Literary Vibes - Edition CVII (30-July-2021) - POEMS

Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi Jul, 30, 2021 2550 views 48 Comments

Title : Summer (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)

Dear friends,

Welcome to the 107th edition of LiteraryVibes. It is indeed a rich collection of 50 poems and 30 short stories, anecdotes, other articles.

This month we have nine new contributors, youngest among them being Trishna from Bhubaneswar, a genius at ten years of age, who dazzles everyone with her writing and oratory skills. She is an accomplished dancer also, specialising in Odishi. Keshav, a young boy of thirteen from Bangalore is passionate about writing. His first poem which he has shared with us looks indeed promising. Let us wish the two young talents tremendous success in their pursuit of literature. Sneha Bhowmick, Chandan Chaudhury and Prof. Nachieketa Sharma are all from the Sum Institute of Medical Sciences and Hospital, Bhubaneswar. Their zeal for poetry and literature is indeed infectious. Nitish Nivedan Barik is a young professional from Bangalore who has a great interest in varied aspects of literature. Ms. Indu Pooranan from Chennai is a talented poet. Mr. Ashok Subramanian, also from Chennai, is a highly accomplished poet cum writer with many publications to his credit. All these new contributors are extremely gifted. We are indeed blessed to have them in our midst and hope to see more of them on the pages of LiteraryVibes in future. The ninth new contributor is Shri Jitendra Chandra Acharya, a Bengali poet who was born more than a hundred years ago. He was a prolific poet who wrote most of his poetry while travelling as a guard in the trains. His son, Shivanand Acharya, who had published a story in LiteraryVibes in the June edition, has sent two of the poems as a tribute to his long-departed father. LiteraryVibes joins him in remembering the poet and honouring him.

On 7 July the country awoke to a huge shock when it lost the greatest icon of Indian Cinema, Dilip Kumar. For me personally, it was a devastating loss. My childhood was so full of Dilip Kumar that around the age of eight I had persistently dreamt of being an actor and kept insisting to my parents that my name should be changed to some Kumar, as if that would magically bestow upon me great acting talent. In hindsight of course I am relieved that I outgrew the fetish because as an actor I would have been a greater disaster than what I am in my present form.

Those who have seen Devdas will swear that the film never left their consciousness whether they saw it only once or, like me, multiple times. Dilip Kumar's greatest ability was not acting, but non-acting. He never seemed to be acting in the sense of giving a performance, he was so natural that he seemed to be moving among us, as a part of us, talking to us, laughing and crying with us. To me, the quintessential Dilip Kumar can be felt in the movie Madhumati. I am presenting video clips of two songs (Suhana safar, aur ye mausam haseen and Tute hue khwabonmein) from the film at the end of today's LV page just to show how, when Dilip Kumar smiled, everything around him seemed to smile and when he cried everything around him seemed to shed tears. If that is not iconic greatness, I don't know what is.

In today's edition, just as a pure coincidence, I have presented a story (A Night of Endless Giggles), briefly touching upon the protagonist describing his "feeling" the pathos of music in his bones. Till I saw Dilip Kumar and Madhubala singing Seenemein sulaghtehein aramaan some thirty years back (video clip attached at the end of today's LV page), I really didn't know how to "feel" a song, how to synchronise the pain of the actors on the screen with the ache in one's own heart.

Saying anything more than this will be a superfluity that the great man would have disapproved. After all, Dilip Kumar was known to convey a world of meanings just in a few words or through eloquent silence. Let me pay my ever lasting tributes to him and move on.

While talking of losing dear ones, I announce with a heavy heart the sad demise of Mrs. Soumya Biswal, the wife of Sunil Biswal, a member of the LiteraryVibes family, who is a regular contributor to our eMagazine. He is also the one who had prepared the four collages of photographs for the coffee table book of the 100th Edition of LiteraryVibes. Our heart goes out to Sunil and we convey our deep condolences to the bereaved family. Let us also pray for the departed soul to rest in peace.

A fortnight back we had our niece visiting us just for an hour or so. She lives in a distant city, is a livewire, a bundle of energy and bubbling enthusiasm. She scoffed at our self-imposed quarantine due to Corona and gave a long lecture on how it is destiny which decides how long we will live and where we will depart on our final journey. She exhorted us to be happy, to enjoy life and give up our gloomy outlook. She breezed off, the same way she had breezed in, like a whiff of wild wind. She left us in a daze and it took us a few hours to recover.

In an extraordinary coincidence, the next morning I read a story in Internet about finding joy in life. I reproduce it here. The message of joy is indelible in the story. I don't know who has written this, but whoever it is, my thanks and gratitude to the writer for giving us this extraordinary piece of positivity.

A LESSON IN LIFE FROM A BEGGAR

Meena is a good friend of mine. She is an LIC officer earning a good salary. But there was always something strange about her. She was forever unhappy. Whenever I met her, I would start to feel depressed. It was as though her gloom and cynicism had a way of spreading to others. She never had anything positive to say on any subject or about any person.

For instance, I might say to her, ‘Meena, did you know Rakesh has come first in his school?’

Meena’s immediate response would be to belittle the achievement. ‘Naturally, his father is a schoolteacher,’ she would say.

If I said, ‘Meena, Shwetha is a very beautiful girl, isn’t she?’ Meena would be pessimistic. ‘When a pony is young, he looks handsome. It is age that matters. Wait for some time. Shwetha will be uglier than anyone you know.’

‘Meena, it’s a beautiful day. Let’s go for a walk.’

‘No, the sun is too hot and I get tired if I walk too much. Besides, who says walking is good for health? There’s no proof.’

That was Meena. She stayed alone in an apartment as her parents lived in Delhi. She was an only child and had the habit of complaining about anything and everything. Naturally, she wasn’t very pleasant company and nobody wanted to visit her. Then one day, Meena was transferred to Bombay and soon we all forgot about her.

Many years later, I found myself caught in the rain at Bombay’s Flora Fountain. It was pouring and I didn’t have an umbrella. I was standing near Akbarallys, a popular department store, waiting for the rain to subside. Suddenly, I spotted Meena. My first reaction was to run, even in that pouring rain. I was anxious to avoid being seen by her, having to listen to her never-ending complaints. However, I couldn’t escape. She had already seen me and caught hold of my hand warmly. What’s more, she was very cheerful.

‘Hey! I am really excited. It’s nice to meet old friends. What are you doing here?’

I explained that I was in Bombay on official work.

‘Then stay with me tonight,’ she said. ‘Let’s chat. Do you know that old wine, old friends and memories are precious and rare?’

I couldn’t believe it. Was this really Meena? I pinched myself hard to be sure it wasn’t a dream. But Meena was really standing there, right in front of me, squeezing my hand, smiling, and yes, she did look happy. In the three years she had been in Bangalore, I had never once seen her smiling like that. A few strands of grey in her hair reminded me that years had passed. There were a few wrinkles on her face, but the truth was that she looked more attractive than ever before.

Finally, I managed to say, ‘No, Meena, I can’t stay with you tonight. I have to attend a dinner. Give me your card and I’ll keep in touch with you. I promise.’

For a moment, Meena looked disappointed. ‘Let’s go and have tea at least,’ she insisted.

‘But Meena, it’s pouring.’

‘So what? We’ll buy an umbrella and then go to the Grand Hotel,’ she said.

‘We won’t get a taxi in this rain,’ I grumbled.

‘So what? We’ll walk.’

I was very surprised. This wasn’t the same Meena I had known. Today, she seemed ready to make any number of adjustments.

We reached the Grand Hotel drenched. By then the only thought in my mind was to find out who or what had brought about such a change in the pessimistic Meena I had known. I was quite curious.

‘Tell me, Meena, is there a Prince Charming who has managed to change you so?’

Meena was surprised by my question. ‘No, there isn’t anyone like that,’ she said.

‘Then what’s the secret of your energy?’ I asked, like Tendulkar does in the ad.

She smiled. ‘A beggar changed my life.’

I was absolutely dumbfounded and she could see it.

‘Yes, a beggar,’ she repeated, as if to reassure me. ‘He was old and used to stay in front of my house with his five-year-old granddaughter. As you know, I was a chronic pessimist. I used to give my leftovers to this beggar every day. I never spoke to him. Nor did he speak to me. One monsoon day, I looked out of my bedroom window and started cursing the rain. I don’t know why I did that because I wasn’t even getting wet. That day I couldn’t give the beggar and his granddaughter their daily quota of leftovers. They went hungry, I am sure.

‘However, what I saw from my window surprised me. The beggar and the young girl were playing on the road because there was no traffic. They were laughing, clapping and screaming joyously, as if they were in paradise. Hunger and rain did not matter. They were totally drenched and totally happy. I envied their zest for life.

‘That scene forced me to look at my own life. I realized I had so many comforts, none of which they had. But they had the most important of all assets, one which I lacked. They knew how to be happy with life as it was. I felt ashamed of myself. I even started to make a list of what I had and what I did not have. I found I had more to be grateful for than most people could imagine. That day, I decided to change my attitude towards life, using the beggar as my role model.’

After a long pause, I asked Meena how long it had taken her to change.

‘Once this realization dawned,’ she said, ‘it took me almost two years to put the change into effect. Now nothing matters. I am always happy. I find happiness in every small thing, in every situation and in every person.’

‘Did you give any gurudakshina to your guru?’ I asked.

‘No. Unfortunately, by the time I understood things, he was dead. But I sponsored his granddaughter to a boarding school as a mark of respect to him.’
.................

In the above story the beggar basically conveyed the same message that Albert Einstein did ninety nine years ago. In 1922 Einstein was touring Japan. At his hotel a bellboy delivered a message to him. Einstein wanted to tip him, but found he had no money with him at the moment. So he scribbled a note on The Theory of Happiness and gave it to him. Recently the note was sold for 1.5 million dollars. The words were profound: "A calm and modest life brings more happiness than the constant pursuit of success combined with constant restlessness." In essence, a peaceful mind and a peaceful life is the key to happiness and joy.

