385
On the occasion of the World Ocean Day on 08 June, Admiral RK Dhowan, former Chief of Indian Navy and Debi Padhi, a retired Naval Aviator, had contributed three interesting articles to PositiveVibes on the strategic importance of the Indian Ocean. They can be accessed at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/382
"An Encounter with Love - Through Forty Awe-Inspiring Principles" is a brilliant article by Ms. Lipsa Mahanty, an alumnus of Delhi's Lady Shri Ram College and a senior executive of CitiBank. I have published it in PositiveVibes at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/383 It is certainly worth a reading.
I am delighted to welcome a large number of new poets and writers in this edition. Ms. Lora Mishra, Ms. Akankshya Arunima, Ms. Akshara Rai and Ms. Sruti Sharma are students of MBBS at the Institute of Medical Sciences and SUM Hospital, Bhubaneswar. Talented, promising poets and writers, they have been introduced to LiteraryVibes by their Dean, Prof. Gangadhar Sahoo who himself writes spellbinding anecdotes in every edition of the Magazine. Ms. Vinita Venkataraman from Mumbai is a seasoned poet and writer who has many publications to her credit. Ms. Sheila Chacko Kallivayalil from Mundakayam, Kerala is a travel enthusiast whose article on the Andamans in today's edition is a huge entertainer. Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dash, a retired IAS officer from Bhopal, is a prolific writer who has taken to serious writing after his retirement. He has published ten books including a very useful best-seller on how to self-publish a book. Mr. Debasish Samantaray is a celebrated, award winning writer of Odisha, who is also the chief organiser of the annual Kalinga Literary Festival. Prof. Dr. Sidhartha Das, a renowned Medicine Specialist in Cuttack, Odisha, has a deep interest in literature and has penned many poems and stories. We look forward to seeing more of him on our pages in future. Shri Shivanand Achrya from Nagpur, a retired Bank officer and Shri Satish Pashine, a metallurgical engineer cum Entrepreneur from Bhubaneswar, are passionate about literature. LiteraryVibes is indeed lucky to attract such a galaxy of talent for this edition. We are happy to have them in our midst and wish all of them spectacular success in their literary career.
Dear Readers, I am terribly sad to inform that we have lost two of our members of the LiteraryVibes family to the cruel devastation of Corona. Dr. Harish Patnaik and Dr. Debasis Panigrahi had contributed articles to this eMagazine in the past. They were also close personal friends of mine. Dr. Patnaik, a retired CGM of SBI used to live a few houses away from ours in Bhubaneswar. Every morning, after their morning walk, he and Bhabhiji would come to visit his sister in the ground floor of our house. Right at the gate he would shout, "Mrutyunjay, come down for tea, jaldi!" They would often drop in again in the evenings at our place for long chats over cups of tea and plates of hot pakoda. His death was completely unexpected, he had no history of any co-morbidity and was a very positive, pleasant person. Ever since the fateful day of 2nd June, I have often felt that he has not left us and if I look out I might see him at the gate along with Bhabhiji, asking me to come down "jaldi" to join them for tea.
Dr. Debasis Panigrahi was a renowned poet, writer and film lyricist of Odisha who also happened to be an IPS officer. We had a lot of admiration for each other as writers of Odia short stories. Hearing that he was down with Corona I had sent him a get-well message on 8th June. He was airlifted to Kolkata for advanced treatment but succumbed to the disease on 18th June. When I heard the news at eleven in the night, I was devastated. I could not sleep for a long time. Listless, I kept tossing on the bed. Around 2 am I suddenly sat up, jolted with the thought, had he seen my message? Just out of a whim I opened WhatsApp and checked. He had neither seen it nor replied to it. I realised it would never happen. My heart was filled with an infinite sadness at this finality, the cruelty of eternal silence.
Please join me in praying to God to rest these noble souls in peace.
Isn't it a wonder that despite the cruel and dreadful footfalls of Corona, poets and writers of LiteraryVibes still keep dreaming, conjuring up beautiful poems and stories, celebrating life and living? They remind me of the beautiful lines of Ms. Brahmotri Mahanty (1934-2010), one of the greatest Odia poets of all times,
"Aamara ki mrutyu achhi,
Mrutyu achhi aama rupa labanyara
Aame ki hajiba diney Bardhyakara gahana andharey,
Harai madhabi geeti,
Asambhaba, asambhaba eha,
Chiradina doluthiba
Pushpara dolarey,
Tarunyara binara jhankarey"
"Will it ever happen,
will death ever knock at our door,
will our looks and beauty wilt
before its stern gaze?
Will footfalls of time ever take us
to the deep, dark recesses of oldness
trampling on soft petals of soulful songs?
No, never, never will we fall for its wilyness,
never will it kill our spirit.
We will look at it with defiance,
we will soar on the swing of flowers
we will sing the songs of eternal youth.
And keep flying on
the wings of immortality."
(A feeble translation of the powerful Odia poem attempted by me.)
Let us salute this indomitable spirit of mankind. We know ultimately it will win over the forces of evil. Let's wait for that blessed day.
Meanwhile enjoy the delectable fare offered in LV106. Please share the links with your friends and contacts, with a reminder that all the previous 105 editions of the eMagazine are available at http://www.positivevibes.today/literaryvibes Let LV spread its joy everywhere, in every nook and corner where literature gets a space to breathe.
Take care, stay safe.
We will meet again next month on the last Friday, the 30th July.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
TABLE OF CONTENTS - POEMS
01) Prabhanjan Kumar Mishra
NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION
02) Haraprasad Das
GOODBYE (BIDAAYA)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
TOUCHPOINTS
04) Bibhu Padhi
A SONG FOR DURYODHANA
05) Ajay Upadhyaya
MEMORIES
06) Madhumathi. H
MOON SONG...
THE FLOWER-SELLER
RAIN SOLVES. RAIN DISSOLVES...