Hope the beautiful poems and the excellent short stories in today's edition of LiteraryVibes will bring you a peaceful mind with plenty of happiness and joy. Since good things in life should be shared with friends, please forward the following two links to everyone in your contact list:

http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/389 (Poems) and

http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/390 (Short stories, anecdotes and other articles)

Ms. Lipsa Mohanty, the prolific and talented young writer, has published another wonderful piece of writing "Alchemy of divine love - tidbits from my Gita" in PositiveVibes. Ms. Padmini Janardhanan has also published an erudite discourse on "Beyond religion - Classicality in Thiruppavai". Both these articles can be accessed at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/387 and http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/388 respectively.

In today's edition, along with a review of Sudeep Sen's extraordinary book of poems titled "Anthropocene", there is also a short Introduction to a very interesting book "Mantra Yoga - How to Increase Your Inner Power and Potential", authored by Shri Jairam Seshadri, a regular contributor to LiteraryVibes.

I am happy that LV107 has given you enough delicacies to enjoy for a whole month. Please take care, stay safe and keep smiling till we meet again on 27th August.

With warm regards,
Mrutyunjay Sarangi

It’s mid-June, the sky sulks darkly

with heavy clouds,

like the face of a wife

not taken to movie, given ‘Fair & Lovely’;

her farmer-husband’s pockets

oppressively empty,

as his bleached bones land,

charred by the fire

raining from the sky; the sun,

a brute over the past three months.

From behind their wifely anger,

endearing and prickly in a single hug,

the clouds cry a little, now and then,

sad tears, happy tears.

The parching soil swells

in its soaking wetness.

A jubilation churning

inside seeds, they stir to deliver

little green shoots, the leafy offspring,

turning the fields into velvety pages

for writing and mailing happy tidings,

scented with love’s longing.

A smell of wet-humus sweetens the air.

A cuckoo sings its last notes

of the passing summer from distant groves.

Girls, like fleeting butterflies

in vivid hued frocks,

frolic with swings in the fruit orchards,

splitting the air with joyous shouts,

teased by their little male friends,

standing apart, a bit away, sprouting

soft macho bristles, their male pride.

One of the girls, resembles

a red velvet-beetle, crawling

on the green turf by the swing.

She is to all, a darling.

Sweat pouring down,

faces bright with excitement,

unfettered by the sweltering heat,

their brittle laughs resonating

with naughty giggles;

the children would return

to mother’s kitchen to have a bite

of her succulent rice cakes

with melting hearts of tender coconut

screaming with cream and a dash of jaggery.

Raja, festive as the youth,

swinging for three days

with fun and frolic,

is but marred by a flagging spirit

as the three days pass one by one,

even the effervescent sunrise

resembles the sunset, the third morning,

‘Ooh, the fun would soon be over’.

(This year, 2021, Raja festival in Odisha was celebrated from June 16th to 18th of June, bringing happy tidings of the monsoon, announcing the arrival of monsoon. The festival celebrates womanhood of the mother earth. The three days are a joyous pomp for all the Odia youth when mother earth is said to bleed like a rajaswaalaa or menstruating woman, getting ready for motherhood.)

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.

THE PHYSICAL BEING (DEHA)

Haraprasad Das

Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra

Go ahead, touch it,

it’s tangible and sentient;

a pretty paradox

from the birth to ashes,

an enigma

enough to chew a lifetime;

hack it to pieces

to your heart’s content;

burn it with lust’s tinder

all your life;

to satiate the dead forefathers

offer it as Pinda*, the ritual rice ball

on a platter of banana leaf.

Consign it to water.

Your body,

your slave; a wishful star

caught in heart’s sooty cobwebs

sleepwalking with you.

(Pinda* - an offering to the dead senior members of the family.)

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)”

HOMECOMING

Dilip Mohapatra

The presiding deities are gone

leaving their bejewelled throne

bare in the Sanctum Santorum

of the Grand temple

to spend some time with their aunt

at the far end of the Grand road.

The cripple with no hands

and legs

in the image

of the Lord of the Universe Himself

curls up like a worm in a cocoon

under a torn blanket

at the Lion gate

close to the Sun pillar

next to a ruminating bull

and beholds the

three pennants on the top of

the three chariots becoming indistinct in slow motion

and then

no longer visible

as the cacophony of cymbals and drums die down

in the distant

vanishing point.

Tears roll down from his rheumy eyes

onto his sunken cheeks

a colourless parchment stretched

over a rather concave

zygomatic arch

for he could barely wiggle around

and bring his missing palms together to implore

and beg

for the Lord not to desert His abode

even for these few days

and go on His Yatra

that takes away the very breaths he needs

in his struggles to survive.

Nine days seem so long

crawling pensively

but he waits with bated breath

for his saviour to return

with His brother and sister

and then his wait is over.

The pennants on the chariots

fluttering atop

become distinct and distinguishable

the chanting

and clanging of cymbals

in consonance

with the incessant beats of the mridangam

become louder and louder

every passing moment

the chariots loom larger

by the minute and close in

while three pairs of large eyes

shower around

universal love and compassion

a few drops of which merge

with the tears of joy

rolling down his still sunken cheeks which

now glow

in an incarnadined iridescence.

Note: On Lord Jagannath’s Bahuda Yatra at Puri

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.

FENCES

Bibhu Padhi

Every year I have been thinking

of putting them up, with hedge plants

along their straight borders,

just before the coming of the rains.

so that their greens could grow soon

and cover up our barrenness,

and together they would hold us safe

from harmful games, insecurity of place.

The field is open even today

except for weeds and thin branches,

cactus and untended grass.

The words always move across

the roads to the dark interiors

of conspiring neighbours—

sluggishly, without my knowledge,

in sleep, diffused company.

Dark words, untouched by the sun

or our children’s gentle intentions,

finding their own selfish ends through

the night’s irreproachable dark.

How does anyone care to hear

that which has been so painful for me

in the best of times? Words

that I always thought I had fenced in

by the barbed hedges of the mind

safe, trustworthy, unyielding?

Even then it seems there are other means

of travel that they know and I do not know.

What then is the use of raising fences

around the house, growing hedges?

As someone said, fences are for

keeping off animals and trespassers

who might not know that there are things

which might not be their own.

Things and words have their own ways

of finding themselves at all those places

where we are afraid to go.

And hence, I shall just wait and watch

how words take birth, grow.

Let them go, find their own fences now.

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.

TWO CUPS OF COFFEE...

Madhumathi. H

It is always two cups of coffee

Served at the table

As she waits for him

Watching the raindrops

Slide down the glass door...

The steam

Aroma

Slowly exit the cups...

She reluctantly leaves

His words evaporate

From the notebook

In which she writes

The imaginary conversation

Punctuated perfectly...

Those who love the rain the most, often

Receive mirages, beautifully gift-wrapped...

THE OCEAN'S PAPER BOAT...

Madhumathi. H

Sunny afternoon

The scarlet blossoms, of

A new Gulmohar tree

Playing hide and seek

Behind the emerald leaves

Against

The bright blue sky...

A beautiful conversation

Watching this sunlit canvas

A voice carrying pearls

That contain oceans within

Another

Carrying pebbles

Surrendering to the ocean's depth

Lessons

Laughter, and

Contemplation

Thereafter...

Anamika are

Some bonds

Yet

A thousand meaning

Unfolds in love

While

A thousand stars

Bless the bond

Of the gloroius Ship, and

The tiny paperboat...

INSEPARABLE...

Madhumathi. H

They talk, discuss, argue, fight, observe, understand, love, hug, tease,

She yells at, cries, wails...and sometimes end up in cold wars too...

One such frustrated moment, when sarcasm was the language of her conversation with Him, He winked, danced mirthfully, making the forest echo with laughter!

A sweet pause...

Holding her hand, His kind arm around her shoulder, He took her for a walk into the forest, where Sandalwood flowers gently swayed in the wind, scenting her tired senses...

They sat beside a gentle stream.

She leaned on His shoulder, listening to the soothing sounds and music from the unknown birds, and His bamboo songs...

His eyes, filled with Omniscience, had all the answers to Her quivering pain, fears, and tears...

Looking into her eyes, He spoke in a healing voice...

With that, she fell into a deep sleep, with restored hope, and smile blanketing her soul...

The Radha-Krishna painting is done by my daughter, G. Adhithi at the age of 14, in 2018. It is for my write up, "Inseparable".

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

----

Adhithi is a grade 12 student, daughter of Poet Madhumathi, and K. Ganesh. She learnt art from the age of 6, initially from Saraswathi arts, and later mentored by art guide Mrs. Lakshmi Jayakrishnan of Dhi art aka Palettedream.

Adhithi is creative, and good at different mediums of art, and doodling. To become a designer, is her future ambition.

Adhithi's artworks were part of art exhibitions conducted by Dhi art, and her artworks are widely appreciated, especially for the details, and finesse. A vintage lover, besides art, music is her hobby, K-Pop being her personal favourite.

Perfection, and personal satisfaction in art being her focus, Adhithi looks forward to learn more from the ocean of art, and create meaningful artworks.

FATHER

P. K. Dash

You come home,

Twice a week, or oftener,

To count all the misdeeds since your last visit, and

Award fit punishment;

To check homework,

Scream and chastise,

Give more homework for tomorrow.

Father,

So F...A...R,

Object of fear,

Did you believe

Love is ruinous like sugar?

Half the reason

For my being.

How hard you tried to mould me!

For your vanity, pride,

Unfulfilled dreams,

Old age security?

How disappointed were you,

To have an end product

Very different from

Your meticulous design?

***

SON

P. K. Dash

Thank you, Dear Son,

For keeping me at your home,

For all the comfort and thoughtful care,

For this well-appointed room,

My bed, cupboard, dining table,

A smart TV with more channels than I can watch,

My medicines,

Pension papers, pass books and cheques,

Books, magazines, and

A call bell for anything else I may need.

Superb, I don’t have to step out of the room,

At all.

The attendant comes in time,

To clean me up,

Brings all my meals in time,

Implores me to eat,

Even when I’m not hungry,

Administers all medications in time,

Tries to cheer me up

With small talk.

I take note,

He’s being kind to an old man,

Trying his best.

III

Before leaving for work or tour, and

Upon you return,

You never forget to drop in

To check status of my health, and

Cleanliness of the toilet.