07) Sundar Rajan
FLANNELED FAME
GUIDING LIGHT
08) Sharanya Bee
SYNONYMITY
09) P. K. Dash
RIVER SONG
09) Vinitha Venkatraman
A LETTER FROM JOY
10) Prof. Dr. Sidhartha Das
THE BARREN TREE
11) Lora Mishra
PRISON WARS
12) Akankshya Arunima
TO WHOEVER IT MAY CONCERN
13) Akshara Rai
LOST IN THE HORIZON
14) Sundar, Padmini, Gita & Anju
TRANSIENCE
15) Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura
MY LOVE IS TRUE
16) Hema Ravi
BACK AND FORTH
17) Dr. Molly Joseph M
TRIPLE LOCKDOWN..
18) Ayana Routray
JUST THE SMILE
19) Setaluri Padmavathi
SUNSHINE
20) S Ritika
THE PICTURE ON THE WALL
21) Abani Udgata
PRE- MONSOON 2021
22) Sheena Rath
RAINBOW
23) Rangamani N
LOCKED DOWN IN SOLITUDE
24) Seema Jain
THE FURY
SOMETHING THERE IS
THE ARENA
25) Asha Raj Gopakumar
TO A DESOLATE SOUL
26) V. Vishakha Devi
WAR OF WORDS
27) Pradeep Rath
AS LIFE FLOATS
28) Prof Niranjan Barik
THE CAMPUS DETOUR: THE DIL DOES NOT ASK FOR MORE
29) Akshaya Kumar Das
CARDNAL TRUTHS
SURFING TIDES
30) Ravi Ranganathan
STAY WINTER, STAY
31) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE DEAD MINUTE
TABLE OF CONTENTS - ARTICLES
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
GURUJI
02) Geetha Nair G.
ATONEMENT
03) Dilip Mohapatra
HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE
04) Sreekumar K
IN, OUT AND IN BETWEEN
AN ENTOMOLOGIST RECALLS
05) Ishwar Pati
FAST FORWARD
06) Dr Ajay Upadhyaya
A POINT OF VIEW
07) Debasish Samantaray
THE GAME
08) P. K. Dash
INVISIBLE POET
09) Vinitha Venkatraman
WELCOME TO PROSE & POETRY CLASS - AN ALTERNATE REALITY!
10) Shruti Sarma
MAJULI,THE LARGEST RIVER ISLAND OF THE WORLD
11) Satish Pashine
WELCOME TO ODISHA!
12) Shivanand Acharya
JHINGRU
13) Shiela Chacko Kallivayalil
ANDA(WOMAN) TRAVELS
14) Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo
GIRL FRIEND
15) Dr. Prasanna Kumar Sahoo
I WILL TELL THE TRUTH
16) Lt Gen N P Padhi (Retd).
FIVE MIGRANTS
17) Lathaprem Sakhya
KANAKA'S MUSINGS :: THE AZURE POT
18) Gourang Charan Roul
HARBINGER OF MULTICULTURALISM: DIWALI AND HALLOWEEN
19) Ramesh Chandra Panda
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE - THINGS OFFERED TO LORD SHIVA
20) Sundar Rajan
THE READER IN ME
21) Nikhil M Kurien
MOHINIYATTAM
22) Padmini Janardhanan
IN CONVERSATION :: BELIEVE – SHOULD WE?
IN CONVERSATION :: PRETENCES ARE NOT NEEDED.
23) Debjit Rath
THE PIED PIPER – NOT A FAIRY TALE
24) Satya Narayan Mohanty
THE NIGHT OF DAGGERS
25) Setaluri Padmavathi
KINDS OF PEOPLE
26) Supriya Pattanayak
CLASSIC LITERATURE: TO READ OR NOT TO READ
27) Prof (Dr) Viyatprajna Acharya
SHACKLE OF DEATH
28) S Ritika
THE SECRET RECIPE
29) Meera Raghavendra Rao N
AN INDO-AMERICAN GIRL’S PERCEPTION OF LIFE IN CHENNAI
30) Sukumaran C.V.
THE DREAM VANISHED
31) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE TERRORIST
BOOK REVIEW
01) CORONA TIMES; SHORT STORIES AND POEMS; BY LT GENERAL N.P.PADHI.
a) Review by Shri Ritesh Mishra, Commissioner of Income Tax Appeals, Surat
b) REview by Dr Surendra Nath Pathi
Am I a man, woman, or a eunuch?
All I know, I am ‘the’ numero uno;
ah, my prima-donna posturing
in swanky clothes!
Call me the poster boy out of fear,
prince of fake, the Time’s pin-up girl,
the show-stealer of world-ramps;
but I don’t like to be the joker of the pack?
What I eat? A little rice-gruel!
What I drink? A drop of Aqua Pura!
Who are my friends? The dour faced colleagues.
I love to see only my own face in the mirror.
Son of a poor mother, sleeps alone
without a partner; bayonets and guns
my bedfellows in my bullet-proof bedroom.
Wife? Name: Chimera, address: unmentionable.
My dresses stitched in Paris,
shoes Gucci, watch Cartier,
sunglasses Chopard; my brand -
expensive poverty(!), I don, people pay.
That’s all my window dressing,
my inner world, a dismal clutter
of a charlatan, a fake soothsayer
who parrots hollow homilies.
Sieged by a Betal, carried by a Hanuman,
clothed by a Dushasan, I can’t lift a finger
when Draupadi is disrobed, can’t
lament for a man lynching in cold blood.
Made famous by dirty-trick-men,
the handmaidens of my man Friday,
I languish, white-washed by machination
of the makers of Nirma and other suit-boot-walas.
Do I miss Chimera? My wife, once
upon a time! Am I a messed up Siddharth?
He left his Rahul and Yashodhara.
But another Rahul and a Yashoda haunt me.
My lies often underscore the truth,
like undressing before the all-seeing God.
Will my epitaph read - ‘Here lies
the master-liar… in eternal piss (sic)’?
Would I be my people’s last straw?
Or they, the last nails into my coffin?
Would I push them down to hell?
Or they, lift me to the heaven?
How would I like dying?
Burnt by the fire of kindness,
drowned in a lake of truth, or naked
as I was born at my mother’s holy thighs.
So, this First of January
I resolve to take home
my orphaned truth –
not a lie, never a lie again.
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.