Even when away,

You’re always concerned

For my well-being,

You call home to ascertain that,

I know.

Why blame the kids?

My slurred speech, dribbling spit,

Shuffling gait, and wandering mind

Make them uneasy.

I no longer smell good,

I know that,

They come into my room to say hello

Under duress.

No one is ever impolite,

Rather very cordial indeed.

Thank you, Dear Son,

For keeping me at your home,

For all the comfort and thoughtful care,

What more would an old man need?

Dear Son,

When did I stop being your father, and

Become an embarrassment?

Not very welcome,

When guests are in the drawing room?

***

Note:

Father and Son, both these poems are from the author’s collection of poems: River Song and Other Poems.
Amazon link for the book is: https://www.amazon.in/dp/163633427X
The author’s profile is at http://amazon.com/author/pkdash

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.

NO EARTHLY COLOR WILL CHANGE.
Satya Narayan Mohanty

( Based on Hathras incident)

No earthly color will change
She is dead, her voice silenced forever,
The grass is limp with damp,
Nothing can hurt her anymore.

No color changed,
Her tongue was slit
Even the hasty incineration can’t hide
The bleeding silence of the time.

No color changed
When fingers dug into flesh
She hated her mouth sealed by mouths
Hands pinioned, body still like caracas.

No color changed,
When the clear tears hung like melons
No fantasies but a muffled outcry
Of violation fraying her apart.

No earthly color will change
They didn’t need hideout, vastness was an ally
Karma was hidden with countless collaborators
Justice drowned in traffic; a quicksand of forgetfulness,
It was a past buried in future.f

Dr. Satya Mohanty, a former officer of the Indian Administrative Service , was the Union Education Secretary as well as Secretary General of the National Human Rights Commission before superannuation. He has also held several senior positions in the Government of Andhra Pradesh, a state in the Indian Union. HE has authored a book of essay in Odia, The Mirror Does not Lie and a book of poems in English( Dancing on the Edge). He is a columnist writing regularly on economic and socio- political issues, Mohanty was an Edward S, Mason Fellow in Harvard University and a SPURS visiting scholar in Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, USA. He has been an Adjunct Professor of Economics in two universities and is a leading public communicator. His second volume of poetry will come out soon, He lives in Delh

BE FOR YOURSELF

Pankajam Kottarath

Her pink fingers and supple toes

bring with them joy and pride,

like the baby rays in the east

she spreads light wherever she is.

At every age and stage

care and charm embodied

a name for sacrifice, for dedication

not one to be damned.

You stepped on the moon,

Yet your genus bemoans being born

as some snuffed-out by dowry demons,

some succumb to flames of lust,

many breathe air of infidelity.

One can notice fake and filthy nosiness,

synthetic smiles or crocodile tears.

Nothing stands in the way

if one drops the ladles

and learns to hold the sword.

Be yourself and be for yourself

Bangles never signify fragility.

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.

MY FIRST GOD AND MENTOR - AN AGENT OF GOD

Asha Raj Gopakumar

A vivacious beauty

With curly hair and big bindi.

With glowing eyes and gorgeous smile.

She, an agent of God.

Like a miraculous lamp

She spreads out light to me.

The light of…

Love and spirituality

Knowledge and positivity

Forgiveness and forgetfulness.

She, an agent of God.

Never failed to shower,

Love and benevolence,

To all around her.

Never failed to pour,

Solace and confidence,

To all who need.

Her words have healing efficacy.

Her deeds have divine touch.

Her thoughts have magical powers.

Her presence has seraphic vibes.

For me, she is an agent of God.

The first God and mentor.

My angelic Mom.

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.

IF I KNEW THEN WHAT I KNEW NOW
S. Ritika

A thud! I woke up!
Swishhhhhhhhh
The moonlit window
A full lit moon,
with envious star
starting to glow like fire flies
Did they have a heart break?
A star broke, and fell
Like my eyes, fell
on the side of my bed
Who's that? A shadow?
Quivering like my frightful soul
Oh! Mid night! I am alone!!!

I gulp my shattered courage
With a tonic of fearfulness

I see, the shadow is mute
As if powerless, waiting for eternity
To be freed, to choose what to be!

It reminds me, of countless deeds
I did for sake of this world
I shackled me
Waiting to be freed, waiting to be rediscovered!?
A blanket of guilt is taken out
With a wind of change, I surround

The shadow settles, it waits for me
I was to calm her, I raise my hands
Oh! It's raises its as well
We meet
Suddenly, the history flashes
like tv news on both the sides
On the left, what happened
On the right, what it could have been
And what stopped this transition?
Just.... ME

I shook my hands for the first time
With my inner self
I knew, I wanted to hug it
Be only what I loved, be me
If I knew then what I knew now
I could be my super star!

But..... I am young
Yes'ta'day is past
Yes, today is past
Tomorrow will be new day
A nude day!
I will be Awesome: Oh so me!

HOMELY
S. Ritika

Oh, what a beauty she was!
Don't be tricked by her monotone
Potent to spice up anything, alone!

She dwelled In that small town,
Free, had a space for her own.
A magician, sprouting miniatures
The brown canvas, sprayed with green creatures!

Alas, she was married to the city,
A mud coloured palanquin, oh so tiny!
How unjust, she had to survive in a shady corner
Tied to her roots, what light could she garner?!

And yet lively, thus she thrived
Soaring meagre heights, yes she survived
And justifying her noble birth
In her own ways, she purified the earth.

(The life story of a homely 'curry leaf plant' )

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

AN ODE TO MOTHERS

Nachieketa K Sharma

Why waste words failing to take you

Where you mean,

The more you use the better fence you create

Fencing out more than fencing in.

Like you, I used to invoke rainbow of words

To freeze fleeting moments,

And rejoiced like a conqueror

Fooling infinity into chains.

Use words, if you have to

Like our Mothers,

Stray, meaningless, ungrammatical

Yet breaking barriers.

(On the occasion of International Women’s Day, 08.03.2018)

WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN BETTER, MY DEAR FATHER?
Nachieketa K. Sharma

Where is time to converse with Poetry?

Long, long ago, she

In spite of my utmost awareness

Rushed at once

Through my slightly ajar entrance.

And pleaded she, “Don’t drive me away honey,

Won’t I pay you sweet pain in lieu of your love for me?”

Though after a while she left me,

Neither I shrank nor bowed the knee

Nor even I suspected her absence

Never suffered the trap of helplessness.

Very much powerful I have become

My every move can checkmate some

Can build overnight a mighty Rome!

Once I used to compose poems

Being maddened with joy and emotions.

I was not detached from the moon

Playing hide and seek with serrated leaves.

My whole world was intimate without griefs.

Alas, what did I get

Being away from the crowd and being a poet?

Colossal accusations on being crushed

And on being detached from the world,

I forgot and relinquished my Poetry,

I strangulated my will and spirit solely.

And I castrated and drove away my dreams,

At the altar of my poetic domain, I made the supreme sacrifice

And constructed a skyscraper of my mundane capacities.

And soon my success became epidemic, my path turned clear and distinct-

It never disappeared like a bird’s route in the vast sky

Like a fish’s course in water, it never melted away.

“O drooping branch!

Don’t you have acumen this much

To pierce the wind

And exhibits in its canvas your colourful existence?”

As you obey me and give prestige to me

My son, ignorant of my abilities, is yet to bow to me.

And he says, “well, you have achieved everything, status and glory

You know to unravel all the unknowns,

You have answers to all the problems at your fingertips.

Still, if you could step down from the post of Father

And taken up a bit of the role of Mother

And held me up in your arms

As you intimately had embraced Poetry once,

And got welled up in her ardour

Wouldn’t have been better, my dear Father?”

Prof. Nachieketa K Sharma teaches Physics in Siksha O Anusandhan University. He also holds the positions of Director, University Outreach Programmes, Director,International Relation & Admission, Programme Coordinator, National Service Scheme. He writes both in Odia & English. A columnist, panelist, science popularizer, Public Speaker Prof. Sharma has poetic sensibilities galore. A mystic by heart he loves to dwell on esoteric topics. An acclaimed translator that he is, his contribution to Unnati Aap under Atal Mission has been appreciated by NITI Aayog. He is also doing a translation project of National Translation Mission.

SPACE FOR MOTIVATION

Sneha Bhowmick

A price for everything in life,

Which as sculptor tries to make masterpieces from us .

But the pivotal thing , around which

Every positive event occurs is acceptance.

Acceptance of what?

Everyone is different, we can't become the photocopy of others.

We must be inspired from every good things,

but not to the extent of emulation.

Nothing is beautiful,

than being original.

Life is about igniting individual identity,

discovering ourselves by introspection and

celebrate the happiness of being original.

We have limited time at hand, but

So much to see,so much to know and

So much to experience,

No time to waste.

Possibilities are endless,

We can become anything and can do anything.

Think about the future,

but don't be dismayed,

Think about the past ,but don't be lost.

Just keep moving forward,

We will be conferred with priceless experience and

A treasure trove of memories.

The full realisation of Divinity is Humanity.

Since the fate is unknown, let's be lenient,

The way we are to ourselves.

Nobody can stop us from being happy,

When we can do so much good for others.

"Awake today with new joys to a LIFE beautifully bright,

May the spring brings new hopes, promises and eternal peace.

The beautiful celebration called Life will end,

Diffusing with portrait setting sun ,

for the time being, let's lose all agita and

let the life be poised and elan ".

Dr. Sneha Bhowmick completed her MBBS this year from Sum Institute of Medical Sciences, Bhubaneswar. she has this to say about herself: "Till this age, I don't believe I have achieved anything big, but my mission is all about the constant effort for achieving something big, to bring about a change in this world, may be very small work, but want to contribute as much as I can for betterment of mankind, I want to do my part of work with complete dedication. My hobby is reading and writing, the only thing I feel I can do little bit properly. Not at all a perfect person but receptive to both appreciation and criticism and will always try to work on it and improve as a person."

POISON

Chandan Kumar Chowdhury

Context- "Child sexual abuse starts from home"

On a not so significant day

I came out of my mother,

Yew! Slime all over me

When nurse put a towel to cover.