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
I won’t be there by morning,
sweetheart –
let me go without saying adieu
leaving my used empty cup
on your silver tray,
the witnesses of my parting.
Your search for me
would turn futile -
neither my friends,
nor the new dawn
or the alert old Peepal,
would know my whereabouts;
none would know if I took to left,
or to the right, was on steady feet,
if my clean white jacket
and the dark moonless night
adequately hid my burn-sores
of your heated words and harshness.
Didn’t I tell you -
I had to leave,
while picking bones
from your fish curry, or choking
over the moist moles
on your capacious thighs?
During your pleasure trips,
deafened by your own heartbeats,
you gave a damn
to my entreaties;
for you, just the whine
of a machine.
Listen, ’am returning
to my land where lie my roots;
don’t look for me,
and God bless. Don’t open
your fragile heart’s door
to any Tom, Dick, or Harry.
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)”
The other day when
I turned sixty nine
and I sat down to take stock
of the touchpoints that we continue to share
and tried to make a new inventory
I couldn’t find many
which could be jotted down
and an almost bare sheet
of paper stared back at me.
No longer we sit on the
rusty and weather beaten bench
hand in hand
under the acacia tree
in the corner of the park
looking at the moon through
its branches swimming
against the gossamer clouds
as a faint yet familiar tune wafts in
from a distant flute.
The rides on our old second hand
Lambretta in the narrow
lanes of Fort Cochin
in the small hours
soaking wet in the downpours
look so very remote and fuzzy
nor do we take any more
alternate licks
of the silky smooth ‘softy’
overflowing off
the waffle cone.
But still you need my unsteady hand
to pull up
an obstinate zipper on your hoody
before we go for our walk
that we still take together
in the wintry mornings
and when we return home
to insert the key in the lock
with fidgety fingers
to open the door
and then we sit together
reminiscing our visit to
the Sistine chapel at Vatican
and wondering
what could have happened
if God’s outstretched hand
didn’t touch Adam’s
and then we switch on
our audio system
to listen to devotional songs
from the YouTube juke box
playing through Bluetooth.
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.
You remain alone inside
your own history.
You are jealous as a cat,
corrupt like human flesh.
You continue to live within
your indestructible shell of anger,
never to be touched without
consequence, rarely discovered.
They never told us
more than this.
But in some of our unusual dreams,
in which things are not
what we’ve been told
they should be,
you move with the wind
over the tall arrow grass
your broad face shining
in the sun’s borrowed light,
your finger and toes
still dripping wet
from the viscous stuff
of the river of blood
that on your son’s
cold body you swam across
to arrive at what now is part
of our exceptional dreams.
Duryodhana, the eldest of the hundred Kaurava brothers in the Indian epic, Mahabharata, was a character at once villainous and tragic.
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.
It hardly matters by what name
you call me;
for, it’s a meaningless mark.
That, my fading face has latched on
to some syllables
in your mind’s scrapbook,
means the world
to me.
Names change with the mood,
meanings multiply with time.
But nothing
can erase the marks,
left behind,
when you
caressed me,
with your thoughts.
Dr. Ajaya Upadhyaya from Hertfordshire, England. A Retired Consultant Psychiatrist from the British National Health Service and Honorary Senior Lecturer in University College, London.
As the moon plays hide and seek
Humming lullabies for the stars
In a language soaked in light, and love
My heart sways gently, like those trees
Silhouettes of my dreams, my tomorrows
Flash upon the night sky
Lit by the mesmerising moon...
Silence like diamonds, studded upon the celestial art
Winks, smirks and laughs at the chaos below
I cringe at the world's cacophony
Crave for moon songs...
I know am hidden as a line
In one of those lullabies
I know am becoming a song
In search of the voice waiting for me
That plays hide and seek, too...
Everyday
He lives with colors, scents
That bear Nature's art
In each magical fold
Glistening in the sun
Raindrops fed
Cold wind, and warm afternoons
Pleasant evenings
Nostalgic moonrise
Always with them...
He goes back to his nest
With the unsold ones
Without telling the world
Sometimes
The fragrances
Aren't sweet, or soothing
To the flower-seller
But the stench of poverty
Fills his home
And the helpless flowers
Dumped in a corner
Look sad, and apologetic...
RAIN SOLVES. RAIN DISSOLVES...
Everytime the sky pours ecstasy, petrichor penetrates the heart, waking up the silent memories that wear sepia colored scarves, from the loom of misty forevers...
Like moments, the raindrops fall, and flow; they all arrive together, but each drop chooses its tiny space to land on, whispering stories, and sweet secrets of the sky into the earth's curious ear...
How beautifully woven is the fabric of rain, the silver threads spaced in finesse, flowing like a glass tapestry!
When it rains, the soul tastes the nectar of eternity in a moment, knowing, we are evaporating each day, drop by drop, to rain from another sky, and another sky, and another...
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
This young Indian Brigade proved too fearless,
Not swayed by soothsayers with credentials,
To serve a breather for Flanneled Test Cricket.
Undaunted by early dismal fiasco,
Resolved strategies to turn victorious,
This young Indian Brigade proved too fearless.
Stout of heart and steely will resolved to show,
Dreams are Realities disguised for triers,
To serve a breather for Flanneled Test Cricket.
The feared bowlers found the batsmen in full flow,
Disheartened, they appeared laborious,
This young Indian Brigade proved too fearless.
The Aussies, battered, bruised ne'er sensed the blow,
Mowed them down, the Indians, tenacious,
To serve a breather for Flanneled Test Cricket.
Sensing the true spirit of sports in full glow,
In disbelief, all found this incredulous.
This young Indian Brigade proved too fearless,
To serve a breather for Flanneled Test Cricket.
The sky turned reddish hue at the horizon,
Musical waves welcoming the summer Sun,
Serenely rising, laying golden carpet,
Dancing to the musical waves, unchartered.
Soon a flicker of light silently emerged,
Igniting in me a spark very profound.
"Reach out like me within"it seemed to convey,
"You will be the lord of all that you survey."
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.
In dragging steps he's walked around the place,
The whole locality was his home
Slept on cemented roadside benches
Abandoned building verandahs
Shabbily clothed, the bearded man
Has never been seen in conversation with another
His face covered in silver streaks of hair
He made no eye contact with any
Been around for so many years
He's not an object of curiosity anymore
A wandering ghost, disrupting no flow
The prodigy of an elitist clan,
Genius gone haywire,
Betrayed by the beloved
And so the tales of hearsay go
Now he's an addition to the many
Contorted lives I know.
Walking past his unbearable stench
Along the other side of the road,
To me
The term 'pathetic genius'
Doesn't seem oxymoronic anymore
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.
You may not believe it,
But I was born beautiful.
Alas, no album with me
To convince you.
Many who frolicked with me
Are no more,
Go check with those few,
with failing vision, and wrinkled skins,
Bhairon Singh and Bhagat,
Walking with a limp and a stick,
With distant memories still faithful and radiant,
A well-preserved negative,
Which can hopefully yield a vivid picture.
Born beautiful,
But mauled, and defiled
By the swelling hordes
With insatiable hunger and unquenchable thirst.
II
But I’m not Ganga,
To wash your sins and make you pure and clean,
I return your pestilence,
The carcinogenic poison loaded in my veins,
To your dining table;
The wheat, and maize, salads and veggies, and the fish;
My conscientious interest payment,
On your substantial deposits.
III
Every winter the birds still come,
Though the numbers have dwindled over the years;
Those who arrive wonder,
Where have all the fish gone,
Why the water is putrid and stinking,
Why the swamp is now a garbage dump
Of imperishable plastic?
I wish I could tell them why,
And also counsel them to find a better habitat
Soon,
For the swamp is dying, and
This might be my swan-song, too.
IV
Am I a river or just a little stream?
Honestly, I don’t really know.
Haven’t checked what they have written
In the geography books for school children.
What did the irrigation engineers write,
When pushing the project proposal
For sanction,
A dam on a river, or on a stream?
When does a stream graduate to be a river?
A teen an adult with right to vote and drink alcohol?
Here are my coordinates:
23.1966° N, 77.4790° E
Come and see for yourself,
The confluence of two streams
At Laharpur;
That makes me a river,
A small one,
But yes, a river, not a stream.
V
Mercifully,
I’m reborn every year,
Like a snake shedding its skin,
For its new, shiny body.
The rains run a transfusion,
Pouring new blood into my veins,
Flushing out the putrid, toxic, and life-threatening muck.
Come for a visit,
Spend a little time,
On Laharpur Dam,
See for yourself,
My beauty and grace.
It’s short-lived,
But that transfusion keeps me alive
for the rest of the year.
***
Note: ‘River Song and Other Poems’, the author’s first collection of poems, takes its title from this poem.
P. K. Dash was born in Khuntpali, a village near Bargarh, Odisha and spent his childhood in the village.
He studied English Literature and Linguistics from G.M. College, and Sambalpur University. He taught in G. M. College, Sambalpur, and worked in the State Bank of India before joining the Indian Administrative Service. During his career in civil service, he worked in Madhya Pradesh and New Delhi.
After superannuation as Additional Chief Secretary to the Government of MP, he lives in Bhopal with Sanjukta, his spouse. He is now a full-time author pursuing his passion for writing.
He has published ten books including a bestseller on "How To Be An Author in 7 Days: A Beginner's Guide to Self-Publishing" (Available at https://www.amazon.in/dp/1637811837). He can be contacted at pkdash81@gmail.com.
I am within you and you look for me in objects
You look for me in the mansions
You look for me in swanky cars
You look for me in your bank accounts
Signs of prosperity, not a sign of joy
I am within you and you look for me in others
In your parents eyes for their approval
In your friends for acceptance
In your siblings for some connection
In your partner for unconditional love
Signs of longing, not a sign of joy
I am within you and you look for me outside
In that promotion
In that vacation
In that paycheck
In that beer bar
In that birthday bash
In that phone screen for God's sake
You look for me even in your social media feeds
Signs that you truly wish to find me, but definitely not a sign of joy
You find the mansion, your ideal car, the million in the bank and yet you say 'there's something missing'
Double your income and triple your possessions and I'll still be waiting, deep inside you, just waiting to be found!
You receive the approval, get the acceptance, find the connection and love and yet you say 'they just don't get me'
You can fight with your parents, breakup with your partner, find new friends
I'll still be waiting, deep inside you, waiting to be salvaged!
You curate these so-called ideal experiences - of vacations, birthdays, family get togethers, partying with friends; you'll control every aspect of life, your career, your family, your children and yet you say 'I'm happy but it could be better'
You can curate and control your life all along and I'll still be waiting, deep inside you, waiting to celebrate our connection.
You were just four, running around the playground
You'd just discovered the open air and sun
We had a lovely evening together
With peels of laughter emanating from deep within you
The kind that made me cry
Now I know why they refer to me as 'tears of joy'
I remember when we met on your tenth birthday
In the midst of your family and friends
While you were beaming with the wishes and gifts
I knew we were connected deep within
Remember the moment at the beach
You were soaked neck deep in the ocean
You closed your eyes to take it all in
Just a fleeting moment of our rendezvous
I ache for more of these within
I don't see you as often these days
I know you're trying to keep up with the race
Sometimes I wonder who fed you these beliefs that you're going to find me at the finish line
Slow down a moment and I'd probably join you at that pace
Little do you understand
That maslow's hierarchy is a MYTH
You don't have to climb up some ladder to find me
From the beginning of time, I've been here, deep within
Just close your eyes for a moment
You can find me in the deep breath you take
I'm here in the fragrances of nature
You can see me in the sun kissed trees
Just close your eyes another moment
Forget your screen, your job, your bank balance
Cause once you take that moment to find me
You'll even find joy in these
Former Joint Director: Information, Education and Communications for the Mumbai/MH Chapter of NACO under MoHFW. Key position at Times of India Group Companies. First generation entrepreneur enabling organizations deepen their impact.