I was welcomed into home

With hearty laughs and claps,

Introduced I was that day

To a venomous serpent that he was.

From that day he oggled me

"Gudia" was the name he chose,

My uncle had a peculiar affection

Touching me odd when he's close.

During naps, for the baths

He would always volunteer,

Until I grew up to an age

None of his actions were clear.

His fangs scratching my body

POISON that dripped from him,

All over me, all over me

Scathing me for a lifetime.

My world now is invulnerable

Free of those shame and guilt,

But the dissolved poison in me

Shall stay till I cease to exist.

Chandan Kumar Chowdhury, student(MBBS) , IMS AND SUM HOSPITAL BHUBANESWAR. Absolute No One learning as a human to fail successfully! To get in Touch: twitter.com/c_howdhury ; linkedin.com/in/c-howdhury

WHERE HAVE WE COME TO ..............

Indu Pooranan

From playing outside to shutting us inside

From pay phones to mobiles

From letters to emails

From greeting cards to messages

From once a year movie to anytime movies

From walking to hardly moving

From cycling to kick starting

From a simple yet happy celebration to showy, expensive parties yet faked happiness

From Psycho to Conjuring

From just a scream and show of knife was considered scary thriller

To the showing of all forms of violence as a daily affair

From villains to anti hero

From simple saints to corporate Gurus

From homes to flats

From forests to concrete jungles

From rivers and lakes to garbage dumps

From manual to mechanized

From colonies to countries

From slavery to Independence

Yet, not free ......

The list goes on and on

We have come a loooong way , have we ??? Or

Have we gone a long way and there is no coming back ????

BREAK OF DAWN.....
Indu Pooranan

The silence of the night
Slowly gives way to the break of dawn
The calmness of the sunrise
Brings light into the day
And hope into the way
The birds chirping,
The light cool breeze
Soothing your fresh mind
All of which is soon drowned in noise
Giving you no other choice
But to go on with the day
Hoping to catch up the same
Beauty of silence the next day.

COEXIST WITH CORONA
Indu Pooranan

When the fancy year 2020 arrived
We all had plans, goals, hopes and dreams
Just like every other year
Resolutions were made
Not aware of what was in store
Little did we know about the tragedies in galore
Which was going to build up more and more
We joined the rest of the world in shutting ourselves inside
Like everything else this too became global
Learning from the mistakes of others
Creating our own from which others learnt their ways
Initially not understanding what is happening
What is going to happen
We started enjoying the free time with family
Exploring and finding old and new ways to spend time
Locked in the four walls of our house
Enjoying the silence of usually crowded cities
Giving the chance to nature to revive on its own
Just like many families too
Realizing importance of family time
In the meantime not to forget our warriors who fought the virus
Risking their own lives
Day after day, week after week
Not giving them time to feel weak
When we did realize the chances to normal life was bleak
Technology was put to maximum use
Teachers became students
Students became teachers
Teachers being taught to deal with new schooling methods
Grandparents became little kids and learnt to be more tech savvy
All this happening while time kept ticking
Everyone wanting to obliterate 2020 from their memory
Nothing fancy but for the fact that it has kept us sloppy and soapy ????
We did learn and are still learning to cope with situations
Working hard to vaccinate a larger population
Managing to deal with the broken economy
Inventing ways and means
Be it simple or complicated
Creating a new normal
Let us all hope, pray and learn

TO CO EXIST WITH CORONA

Indu Pooranan lives in Chennai and is passionate about literature. She started writing a few lines wishing her husband for his 50th birthday and from then on has gone on to making people feel special on important occasions by expressing her thoughts and the bonds they share. In addition to the photo grids that she tries to create, she also pens her thoughts on nature and current topics.

MUSINGS WITH A MIRROR

Ashok Subramanian

(Image by Nicola Giordano from Pixabay)

A coating of mercury behind a pane of glass

Just about the size of a human

Stood before me, as I stood before it.

It showed what it saw

And it saw the fullest me

A bit of stubble and unkempt hair

Creases on the forehead

Folded arms akimbo and legs apart

A challenging posture indeed

Yet the mirror seemed to read more

My sighs and deep breaths

Even my worries and queries

A peek into my wounded and weary soul

The past scars and the pain with them

A full person emerging on it

A quiet conversation started

The air between us seemed to vacate

*‘You are broken within and without’*

‘I seem to be so, don’t I?’, I retort

*‘I can see that, my friend, all of that’*

‘So that is me,’ I draw up and conclude

*‘You shall, as you choose to be’*

‘What do you mean?’ I ask, frowning more

*‘Would you try something if I suggest? ’*

‘I don’t have to, yet I can try’, say I

*‘Take a breath and break a smile’*

‘This is simple, so I shall’, I reply.

I take a deep breath and put up a smile

The person in front of me does smile back

*‘How does it feel and how does it look?’*

‘A bit lighter and a bit more handsome’

*‘Ha! Why don’t you try something else, may be laugh?’*

‘I may look stupid, but I shall try’

So, I laugh, this time aloud

The person laughed but without a sound

*‘I heard you, but you can’t me’*

‘Weird it is but wonderful more’, say I

*‘That is, you, my dear friend, weird but wonderful’*

*‘And you were also the weary and worried’*

I walk away from the mirror and the conversation stopped

‘Weary and worried’ and yet ‘weird and wonderful’

The choice had been always mine.

A dressing mirror reflects more than our physical being. It peeks within and can draw us out. A poem that brought out my present state of mind and form, I wrote it today morning, to get off a tough week at work.

Note: I have tried asterisks ( bold) to bring out the lines of the mirror.

Ashok Subramanian been writing poems and stories since 2011. He is a published poet and fiction author. His published past work involves Maritime Heritage of India ( Contributing Writer, 2015), Poetarrati Volume 1& 2 ( Poetry series, 2020 - Ranked #8 on Amazon Hot Releases List in May 2020), A City Full of Stories ( Short Fiction, 2021) and Ponder 2020 ( Poetry Review Collection, 2021). Upcoming work includes Poetarrati Volumes 3 and 4, and a contemporary fiction novel in 2022. By profession, he is an investment banker and fund manager.

MY MOTHER

Trishna Sahoo

From good morning to good night,

My mother is always with me,

So I feel delight.

Anything she has, she always shares,

At every difficult time,

she always cares.

For many things,

both of us fight,

When I am at fault,

she makes me right .

" All mothers are loving ,"

that is my wish,

I always start my day,

with a gentle kiss.

I love you Mama,

I care for you ,

I am too happy,

to get a mother like you.

Trishna ( Natuni ) , a class V student of Sai International School Bhubaneswar, born to engineer parents and doctor grand parents is a gifted child. A disciplined and determined learner she is, as a student, family member, speaker, writer and an Odisi dancer. She is blended with traditional and cultural values, spirituality, science and arts. A nature loving girl she has taken reading books and travelling as her hobbies. Her favourite dish is Chicken Biryiani prepared by her mother. Her motto of life is, " NEVER BE A DEFAULTER. " May God bless her.

THAT ONE MAN IN THE HOUSE

Keshav Maheshwari

There was only Robert in that house, sleeping peacefully,

Little did he know that someone was on a robbing spree;

Then suddenly he heard a sound from down below,

And saw downstairs a small light’s glow.

Robert stood there, curious but afraid,

Hoping that someone would come to his aid;

But no one came, and his hair stood on end,

He went to find out if it was a foe or a friend.

He went down the dark staircase, feeling for the rail,

Hoping that his courage, would last and not fail;

Going around the corner, he heard the same noise,

Following it out of the door, seeing that he had no choice.

He came closer to the well and looked, seeing what met his eye,

And down there was a thief, a robber, a spy!

He knew this man could be dangerous, and sat down to think,

And he knew what was to be done, just within a blink;

Quietly carried out his plan, up a trap he set,

And then when the thief came out, he got caught in a net!

Proudly he went to the police, his chest swelling,

And took them to the place where he was dwelling;

And soon the police took the thief and put him behind bars,

Finally Robert felt safe, saying goodbye to the police cars.

Keshav Maheshwari is 13 years old. This is his first poem. Before this he was never interested in writing poetry. He wrote this poem for a school assignment and discovered her talent in writing poetry.

A SILENT WAIT

S. Sundar Rajan

It was an evening, rainy,

With sky, dark and cloudy.

The time was ticking by,

Should I bid goodbye,

To your monthly smile?

No. I will wait a while,

I am sure you will surface,

Thro' the dark clouds, with grace.

The dark clouds did clear

To portray your brilliance, sheer,

I turn to the creator overawed,

With you at my doorstep, I am blessed.

(Inspired by the full moon night on Guru Purnima, the 23rd July)

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.

SMOOTH LANDING

Hema Ravi

Journey called Life, best spent without strife

With time co-passengers become passersby

Few make a mark, many around, to take to task

Indelible scars camouflaged behind a mask.

Family, home, kith and kin a sojourn

Temporary stopover leaves no mourn

Truth to be realized sooner or later

Purpose of birth…..its perception gives mirth.

Associations-Fragile, be handled with care.

Friendships result in smiles

To sustain it, miles to go

At signals, a little slow.

Vicious, violent demeanour results in

untold misery, telltale signs despite armour.

Discretion, discrimination, determination-

Mastery facilitates diplomacy and perspicacity.

Transition from bovine to divine

helps overcome tribulations, shatters ego.

If only it had occurred a long time ago!

Smooth landing.....Disembark.

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.

ALL THE LITTLE THINGS…

Uma Sripathi

A bee that buzzes around your ear,

You try to swat, and dance in fear

A touch of comedy engulfs you,

When you realise your predicament too

Walking in the dark, in the light of the full moon,

Listening to your most adored tune,

The feel of cool grass beneath your bare feet,

A refreshing smoothie in the summer’s heat,

A happy face of one you love,

An organised market, no push, no shove,

A little honey when there’s too much spice,

A bowl of hot soup, after a night in the ice,

The flight of eagles, rain clouds on a sultry day,

Birds chirping, animatedly away,

Cozily snuggled up on a cold winter’s dawn,

If only vacations could go on and on!