Expertise in strategic consulting, private sector engagement & partnerships, capacity building, communication & advocacy
Awarded the 2016 CSR professional of the year. Visiting faculty at management institutes such as JBIMS, NMIMS & ISME. Columnist for DNA online news daily. TEDx Speaker on ‘being limitless’
No leaf, no fruit, no shade for travellers,
Standing alone amidst the green pastures.
Branches wide spread and roots gone deep,
I was never as barren as things seem.
Once a lusty green tree, home to birds,
Shaking and dancing with wind and blizzards.
Offering shade and fruits to passers-by,
Lovely kids jumped up bough so high.
I swayed with joy from top to roots,
With every chirp of birds and bleat of goats.
Winter didn't wither nor did summer hit me hard,
With every season I lived either happy or sad.
Time never waits nor the touch of age,
It slowly strips you off pleasure and rage.
Leaves got tired and became dried,
Boughs were old and gave up their spread.
Roots didn't want to keep on working,
Made me look as you see me standing.
Oh weary traveller wait a while,
Have a look at my aging style.
Every stage of life is unique and great,
Don't get disheartened with senescence, mate.
Tell your offspring, pupils and wards,
Happiness and freedom are the last rewards.
Prof. Dr. Sidhartha Das is a renowned Medicine Specialist and Diabetologist of Odisha. He retired as Principal of the SCB Medical College, Cuttack. He is a recipient of many awards including Life Times Contribution Award (2014), Madras Diabetes Research Foundation, Life Time Achievement Award (2019), Research Trust of Diabetes India, Distinguished Services Award (2019), Research Society for Study of Diabetes in India. He has been, among other things, the Chairman of the Association of Physicians in India, Odisha Branch (2011) and Vice President, Diabetes India, and a Medical Expert for the Odisha Human Roghts Commission (2010-19). He lives in Cuttack and is passionate about literature, reading and writing poems and anecdotal stories.
Deafening screams,
and the thuds of punches echo
when the prisoners land
their blood-soaked fists
on each other’s disfigured faces.
Hundreds of them, getting pinned to the ground
as one’s legs
crashes into another’s ribcage.
The rage,
the violence,
and also fear
could all be mapped
on their bloodshot eyes.
Some of them
have stared at the monotone wall
long enough
to have painted their own lives in grayscale.
Others still spiral
till the end of eternity
while looking out of the bars.
Some are here
because the lawyer’s moral grounds
were lower than the stack of money
thrown at his face
to put an innocent away forever,
while the murderer basks in the sun.
The prisoners live there
smuggling a whole lot of pain
for miniscule pieces of happiness.
Like
someone’s sneaked-in iPod
without which he can’t sleep to Kurt Cobain’s voice
is exchanged for a pack of noodles.
Someone else’s only fountain pen
given to him by his father
gets exchanged for a sheet of paper
to draw his dreams on
with nothing but mere movements of the eyes.
Years of resentment and misery
fill up their hearts
which end up bleeding
through someone else’s broken jaw,
or pierced lungs.
Veins pumping with fear
but fists having an adrenaline rush,
prison wars are a paradox
where a soul, yearning to heal
resorts to violence,
breaking things as it moves,
especially when
the prisoners are versions of myself
stuck in the past,
guilty of piercing others’ feet
with broken pieces of my heart,
and my leftover innocence
framed by my burning rage
and caged in for a lifetime.
I am, indeed, a prisoner of the past.
Lora Mishra is an MBBS student at the Institute of Medical Sciences and SUM Hospital, Bhubaneswar. She is passionate about Art, Literature and Painting. Her poems have been published in various magazines. Her paintings are highly appreciated by discerning viewers.
Dear, to whoever it may concern,
I wish you are doing well.
Since I’ve recently reconciled with self,
I’d like to nourish you with a personal letter, isn’t it strange?
I’ve been programmed since I was a child,
To your ways of life, to a protocol society had tiled.
Limiting, enduring, grounding and criticising,
It’s just recently that I’ve learnt this,
I’m not what you think, I’m not what you want me to be.
Forming opinions and spreading it, for god’s sake!
There’s no gallantry in doing that.
And dear, if you’re one of those who believes everything they see,
Remember, you only see the outside, stop being a cynic, stop taking appearances for fact.
We live in world of pomp and exhibition,
The one with most Insta followers, is the sensation.
But dear stranger, trust me, believe me on this,
You are no inferior if you aren’t in their good list.
Happiness is a choice, but the hardest thing to pursue,
It isn’t solving someone’s formula, but just to paddle your own canoe.
Dear reader of the letter, in good will, kindly note it,
that mental health is a real thing.
You are not going through this alone, oh there are many,
Depression, anxiety, low self esteem, are matters to deal with.
Both for yourself and for people surrounding you, if you will,
Just make an effort, be polite, smile and spread delight.
The last thing I want to add, with all my convictions,
There’s no greater fulfilling thing, more than selfless service.
Think big, but act small. Serve local, but influence global.
Create something, inspiring and empowering. Be instrumental.
And till we meet again, stay you! Stay phenomenal!
Akankshya Arunima is a medical student, pursing her MBBS from IMS and SUM Hospital Bhubaneswar. She aspires to be a selfless clinician and medical researcher in her future,holds special interest in anything and everything related to science and spirituality. She loves reading self development books and to explore life, places and people that give life it's meaning.
A note on the poem: this poem was written by the author on the occasion of World Mental Health Day 2020. In the middle of the lockdown, she felt mental health is an issue that is universal and needs awareness. 'Everyone is unique and this should be celebrated'. - Akankshya Arunima
LOST IN THE HORIZON
Akshara Rai
It was then,
When the sunrays were giving way to dusk.
And the vault of the heaven looked pacified with a tinge of golden husk.
It was then,
When the claws of the breeze clasped the strands of my hair,
As if someone tried to convince me of something, but still nothing was there!
It was then,
This hallucination tells me, I ‘ve been here before,
Something from the shadows creeping towards me, an old friend or a lost spirit,
bringing with it trails of light and colour,
so much like the sunset I watched melt into the sea,
when the wind lay still and the horizon slept among the stars.
It was a lullaby sung by the voice in the sky.
A magic spell that gripped my mind,
And cast it out to the senseless depths .
Too far to ever truly return.
Far enough that I may never want to.
Here sleeps the catalyst that will cleanse the world ,
Where the current flow in carousel rivers
Through the veins of drowned land.
And beside it the first soul to witness retribution.
Stares up at the distant surface of moving glass,
Trapped beneath fallen beams of light.
And waiting longingly for an end to exile.
The birdsong above tells me I've walked this road before,
Shadows lay across it in the bands of night and day,
Passing over me, each step a new twilight,
But nothing is familiar in the trees ahead.
No spirit of memory haunts the way forward.
Save the faint glow of a past that clings to all,
Every road I walk leads to the ocean.
And I hear waves on the far side of the forest.
There stands an allar to the iron sky.
Waiting for the only offering I've left to give,
As the sunset touches the horizon ,
And the ocean heaves ashore,
I come to the world's end to offer up my sacrifice.
Ms. Akshara Rai is an MBBS student at the Institute of Medical Sciences and SUM Hospital, Bhubaneswar. A winner of multiple awards for poems, short stories and elocution, she is passionate about Drawing & Painting, Writing poems& short stories, Reading books, Acting, and Oration.
We cut rainforests, blocked rivers and streams
Fingerpainted the sky with black smoke stacks
But the wings of our big, high flying dreams
Were clipped short by the corona attacks
Attack it did our very foundation
Caged, cornered we stayed like never before
Solutions were tangled in confusion
With death chasing life behind its own door
Lockdown on us thrust, to it we adapt
While strong, creative solutions unfold
Technology put to use, right and apt
Virtual goes viral with young and old
So quietly, time ushers the next decade
You too will pass away and slowly fade.
Structure: The theme of this collaborative sonnet is the current situation with the Corona virus. A sonnet (Shakespearean) consists of fourteen lines, with the rhyme scheme : abab cdcd efef gg. The last two lines traditionally feature a 'twist', a departure from the preceding lines. The featured poets are Gita Bharath, Anju Kishore, Padmini Janardhanan and S Sundarrajan, who have each contributed a verse.
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
You may not understand me
Still prefer to be annoyed
And remain angry.
I curse my fate
Wonder in disbelieve,
How can you construe
My silence as indifference
While my love is true.
I don’t fight
Never support or argue
In praise of you,
Seldom visit your abode
Shouting endearments
Taking attention of the crowd,
But it doesn’t deter me
To say my love is true.
Never offer flowers
Have nothing of my own to gift
Keep admiring your beauty
While the world is busy
Creating monuments
In your honor and worship.
How do you miss my clue
Which says so loudly
That my love is true.
I don’t go miles
Conquering world after world
Strengthening your stature
Doesn’t really matter to me
What others may think
About the relationship,
It has never been an issue
My love is true.
Never for any return
Love needn’t have any intention,
It is up to your wish
What is that you really prefer.
Happy to be in your presence
Proud of the connect,
Personally, I value
That my love is true.
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
Silence
Moments frozen
Astounding silvery spectacle
Silhouetted images emerge gradually
On waters, dales, and hills
Sudden whispering breeze rouses the trees
Bejeweled stars serenade over the rippled waters
A sudden hoot sends a rodent scurrying in
Concealed curtains conceal the nocturnal delights, as sleep eludes.
In the conviction that night echoes are for phantoms
Worldly deals of the day continue to haunt
The onslaught of the world-wide connect
Destroys the gossamer threads of faith
Entices, ensnares the vacillating psyche
The whirlpool of worldly pleasures
Camouflages the beauteous One!
Mind gets deceived
Viewing fleeting images
Pandemonium
(This verse can be read from top to bottom or from bottom to top)
THREE LINER
mesmerizing calls...
frugivore parasite
Asian Cuckoo
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.
Triple lockdown..
frozen silence..
Streets empty
save the lone pedestian
masked,
out on errands
immediate...
the intrim
of the torrential
rain
breathing in
a space
a pause
to burst out
again...
how these
interims
punctuate
our average
lives..
rising
falling
statistics
or Covid cases...
hazards of
survival
on days
denied of work..
supply of
food packets..
a cold acceptance
distils...
even with the child
content with
his little toy..
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
If at times the eyes become heavy
And life seems such a vile
Above the dark clouds there's a brighter sky
So turn your tears into a beautiful smile
To console the weary, gladden the sad
Give away a smile for free
It can make up for an off day
Or be it a heart that's not in glee
In this world of expensivity
A smile costs real cheap
And when you give one away
You get in return another to keep
Amidst all the happiness
Comes the sorrow unbidden
And amidst those cheerful laughter
There are priceless tears hidden
Just as an ice-cream
Is a treat to a sad kid,
A heartfelt smile
Does the same to the one in need
So, cure to every misery
The strength to walk a thousand mile
To make this world a better place to live in
It all does a cheery smile!!
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.
Gloomy days during the cloudy day
Depressing folks find a pleasant way
The impartial sun spreads his wings
Infants happily look out for a swing!
Cold weather obstructs indoor stay
They search for the bright sun's ray
The vital vitamin source for the bones
Everyone keeps away valuable phones!
Unknown people shake amicable hands
They welcome me with a smile and stand
Sunshine is the reason for their appearance
The dark clouds to the sun, gave clearance!
Sunshine is the source of human energy
Sunny days eliminate your innate lethargy
Seasonal change helps you have love for life
Life is beautiful though you face every strife!
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
The picture on the wall
Is missing,
Why so, you seem to ask?
As life's a summer sun, no time to bask
We run a race, my husband and I
Making ends meet forces time to fly
We wish, we dream, to take a picture,
The three of us, smiling, in all lustre
But alas, the half done makeup
Drips with sweat running to cleanup
Drools of the cute little baby.
Art on the floor, once called food, crazy!
Once stars were right, no one was whining
By the time camera clicked, baby was snoring
So now we make do, running around
Taking video of baby's sounds
And we remain picture perfect
In this mess of today
Etching memories, as vacant the wall stays
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
Here I am waiting for a different rain
to pound on the ridges of bones.