A thunderstorm after a long drought,

An immense victory after a long war fought,

The innocence of a baby cackling with glee

Some time looking at the lone vast sea,

Grandparents’ tales, their abundant care,

Time with cousins, playing truth or dare,

A baby’s birth, a recognition, a prize,

A perfect ‘twelve’ on a pair of dice,

A healthy wind, crickets calling in a forest,

Spending time with grandad, the dearest!

Times with friends savoring ice creams,

Fantasizing your future with starry eyed dreams,

A sibling’s stupid joke that has you rolling on the floor

Watching a kite from your terrace, soar,

Having juicy mangoes for dinner tonight,

Scenic landscapes, an incredible sight!

Dew drops on a morning leaf,

A last-minute holiday, what a relief!

A first-time rainbow after the rains,

A pure white shirt devoid of stains!

A melodious string of well-played notes,

Medical tests showing perfect healthy reports,

A bud that goes into splendid bloom,

Returning home to a spotless room,

Train rides with local kids waving and running by,

Air flights, in the white cottony sky,

A Worry free heart, a thought-free mind,

Immeasurable joy, proving you’ve been kind.

A Relaxed evening spent counting each star,

Marvelling at an ant who’s travelled afar,

With ten times his weight, a burden on his back,

A team in perfect sync, goodies! A whole pack!

The peacock’s dance welcoming the rain,

Innocent Mischief, as Amma reprimands in disdain,

A perfect goal, a perfect score, butterflies in farms,

Praiseworthy work of your comrades-in-arms,

The rush of excitement when the giant-wheel spins,

Petty little fights and glamorous wins

Heaving a sigh, patting a rarely full tummy,

Playing with slime, all soft and gummy

An ‘indigent’ person’s optimistic view,

That inspires one’s ‘gloomy’, ‘affluent’ life, when you’re blue,

The gentle spray from a scenic waterfall

Early sunrises with the cuckoo’s call.

That first harvest after meticulous strife,

These are a few of the happy little things in life,

That one forgets to appreciate along the way,

Of the dynamic, demanding, busy day…

TO MY FAVOURITE DISH…

Uma Sripathi

That perfection of sweet and spice

A simple mixture of everything nice,

Oh! that’s crisp, an aqueous delight,

That first mouthful that tastes just right!

A plateful of tiny roundel chips

Stuffed with seasoned potato strips

With sweet cumin water or the spicy green,

A pleasurable delicacy it has always been…

Tears roll down, as you swallow, and try

To restrain from another bite, a sigh

Escapes you as you yearn to hear another crunch

Again, down your throat, that flavoursome punch!

Succulent coriander biting in your tongue

A sweet brown chutney of perfectly strung

Condiments, take you down memory lane

Of good times that keep you healthy and sane.

But all too soon, it comes to an end,

One is left wanting more, like it’s a comforting friend,

A shoulder to one’s sorrow

Or a reassurance for tomorrow…

This exquisite mélange, a masterpiece

Puts every hungry foodie at peaceful ease,

Had a bad day with high tempers and fury?

Tuck in at home with a plate of Pani Puri!

THE TODDLER IN OUR HOUSE

Uma Sripathi

There she comes our little angel

To brighten our lives

With beauty in her little eyes

Deep into our hearts and souls,

This little angel dives...

Mommy's little world,

Daddy's little heart,

Thathas' and Paatis' apple-of-the-eyes,

Her aunts adore this heroine

The walls are decorated with her profound art.

She crawls and climbs and jumps and falls

When she is chased, she hides,

In cracks and crevices, this tiny angel

Giggles her adorable laugh

And toddles beside couches n under table sides!

Oh, when she’s asleep, it’s all too quiet,

a sigh of relief, we know she’s safe and sound,

But once the little 'Miss Chief' starts

So does our daily exercise,

For she makes us run round and round!

Run with diapers, run with food

Run with all the important books!

Run with your laptop, run for your life!

Coz the little angel's the Boss,

And she knows all the corners and nooks!

Her smile lights up the darkest day,

Her sorrow has us in a bad mood

Oh her excitement's the best thing ever,

When her eyes show innocence and curiosity

Especially when she’s flying or playing with her food

Oh, how was life before her we hardly remember,

Now we all dance around her tiny little finger

With her little naughty antics

Rolling and playing, gurgling, murmuring

In her baby language she's an established singer!

Her focus is impeccable

Especially when she’s occupied

With pulling clothes and pushing buttons

Tearing books and opening doors,

Trying to challenge the plugs, none can hide!

How can anyone not celebrate her?

Our house's little blessing,

With her profound deeds, all of us,

Are guaranteed to be tickled

Joy and excitement abundant, there’s no time for stressing...

A passionate writer/poet and photographer, Uma's interests range from being a vegetarian food connoiseur to 3D animation and gaming. She loves reading fantasy fiction and hopes to publish a series of books sometime in the future. She admires ancient Indian History. She loves carnatic music and is also spiritually inclined. Post pandemic, she wishes to pursue higher studies in media and animation. Her favourite sports to play are shuttle badminton and swimming, while she is also a Tennis enthusiast. Her favourite Tennis player is Rafael Nadal.

She believes that honesty, kindness and happiness are the toughest things to come by, but the most cherished values. She was born on the International Peace Day, and wishes for complete world peace and harmony

THE DIVINE PROFESSION
Akankshya Arunima

Here I am, in my cabin waiting for another patient
Waiting for another of my brothers, to come to me seeking my help.
I will ask him to sit, make him comfortable
Convince him, gain his confidence till he entrusts me with his ailment.

He would say, I'm coughing since long, or my body is as hot as a volcano,
Or I'm unable to breathe nicely or have a lump on my back.
I enquire about him, about since when and how he acquire it,
Did it affect his daily activities, did anyone of his family have it too?

I enquire everything about him and his trouble, as classified as it may be,
And though it may sound odd, he replies all of them with no shy nor reserves.
In this interview of few minutes, he discloses me with those privy details,
which he might not even let his wife to. I guard it O' brother, with all the righteousness in me.

Now I want to examine his lump, ask him to bare himself Infront of me
He obiliges with no reluctance, I too take my precautions to save his dignity.
I place my hand on his lump, touch it, feel it, squeeze it a bit and move it.
I place my stetho on his bare chest and hear with greatest value, what each of us do- breath!

I now, kind of know,what my brother is going through.
But wait, I'm no God, I got to investigate, for in our job, there's no liberty for mistake.
I request him to draw few drops of his blood, or take his urine, stool or sample for biopsy
And once I receive the reports, I use all my vast knowledge of Medicine to diagnose it.

Then comes the part which demands my best communication skills,
For I need to tell the diseased about his disease,without making him or his family loose faith in life
I tell them as plainly for my brother to understand, as acceptable for him to realise he can be okay.
I tell him about all the possible ways I can cure him,
But take all my care to promise not, that I "will" cure him.

Then one day, my brother gets ready for his surgery,
I take his consent and that of his family's, to anaesthetize him, and then cut through his body on table.
I then make him unconscious, wear my gown, glove, cap and mask,
Before holding my scalpel, I pray our God to make ‘our' efforts work.

As I stand there for hours, trying to cut through all the layers apart, search for the culprit, fix it.
Dealing with blood and all the anatomies, while my brother is deep in sleep.
I sometimes lean on his body, sometimes clean his face as if the long operation is irritating him,
I take utmost humility and pride at that time, to be Almighty's medium to heal him.

When bones come my way, I drill it. When a tissue blind my field, I burn it.
When a vessel bleed, I tie it. When a tumor is spotted, I attack it.
All along keeping in mind, that my brother is fine.
His heart is slow but beating. His mind can’t perceive pain, but deal with it.

When the operation is over, and I withdraw him out of the influencial drugs,
I call his name,if he’s feeling okay? He tells me, he’s in terrible pain, and I'm happy, at least he's awake.
I share the news to his family and then I shift him to a bed and look after him for few days.
Ironically, I heal him by inflicting him the pain of surgery and making him take pungent medicines.

He appears after many distant days again, but replacing his agony with a smile
He came just to tell me, " I'm feeling healthy now, Thank you doctor", and trust me, it's the most satisfying feeling of the world.
I thought for a while, waiting to serve my next brother,
Having known what it takes, the struggle and patience, the time and energy, to be a doctor,
If ever given the choice, I'll trade nothing for this blessing, to be one in all , and all in one.
A midwife, a babysitter, a plumber, a carpenter, an accountant, a communicator.
As stony as iron, as compassionate as a mother. I take pride that I swear and live
By the oath of the Hippocrates, to be able to heal, to know how to save a life.

MEMENTO MORI
Akankshya Arunima

I’ve been a guest to a place today
They call it the house of the dead
The place where the dead “lives”
Or better say, ceased to live hence.

I wasn’t at all disappointed to receive
No hospitality, by the inmates of brief longevity
They remained in their, calm and ice colded in mortuary
While we waited to visit them, prayed them to rest uninterrupted and ‘steady'.

The frequency there was world apart, like life and death difference
Everything comparable to devastation and absence.
All went there wishing and hurrying to dispose them off in the crematory
And as students, our best interests lied in learning mere autopsy- anatomy.

Body, just a dead body they were referred to in the corridor,
Why, just because he doesn’t breath, doesn’t beat anymore?
Entire life it had served as somebody’s father, brother, husband, child
Is it at the end nothing but a burden, like a miser getting robbed of his misery!

The painful truth apart, here we were, assessing scientifically the cause of death
We were said he tried to hang himself, Holy lord! He was a farmer, with much debt.
We cut him through, examining each organ, picturing his struggle as he gave up
Also inferring, if abated, what sections will they be charged up?

Though gloomy and scary, it was indeed an experience worth sharing,
To be a visitor to the place which rents suspicious cases of slaying.
It not only taught us forensic and legal procedures, those statutory,
As we left the autopsy hall, in a wall was inscribed for us, “ Memento Mori”

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 National doctor's day. She long wanted to pen down her thoughts about this nobel profession, knowing how seemingly impossible the task is. The life of a doctor is most extraordinary and beautiful in it's own way. As they say service to mankind is service to God. "How extraordinary will a human's life be when it's each day is filled with dedicated service to the people. Thus being a doctor/physician/surgeon is just not a profession. It's a Divine Profession!" - Akankshya Arunima

DEEP INTO THE WOODS

Akshara Rai

Into the copse through the tall canopied trees,

Gazing all around in a desperate mind,

Dwelling in the despondency of the past,

Reminded of the flight of imagination;

Fabricated with the web of reverie of desires,

The dire plight, the mirage of cherished dreams;

With a heavy heart inflicted with sorrows and pain,

Short lived is the bliss of solitude;

Into the woods, to fetch the essence of contentment,

Into the woods, get the soul enriched with spirit of serenity;

Into the woods, to quench the thirst of tranquility,

Into the woods, drench in the showers of wilderness;

And into the woods, I go to lose my mind and find my soul,

And deep into the woods, to listen the magical whispers of old trees,

The sweet lullabies of cool breeze of the shade uplifted my heart with the elixir of contentment,

Pacify my soul with the essence of serenity,

The humming melodies of birds, the buzz of bees, the fragrance of smilax ,limax ,

The scent of white tulips,mellows,sweet Williams adding redolence to the herbaceous border;

Drenched out all my sorrows,

The vibrant flowing of Brooks, it’s cascades, streams up and down; into the lofty mountains, fetch me to the lap of nature,

Fill my mind with solace ,sanctity,

The thick canopy of broad trees,

The sweet rustling of broad leaves,

The glittering Sunrays penetrating deep into the forest,

To bring into life all that was once filled with gloom,

And deep into the woods, between every two pines,

Found a doorway to a new world, enlightened and envisioned,

And in every walk with nature received far more than I seek,

Keeping close to nature’s heart,

Breaking clear away once in a while,

Climbing the mountain, spent a moment in the woods,

Washed my spirit clean,

And finally deep into the woods, and came out taller than the trees.

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.

THE LABURNUM TREE
Shruti Sarma

Glittering golden, stands the laburnum tree
As sunlight strikes the tender petals
Descend to embrace the earth like a golden shower
When kissed by the soft, whispering breeze.
Oh! Passers by , please hold on
To observe this beautiful nature's canvas
A frilled painting of green and yellow
Like an artist's clever brush.
The sun sends his good wishes
To this daughter of him
That dew drops on the golden surface
Sparkle as diamonds due to sun beams.
And when the sun goes down and the moon smiles
Spreading her silver veil across the sky
The nymphs descend down from heaven
Graceful, sweet and shy.
Their delicate fingers gently pluck
The golden bunch, shimmering soft in the moonlight
To braid and pin their curly locks
On this silvery night.
The necklaces around their neck
Seems to be much precious than gold
For these carry the elegance and beauty
Of the laburnum which never grow old.
A lot of time has spent by and the sun rises up
And the nymphs ascend back to their heavenly abode
Glittering golden, stands the laburnum tree
As sunlight strikes the tender petals
Descend to embrace the earth like a golden shower
When kissed by the soft, whispering breeze.

Shruti Sarma is currently an MBBS student of IMS and SUM hospital, Bhubaneswar. She is from Guwahati, Assam and is also an artist, a Sattriya dancer and a writer. She completed her schooling from Delhi Public School, Guwahati and her higher secondary studies from Sai Vikash Junior college, Guwahati. She has also been awarded the Mofizuddin Ahmed Hazarika Literary Award in 2016 for the best junior Assamese author.

COULD HUMANS BE POETRY?
Lora Mishra

Ages after quitting on poetry,
one morning,
my husband chose to say,
“My dear, happy world poetry day!”
I looked at him, perplexed.
How did he know about my past?
Even I stand unaware of the fact
that when I was able to rhyme last!
I’d long given up on words,
I’d chosen to stay out of art.
I remember how making up my mind
kept perpetually ripping off my heart.
But what else could I do
when my pen refused to flow?
With all those words knocking on my brain,
where was I supposed to go?
All my hands could do
was scribble on a blank sheet.
I couldn’t put a few letters together.
I’d succumbed to my defeat.
So many thoughts
kept crashing in my head.
But I was too weak to write them,
Or was I too afraid?
Afraid of not being good enough,
of being too mediocre for my own taste?
But did I not write to heal myself?
Then why did I bother about the rest?
Why did I think about people?
Why did it matter if the poem was not good
if it helped me live a moment a little better,
if at least it could save me from deluge?
Why did I feel the need
to fit into the norms of the world?
How could I bow before hatred
and forget the power of words?
Wasn’t it too late for me to introspect
having left behind poetry long ago?
But can a poet ever leave poetry?
Can out of it he ever grow?
Too many questions filled in my mind,
but one was too surprising to me.
How did he know I used to be a poet?
I’ve never spoken to him about poetry.
“What makes you say it to me, honey?
Why tell me about poetry?”
“Because, I remember, when I was a kid,
My teacher used to always tell me that
poetry is the most beautiful form of art.
It can be colourful like a sketch.
It can beat up and down like music,
and like prose, it can stretch.
You can sing it like a lullaby,
or you can dance to it.
It can amend a hundred broken hearts,
But can also break millions of it.
Poetry, she used to say,
was the weapon of the medieval times.
Haven’t you heard how poets used to
call forth people with help of rhymes?
When I see you, my love,
I wonder who was the poet who
made me such a beautiful poetry
in the form of you.”
I took a moment to grasp
what he had been saying to me.
And after a second’s pause, I asked,
“Could humans be poetry too?”
“why can’t they be?
Look at you, how gracefully you exist.
If you aren’t poetry,
then I don’t know what it is.”

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.

FINDING YOURSELF

Ayana Routray

Getting lost in a book,

It feels being in another world

And leaving this world behind, to look,

to imagine and to wander in the land of words

Getting drowned in the pages

It feels like the déjà vu

Like visiting a place you have been since long ages,

but still can't get enough to your heart's content

Getting taken away by the phrases

It feels like getting all the musings sorted

Yet all along the curosity chases,

to traverse in between the lines, finding the unsaids

Getting lost in a book

Is to be that wonderer child again

It is to find yourself sitting in some nook

or to be among the pillow forts just like then

It is to be euphoricly content

And to discover yourself walking off the right lane!

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.

ART
Hiya Khurana

Art is Beauty
And Beauty is Art...

There is no word in the dictionary,
To define the esteemed artistry,
For Art isn't about theoretical meaning,
It is the source of the tiniest feeling...

Be it a grain of sand,
Or a fictional snake's hand,
Be it the caw of a crow,
Or a dancer in every show,
Every speck of Earth
In it's warm hearty hearth,
Has variations of lovely motions
With infinite emotions...

Even in every atom weak,
Lies a form of art,
And every human is unique,
As he has an artist in his Heart...

The day we neglect Art,
The end of this world will start,
For this world can survive without scientific inventions,
But not without Artistic Innovations...

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.

MOTHER TERESSA

Abani Udgata

Even a thin shard of light does not filter

thru the thick forest of relationships.

An expectant silence in the forest strains hard

hard indeed to catch the drone of real

or imagined aircrafts laden with bombs.

The air in and around is charged with fear.

Packed in my five foot frame

I zealously guard

my inelasticity,

my tiny artefacts.

I will never understand you

though I know

You are the most beautiful woman.

( N.B.- The poem was written nearly thirty years back.)

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

FLIGHT (OODAN)

Runu Mohanty

(Trans-creation: Prabhanjan K. Mishra)

Take shelter in a stranger’s house

in an unforeseen rain,

shut doors and windows

against squalls and gusty winds,

sweep the sharp splinters off the floor

before they wound the feet,

take care of the situations before

the pressure in mind’s cooker explodes

A bird in a cage is no bird,

a bird without flight is no happy bird,

know the shame of disrobing

unless the robe is on fire.

Life is sorrow. Hurt and pain

come in wagon-loads,

fill the spaces from birth to death.

Some pain is personal –

its privacy can’t be shared with any,

like coming out of neck-deep water

without clothes. The shame is chillier,

still deeper water with another name.

Don’t go mad, if you can’t

push a hill out of your way,

don’t act weird, be a social animal,

reap its benefits. Don’t run naked

along a broad avenues, don’t beautify the ugly,

it may turn uglier. Worship the body,

its tell-tale details. Get rid of the wetness

of shame by not walking into deeper water.

God’s house is known

by its religious insignia -

a saffron flag, a top-wheel, a cross,

or a star embraced by a crescent moon.

A woman in love is known

in or out of marriage

from the pure pink roses

blooming on her cheeks.

(The poem is from Runu Mohanty’s Odia book of poems ‘Sahaja Sundari’ that should mean ‘easy grace’. The book was published in 2011.)

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.

THE MOUNTAIN PASS (GHATI RASTA)

Bijay Ketan Patnaik

Trans-creation: Prabhanjan K. Mishra

The hill-pass snakes ahead

as does a hair clip; it snuggles

into the bunched-up hair of a woman

wiggling its way like an uncoiling

thin viper, at times a clasping python clip.

Ah! Its fatal attraction –

making a traveler conceive ideas

that cohabit with desires to give birth

to aspirations like gods, the arbiters of life, -

never shouldering the burden of responsibilities,

but ever pushing the man to “The paths

of glory lead but to the grave”.

Life trudges along, a long winding

mountain pass in a vehicle of flesh.

Born of the elements, it would

return to the elements at the end,

as does an over-ripe palm fruit

that flops down to the ground’s soil.

Life’s mountain-pass is lush and alluring,

goes along paths, seemingly up and unending.

The events left behind go hazy - toddling

along intimate childhood lanes, the nursery classes,

then mere smears of memory. One stands, transfixed,

undecided to move forward or backward.

(The poem is from the poet’s book of Odia poems ‘Jhia Pari Naitiei’, 20004)

Footnote - *This great quote in the second stanza above is taken from the ninth stanza of the Thomas Grey’s poem “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”. The lines go like:

“The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,

Awaits alike th’ inevitable hour,

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.”

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

BETWEEN LINES

Ravi Ranganathan

Clouds are just wading birds in winter branches

The trees come alive in glowing sunshine

I try to tell her growing hypocrisy of my living

I know she cares because she shades

Aligning with her I can realign my life...