Rain will come raging furiously
through the dark and deep forests,
across the dark continents.
No soft rain this time,
Too often it has rained softly
so far and dripped down
the windowpanes gingerly so
as not to disturb the sleeping figures.
Below the lamp-posts it has gathered
only to drift away in to the gutters,
It has waltzed with the silent hours
late in to the night only to vaporise
at day break without any trace.
The lines on my palm, on forehead
wait for that healing touch of the rain.
Those lines , empty and parched
stretch for years like dry bed
of ancient rivers lost in sand dunes.
This different rain, a shaman, a rishi,
in its third eye will hold a portrait for
me, dried seeds and the shrunken
branches and rickety chariot of time.
It will strike deep in to the earth
to wake up a dead river, frozen in time.
Thousand little birds will fly in unison
towards the sun .
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
Spectrum of colours
Like petals of flowers
Colourful .......
Layers of vibrant hues
Arch ......
Bending from one corner to the other
Artistic ......
A tapestry in the sky
Blessing ......
From the unknown
Celestial .......
With optimism and sanguineness
Unique ......
As it spreads across the indigo sky
Magical ......
Ignites feeling of awe and peace
Kaleidoscopic ......
Blooms with the sun and rain
Iridescent ......
As our hearts leap with joy
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
LOCKED DOWN IN SOLITUDE
Rangamani N
I hear the year of cruel Covid is at last gone,
Its fury abated, nature bestowed mankind with a new dawn.
Oh, are they just a gift-wrapped mirage, a dream, or rumour rife?
As in reality, we're destined still to endure all the peril in life!
Alas, life here is no rosy, can neither be easy
Even if I try earnest to pose myself busy
With all the mundane things kept aside
And you, my love, not beside!
True lover, you're only too marvellous
Your long absence has become so ominous?
While every act here, be it of God or other, becomes scary,
Waiting for you, my dear, I've become too weary!
The solitude I'm never used to
'm afraid may soon lead to....
Hell!.....Oh, I don't care a fig
For any piece of Eve's flesh or pig!.
These feelings are a real fact,
Can never ever better put exact!!
Birds of the same feather,
When do we flock together?
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
I'm the girdle
Round the earth's shores:
Emblems of man's pride and power
The ships, the vessels and the marines
Sail on my bosom
Furling the flag of man's supremacy
I smile, I laugh
Sometimes I roar and leap
Engulf and devour.
Like a giant, gone berserk
I sweep, I sway
Over coast and bay,
Submerging villages, cities
Buildings and trees
Hapless men and women,
Animals and children---
My tiny playthings-
Cars, buses, bodies,
Corpses and carcasses
Roll into my gushing waters.
I trample over man's pride;
I humble him
Through my might and glory,
My wrath and fury
Something there is
That yearns to soar high
The ‘Icarus’ within
Tempts to fly
But the wings
Are waxen
And the sun
Too nigh
Beneath is the ocean
Deep and wide
Yet something there is
That yearns to soar high.
This 'something' helps
Build bridges on oceans,
Reach the Moon and Mars
Scale mountainous peaks,
Transform waxen wings,
Into metallic ones
And soar like birds.
This 'something' also
Dismantles
Age-old taboos,
Orthodox traditions
Limiting barriers;
Creates new pathways
And helps forge ahead
For a better tomorrow
When it's midnight
The mind's arena
Teeming with wild ideas
Witnesses the march of
Wild creatures
Parading themselves
As in a circus show
Like a ring-master
Unsure of my skills
Seemingly composed,
Unnerved within,
I try to tame them,
And order them
Back to their cages
Once their show is done:
My success or failure
Will determine
My survival
Or annihilation
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.
When years melt away like snowflakes!
Lives fade like passing shadows,
The rhythm of life is broken.
Where you lose the courage of mind,
Where you lock with God in faith.
As you consoled me many times…
Shall I…
‘He’ is so generous to you.
‘He’ understands you well.
Like the candle you light and melt for all.
Even for a single day,
Failed to live for yourself.
With material eyes,
We saw ‘His’ lenience as,
The villain of our life.
‘He’ is just reminding you-
Nothing is your’s, in this capricious world.
‘He’ just frees you up from all your attachments.
Spend your time and mind,
Completely in ‘Him’.
By keeping in mind, ourselves as,
A bubble before ‘His’ pure devotees.
‘He’ will shower the ecstasy of mind.
Chant, chant, chant, ‘His’ name.
Surrender at ‘His’ Lotus feet.
The ultimate solution.
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.
My fingers trembled
As my heart began racing.
Drowning in self-doubt,
My confidence crumbled.
Am I not who I was yesterday?
Imposter syndrome took over,
While I wondered —
Had I bitten off more than I could chew?
Was I not as unique as a four-leaf clover?
And was poetry not my forte?
Was my overzealousness my fatal flaw?
As my hobbies are aplenty.
Coding, writing, music and art.
I feared that from one I must withdraw.
I had to give up, there was no other way.
Anything I wrote seemed weird,
Some were cheesy and others were cringey.
Were my previous works a fluke?
I only wish my mind cleared.
I hope to finish this poem today.
Fighting fire with fire, I wrote.
My confidence flooded back
And my inspiration returned.
The writer’s block I actively smote,
Until the red herring disappeared.
I am not surprised that I manage to stay afloat.
Vishakha Devi, the second daughter of Mrs and Mr S. Vijayaraj, is born and brought up in Chennai. She did her primary schooling at Rosary Matriculation School, Santhome and is now pursuing her middle school education at Vruksha Montessori School, Abhiramapuram. Vishakha, currently in the eighth grade, loves the English language and has a significant penchant for writing short stories. She has received many awards for oratorical and essay writing competitions at the school and inter-school events.
Encouraged by her English teacher, Ms Vidya Shankar, she has now begun her maiden journey into the world of poetr
Life floats
on stifled groans, subdued laughter
and silence.
When young,
fabulous flashes of dreams
linger on silhouettes
of sky,
propel us to action,
we chase and chase the golden deer
in labyrinths of desire.
As days and youth flee,
return to our
desolate huts exhausted,
find the flame of our lives missing
in nonexistent paths of jungle,
lament, search and search,
ask trees, brooks and hills
the reasons why our love fled,
tread on slippery paths,
fly with hurricanes,
struggle
to assert our vain selves.
Thoroughly dejected,
In dismal hours
of dusk
tread softly on earth,
harp on things past
in every waking hour,
await advent
of an angel
shining bright on a foggy morn
for a deliverance.
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 CAMPUS DETOUR: THE DIL DOES NOT ASK FOR MORE
The Flowers smile,
Sure they do,
Here their smile is a chorus,
Silent and sober,
A rare sight!
As if they stand up to salute
Sing the glory of a luminous soul!
A leader at helm of affair ,
Or of many souls that soil their labour
To bring out from the barren land, green cover
And ever smiling umpteen flowers
Heaven has descended on earth
On Ravenshaw soil
From the time you enter the gate
And till you come out!
The charm-offensive seizes your soul,
The beauty enthralls and encircles you!
The colours mesmerize you,
Green, Yellow, Pink, Violet
And many more
Here the thirst gets quenched,
Dil does not ask for more.
The shinning silky road
The smiling Flowers in attention mode,
Or in Japanese style even if they bend
They greet you, say you their bond
Bond of gratitude
That you did them behold
And felt enthralled
That you felt fulfilled
That Dil did not ask for more!
Say not it is on a slide, going down the stairs
Come to its closer, remove the goggles your eyes cover
It has gone higher, and it will boost your spirit superior
Take out the mask and inhale its ever fresh air
You see blooming flowers on its every corner
Have converged from different corners
Respect the labour of its growers, its caretakers
Flowers give you hopes and take away your despair
Open your eyes, mind ,heart and ears
Do not go by the hearsay of others
Stand a moment there, even if you just stand to stare
You will see the smiling flowers,
You will say the “Dil does not ask for more”
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
Pleasure & sorrow two sides of the same coin,
Heartily live with the present situation,
Nothing is permanent here except the planet,
Sun, Moon & constellations of stars exist with the mother earth,
Inside the Big womb of the planet ,
Flora, fauna & living creatures exist,
Life & death again are two sides of the same coin,
Like day & night eternally under the planets rotation,
Solar radiance breathes energy to all living under it's creation,
With solar radiance osmosis process helps plants for food secretion,
Wells & rivers are filled up by rain water,
Meeting the requirement of drinking water ,
Without water life is just impossible,
Mother earth distributes each living creature of plantations to make life possible,
Carnivores & herbivores both exist together,
The incredible food chain met by supportive nature,
One devours the other to maintain the balance,
The green earth & dense forests accommodate each under it's lanes,
Day & night is a wonderful rotation,
With dawn arrives the sun,
With evening sun leaves for the horizon,
The wonderful arrangement since inception surprises everyone,
Animals & humans depend upon oxygen,
While plants & vast greenery depends upon carbon dioxide to stay green,
Amazingly dependant on each other,
While plants exhale oxygen ,
Living creatures exhale carbon dioxide to maintain the unison,
Mutually dependant on each other for survival,
The incredible creation since infinity is eternal,
Preservation is the key to survival,
The planet flourishes in eternal trial,
A fantastic view of the sea beach,
Eyes just seek & beseech,
Life surfs on the surfing tides,
Bubbles in transition,
Sea to the beach a wonderful scenic creation,
The scenic view creates a magic impression,
Mind attracted towards the soulful vision,
Souls write poetry of silent appreciation,
Storing images of oblivion,
Amazingly creative imagination,
The sea authors the story of magnificent vision,
Proudly stretches it's vastness to men & women,
A glimpse of the view creates a lasting impression,
Behold by the scenic ambience the viewer photoshoots the moment in presentation,
Sri Akshaya Kumar Das, a poet from Bhubaneswar, Odisha, is the author of "The Dew Drops" available with amazon/flipkart/snapdeal published by Partridge India in the year 2016. Sri Das is an internationally acknowledged author with number of his poems published in India & abroad by Ardus Publication, Canada. Sri Das has been conferred with "Ambassador of Humanity" award by Hafrican Peace Art World, Ghana. Sri Das organised an Intenational Poetry Festival in the year 2017 under the aegis of Feelings International Artists' Society of Dr. Armeli Quezon at Bhubaneswar. Sri Das is presently working as an Admin & Analyst for some poetry groups in Face Book including FIAS & Poemariam Group headed by Dr.N.K.Sharma. Recipient of many awards for his contribution to English literature & world peace, he is now engaged in 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 is a retired Insurance Manager and resides at Bhubaneswar.
STAY WINTER, STAY
Ravi Ranganathan
Stay winter, stay, the season of love and mild sun
There’s subtle happiness in the cold wind that blows
Birds flutter more, as they enjoy the night that grows
One longer than the other, and nights are so much fun
To form a closer cluster when at last the day is done!
Crows and pigeons begin to enjoy moon’s soft shade
Sparrows don’t bother about morrow, resting on a glade.
Indian Koels are a class apart with their rotund red eyes
Their touch me not coloured feathers are full of guise
Ready to let go to a safer pasture, if not able to fade!
Stay winter, stay, that I may see more such lovely birds
So blessed they are as they revel, whispering glad notes
Storing strength in feathers to counter coming summertime.
And thus I regain that vital spark in my life’s winter times! ...
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.
THE DEAD MINUTE
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
As of today,
part of the afternoon
died at quarter past two,
The minute died so suddenly,
not giving a chance
even to say a goodbye.
From tomorrow
time will give it a pass,
the train will not stop
at this dreadful minute,
the bird will not meditate
at this branch of time,
The unknown visitor will not wait
for the bell to ring.
The glass of wine at a sedate lunch
will remain frozen at the lips,
twisting the smile of the hostess
into a long drawn sigh.
Clouds will come to a dead stop
the sky giving them a quizzical look.
Trees will stop swaying in the garden
still air hanging heavily like barren leaves.
And a lonely traveller
will trudge wearily
on a painfully meandering path
looking for the lost minute
that made all the difference
in his eventless life.
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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