Seeing snapshots are just not enough

I must recline with the cloud when it cascades

Like those birds with supple movements

Mine are mere words lacking in verve

It takes more than a resolve to sync with the swerve...

May be I am on threshold; evening may yet bind me

Nature is never dumb, never on edge

Patience its watch word, Peace its pledge

When will I learn to overturn turmoil?

When will I ever learn to read between lines? ...

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 SECOND CHILDHOOD

Dr. Aparna Ajith

Childhood days in all ways are always blissful

His sheer innocence makes him all the more graceful.

The myriad hues of his childhood

rejoice in my rarefied realm of motherhood!

Kunjapp, we affectionately call him,

His glimpse can bring us on a whim.

For Kunja, he is always cute Kunjapp,

Of course, our lovely home’s lively little App!

For Achan, he is the bravo boy

All set to offer him toys to destroy.

Unmindful of the passage of the biological clock

I crave wildly for his talk.

The pastime of Peekaboo is so amazing

that he kicked off the art of chasing.

He defamiliarizes me from my daily distress

as he wishes to see my ever smiling face bereft of any stress.

He imprisons my agonies in his 24 karat innocence

My muscle spasms rejuvenate in this serene experience.

To his vigorous smile, Appuppan enthralls,

Countless cloudless thoughts, he recalls.

Under his safe cocoon, he once pampered me.

Now it’s time to lavish all his endearment to my baby.

Ammumma is 24*7 reserved for her grandson

The most blessed love for her is defined by this cute little one.

Yet again, I see my mother’s unfaltering affection

My withered heart departs for my childhood recollection.

Grandson is their invaluable blessing

The vagaries of ageing are erased in his caressing.

It’s in fact my second childhood

lavishing the lost rhythm of their parenthood!

Once, I too was a kid

Now I can only pine for what all I did.

Kunjapp, my darling recreates our long lost dazzling days

In his enticing infancy, my unsullied soul blazes.

This poem is dedicated to the spring of my life, Anvik Sujeeth aka Kunjapp who is 234 days old.

Kunja   - Mother’s sister in Malayalam
Achan    - Father in Malayalam
Peekaboo - A game played with a baby that comprises hiding and reappearing within no time.
Appuppan - Grandfather in Malayalam
Ammumma  - Grandmother in Malayalam

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.

NAMELESS

Sharanya Bee

I don't know your name

To me your identity is this strange

Yet familiar anonymity we've shared all along

I am sorry

I never complimented when the

Mirrorwork of your long, long

Skirts shed reflections of patterned

Light onto my shadow skin

I am sorry

The cattle you took to graze

took off bellowing

Seeing me, dragging you along

Through green muddy grounds

The fright was unintentional

And I must thank you

For the delightful laughs you gave

Tripping into the riverwater

The jokes you exchanged

Curious tales of when you

Barely escaped a serpent bite

Homely affairs of all the landlords,

Townsfolks' place you walked into everyday

Did you know now there's an eerie silence all over the village

They're telling your tales

Two days it's been

They found only your milk-can floating

Over the river

It'll take more time for them

To discover this quicksand

Until then

I can keep you company

Please say

Anamika

Are you above or beneath me now?

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.

A GLANCE OUT THE WINDOW

Setaluri Padmavathi

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 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

AS THE BLUISH PLANET CRUISES.

Pradeep Rath

In all the centuries of love and hate,

in all the centuries of songs and dance,

bloodshed and strife

the bluish planet cruises and cruises

the vast space alone, all alone

carrying stubbornly

birds, beasts,mountains, trees and people.

Yeah, people,

whimsical, ungrateful, wise and caring,

talk of peace and happiness

as blossoms sprout,

birds take new wings and chirp,

rains gush in,

earth emits sweet fragrance

and quietly dream.

People revolve,

revolve around the earth,

in quagmire

of delusions,

pretend

to live

while they

quietly die.

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 TAJ
Jitendra Chandra Acharyya

The dream of Shahjahan,stands with glory
On the bank of Yamuna, with all history,
Bounded with his love, serene and calm
Tajmahal, the poetry of love, beauty and charm.

Under the hovering clouds of the blue sky,
Marble tomb raising its head high;
Awaiting eagerly for sweet heart's call
"Forget me not darling"-this is all

Mute stones, turned so soft and graceful,
By the amazing unrivelled love so powerful
Wants to speak with throbbing heart,
Emperor, unforgettable thee-thy love and art.

Beneath, love-lorn Yamuna flowing by
As tears rolling down with a deep sigh;
Reminds sage old love and separation.
A touching memory, bathes in veneration.

Oh weep Yamuna,weep and cry Let thy tears of love never dry; For love begets love in hope and tears
Like Taj on thy bank ever glitters

(From Ballads of Love A collection of poems - Jitendra Nath Acharya)

THE LOST HORIZON
Jitendra Chandra Acharyya

Far, far away, where the vision ends,
To kiss the earth where the sky bends;
Where mountains repose at ease in the sky,
Wrapped with clouds above that fly.
Where the sun sets where appears,
Where lark goes singing and disappears;
Where There green my fields mix with blue sky
ambitious mind always fly.

That charming scenery and lovely view,
Calls me with all its colour and hue.
But to my surprise, while I proceed
To reach the horizon with zeal and speed,
I wonder to find it running away, Like the mirage, it sways in the way
I can't meet or can reach,
Where earth ties sky with lovely stitch.

But curiosity has kept me ever awake,
To unearth the mystery, keeping life in stake;
Though I lost the horizon in every pace,
Still I'am pleased with ambitious race.
It haunts me to capture the lost horizon,
With all the zeal of an ancient Trojan;
My ambition flutters-is not frozen
Discover the mystery beyond lost horizon.

(From Ballads of Love: A collection of poems - Jitendra Nath Acharya)

Jitendra Chandra Acharyya :: Born a century ago in 1920 in erstwhile Dacca in Bengal province (now Dhaka in Bangladesh), the poet late Jitendra Chandra Acharyya was eldest son of Mokshada Chandra Acharyya, a gifted fine artist famous for his paintings. The poet after his initial education at St Gregory convent, graduated from prestigious Seth Jagannath College, Dacca, in commerce stream. Soon after graduation, he joined Indian Railways as a guard. He was deeply interested in art, culture and literature. Most of his poems were written during train journeys in guard's cabin while on duty.

He was married to Molina( Sandhya Rani Acharyya) who was the source of inspiration for his creativity. He retired from active service on 31st December 1981. On 12th February 1982, following a major heart attack, he bid adieu to this mortal world.

He will be remembered for his book of poetry "The poems of the age' which was first published in the year 1967. Jeebon pother banke banke' his poetry book in Bengali was posthumously published in 2014. His third poetry book 'Ballads of Love' is being published now in his birth centenary year as an humble tribute and homage to this karmayogi.

MY TWO HANDS

Professor Niranjan Barik

My two hands join to say Namaskar to you ,

Who so ever you may be

And whatever may be your age or position

My two hands join to say in sound,

How I liked your deed or word,

Hearing your stories

How you rose from pillar to post

From street peddler to a dream merchant

Or how from a tiny corner of a small railways station

That long distance trains would ignore with their impetuous whistle and siren

You rose into fame in the business of power,

Again your two hands did it,

Let these not advance towards me

Except for reciprocity of greetings,

But if you throw all the etiquettes to the winds,

And your hands reach out to my pocket to lighten it,

I can perhaps survive as a pauper,

If your hands reach my nose to make it bloody red,

I lose my self-esteem and dignity,

But perhaps still I can survive and surpass it

With pain at heart and agony in mind

But if your hands reach my neck,

I will try to push you a little away from me with one hand

Using one hand to survive as a reflex action,

Then my two hands may have such a division of labour ,

One still saying respect to you,

Just not because you hold an exalted position,

But for the exalted person in you;

My other hand would be signaling my defiance

Of your policy and posture.

Please honour my hands’ labour

As your hands took you to a position of honour !

My two hands join to say Namaskar

To you, rather to the being in the inner,

Who so ever you may be!

My hands have their own identity,

Their individuality as left and right

My right hand may rise in salutation

While my left is down in attention mode

Well that is to be read as one

One role of courtesy well coordinated

In unison and true collaboration they act as one and do wonders,

They have their place in togetherness

They know their roles in a division of labour,

They performs, not spoil

Thy unite, not divide

They do unto others as they would like

To be done unto themselves

Hands, two hands, play key role theirs.

In a division of labor, uniting and performing

And not spoiling and dividing the others

But God forbid, if my one hand has a tremor

Unable to hold a glass of water

Please help me with a straw or a sipper

I will be ever grateful to you

My two hands joining for a heartfelt Namaskar !

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 stories.

THE DIVINE BOND

Akshaya Kumar Das

Such touching words of the deeper ties ...
The divine umbilical link that eternally vying ,
Between a mother & child,
The mother as well as the child,
Both seek each other wherever they are,
A bond of deep fathoms,.
Exists whether you are alive or dead,
The bond does not recognise the difference,
Exists in a world of it's own,
As one recalls the other gets connected,
The telepathic communion connects like wireless,
The mundanely distance is meaningless,
In a surreal universe they exist in the form of bliss,
Visible or invisible they exist,
In form or formless manner they exist,
ln a fathomless world they exist,
In a timeless manner ,
Time & distance does not workout the mathematics,
The bond is a divine link ,
Words can't define,
Mere words can't define,

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.

I HAVE ABANDONED MY DREAM KITCHEN FOR A SLOW FIRE
Mrutyunjay Sarangi

There was a time when I soared
into the high clouds
Thought I would never return
to my humble hut,
I was lost in colourful dreams,
in euphoric joy.

The dust in my hut waited for me
keeping my footprints intact,
The wind seeped through
the crevices in the doors
Noone entered to disturb the shadows
sleeping on ragged mats.

And one day I returned
to chase my abandoned hopes,
The humble hut looked at me
draped in a mild surprise.
The shadows got up one by one
and went out with a mocking smile.

I was left with sad remnants
of bits and pieces
that could not build
my dream kitchen
to feed my growing desire
or to quench my insatiable lust.

As my impatience grew
I took the hut apart
Now the broken down doors
feed an apologetic fire
that mocks at me, unable to
even warm my ageing bones.

A CELESTIAL TETE A TETE
Mrutyunjay Sarangi

The sun rose this morning
and smiled in the eastern sky
Gently nudged the dipping moon,
Hello sweet madam,
you are late today to return home!

The moon smiled back
and folded her hands in greeting
My dear sir,
welcome to the brightening sky.
Sorry for being a bit late in leaving
I was watching over two forlorn lovers
tied in each other's sighs.
Could not abandon them, could I?
They had sworn to eternal love in my name.

The sun looked at her indulgently.
My fair lady,
I have to wake up the millions
and send them to work.
Let your lovers pine
and feast on each other's love.
But I have to look after
the hungry and the poor,
the beggar on the street
waking up to a long day,
the kids carrying the burden
of their studies in heavy bags
the bus driver hurrying
to ferry the townsfolk
the farmer rushing to the field
with his plough.

The moon smiled at her lord and master
A naughty smile laced with honey and sugar
O mighty one, let me walk the path of love
holding the lovers' hands
and leading them to their nest.
Don't be cross with me, my lord
If I don't look after them
where will you get
all your workers and the farmers,
the school kids and the bus drivers?

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.

Viewers Comments

Abhijit Pati

Trisha Sahoo poem is outstanding. In such tender age her expression was brilliant. Great thoughts. Enjoyed the power of expression.

Aug, 26, 2021
Madhusmita

Nice poem on mothers by Trishna.. keep it up beta.. good to see children taking interest in writing especially now that schools are closed and medium has changed so much to computers ...keep practicing and develop your flair.. good luck in all'your endeavours

Aug, 24, 2021
Prafulla Baral

Trishna’s “ My Mother “ tells mother-child bondage in as simple way as her mind is. Her voice echoes with whole childhood aura. My blessing to the Little Poet for her big dream.

Aug, 23, 2021
Dr Renuka Sahu

Poetic expression of emotions of Little Trishna in the poem "My Mother" reflects love and respect she has for her mother immensely. Morning shows the day. Keep shinning beta.

Aug, 17, 2021
Dr Ruchi

@trishna natuni dear you are blessed and talented child keep it up ,keep writing, lots of love and blessings

Aug, 17, 2021
Nupur Nandi

Lovely ?simple expression of mother-child relationship by Trishna Sahoo in "my mother "is nice to read, ' Poison' is another crude part of reality. In the article section- "women empowerment-a different perspective " by Professor Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo is really a different approach to express our (women's) fortune!

Aug, 12, 2021
Dr Arati Meher

" My Mother" written by Trishna shows the love and affection of a child towards ones mother. Being a class V student, she has expressed her emotions nicely. Keep it up beta. God bless you...

Aug, 11, 2021
Dr Pratibha Jena

Nice poem Trishna...really wonderful to read a young daughters feeling for her mother...you are truly blessed.

Aug, 11, 2021
MONALISA PAL

My mother "poem by lil trishna shows how much mature she is..and how beautifully she has described her emotions for her mother. Previously also Prof.Dr.G.D Sahoo sir mentioned about her lovely "natuni"in one article I had read..now I understand how mature enough she is..GOD bless u trisna and I wish to have a daughter like you

Aug, 10, 2021
Akankshya Arunima

A small, bright, poet... Trishna has written an very adorable poem on MOTHER. I was amazed to learn that she's only 9yrs old. Having heard a lot about her, reading her work was so nice. Keep it up Trishna!!

Aug, 10, 2021
Dr. Smita Panda

My Mother.. Is a sweet poem by a cute poet. God will bless her with more success

Aug, 07, 2021
Shwetasmini Puhan

"My Mother" the poem written by little Trishna with her pure and innocent thoughts is a masterpiece . Keep expanding your imagination and talent .you have a long way to go dear Trishna . May God bless you ..

Aug, 05, 2021
Nachieketa Khamari Sharma

Trishna's My Mother is full of beautiful rhymes. Simple words express what we actually want to speak and when we don't understand our ignorance take shelter behind complex words. That sums up Trishna's My Mother.

Aug, 05, 2021
Nitu Mishra

Too good Trisna. Such a neat expression of emotions and thought. Indeed she is talented and gifted but her poem shows how hard working she is.... when at her age children are busy in video games and watching cartoon her ability to pen down her thoughts as a poem shows how dedicated she is. " NEVER BE A DEFAULTER. " Looking forward to read more from her pen. God bless you dear.

Aug, 05, 2021
Dr P Rajkumari

Trishna's debut in the literary vibes may be with baby steps but the emotions encased in her poem far exceed the understanding of her age. May she continue the journey to greater heights. Prof Gangadhar Sahoo Sir's article is engaging as well as instruction oriented in a delightful way. Keep it up Sir.

Aug, 05, 2021
Prof(Dr) Prasanta Kumar Nayak

I read the poem ‘My Mother’ by Trishna. It’s a sweet and excellent write up by this genius kid depicting the most beautiful bond between mother and child. Wish are all the best in all the future endeavours.

Aug, 05, 2021
Prof(Dr) Prasanta Kumar Nayak

I read the poem ‘My Mother’ by Trishna. It’s a sweet and excellent write up by this genius kid depicting the most beautiful bond between mother and child. Wish are all the best in all the future endeavours.

Aug, 05, 2021
Sneha Chatterjee

Akshara, your poem, "Deep into the woods", is really a beautiful one. It makes me want to go into the woods and refresh myself with the purity of nature. Lots of appreciation to you and I hope you keep writing such wonderful poems, not only for yourself but for your readers as well!

Aug, 05, 2021
Sneha Chatterjee

The poem, "My Mother", by Trishna, is as adorable as Trishna herself. Lots of appreciation to you and I wish to read more poems written by you in future.

Aug, 05, 2021
Akshaya Kumar Pradhan, Chief Engineer, PMGSY, RD Department, GoO

I remained wonder struck and spell bound after going through the poem composed by little Trisha, titled as "My Mother ". Though sounds simple, it contains lot of extraordinary emotions which is rarely found with present generation children. I highly appreciate the wonderful stanza, " For many things, both of us fight, When I am at fault She makes me right" which clearly bring about the sense of respect and care for each other. She is rightly blended with multi talented traditional and cultural values, I wish her all success in life and expect more and more such wonderful literary creation from Trishna.

Aug, 05, 2021
Anil K Upadhyay

Mrutynjay, Congratulations for this excellent two-volume issue of LV. You have given an equally worthy introduction, which has a heart-felt tribute to Dilip Kumar. Your admiration for the legend is also apparent from the songs you have selected. The anonymous story about positivity you have included is outstanding. I could not go through all the poems closely. I was struck by PK Dash's conjunctive poems 'Father' and 'Son' give very nice perspectives from two sides. Especially, the old dependent father's musings are very poignant. The poet shows deep imagination about what might be going inside such an old parent who needs constant care for any need.

Aug, 03, 2021
Dr Pragyan Prabartika Dash

A very nice story written by Dr Prasanna Kumar Sahoo. Life is a long road of shadows where we have to find out light . So exact depiction! Congratulations Sir.

Aug, 02, 2021
Dr Gangadhar Sahoo, Dean IMS and SUM Hospital Bhubaneswar.

Prof. N K Sharma is welcome to the family of Literary Vives with twin beautiful poems that too on mother and father. A perfect human being as he is, with so many hidden talents will definitely add to the value of Literary Vives in future. Morning shows the day.

Aug, 02, 2021
Piyush Pal

The poem “My Mother” depicts a mother’s Love in such a beautiful way ! Keep it up Trishna !????

Aug, 02, 2021
Piyush Pal

The poem “My Mother” depicts a mother’s Love in such a beautiful way ! Keep it up Trishna !????

Aug, 01, 2021
Dr Gangadhar Sahoo, Dean IMS and SUM Hospital Bhubaneswar.

I congratulate the two junior talents Trishna, the youngest and Keshav for their maiden entry into the family of LITERARY VIVES. I thank the Esteemed editor for his vision to explore the young talents. It's just the beginning. Days are not far, when Dr Sarangi will open a new section for junior group. Long live LITERARY Vives.

Aug, 01, 2021
Dr Gangadhar Sahoo Dean IMS and SUM Hospital Bhubaneswar.

I congratulate the two junior talents Trishna, the youngest and Keshav for their maiden entry into the family of LITERARY VIVES. I thank the Esteemed editor for his vision to explore the young talents. It's just the beginning. Days are not far, when Dr Sarangi will open a new section for junior group. Long live LITERARY Vives.

Aug, 01, 2021
Dr Gangadhar Sahoo,Professor of Obstetrics and Gynecology & Dean IMS and SUM Hospital Bhubaneswar.

Congratulations to Sneha and Chandan for their entry into the family of Literary Vives. As usual the poems written by Akankshya, Aksara, Lora and Shruti reflect the brilliant expression of their thoughts and philosophy. Hope they will continue with the same spirit in coming days.

Aug, 01, 2021
Dr Gangadhar Sahoo Dean IMS and SUM Hospital Bhubaneswar.

I congratulate the two junior talents Trishna, the youngest and Keshav for their maiden entry into the family of LITERARY VIVES. I thank the Esteemed editor for his vision to explore the young talents. It's just the beginning. Days are not far, when Dr Sarangi will open a new section for junior group. Long live LITERARY Vives.

Aug, 01, 2021
Sneha Bhowmick

'My Mother' by dearest Trishna, sums up everything we all want to tell our mother, God bless her.

Aug, 01, 2021
AKSHARA RAI

The poem" A Celestial Tete A Tete" written by Dr. Mrutunjaya Sir is really a wonderful poem . The positivity ,the optimistic approach of every sunny morning to bring peace, joy and prosperity is beautifully personified.

Aug, 01, 2021
Ashok kumar Rout

Excellent poem " Deep Into The Woods" Well done Akshara!! Keep going. Be consistent and persistent.

Aug, 01, 2021
Pradyumna kumar Padhi

DEEP IN TO THE WOODS... Amazing writing and beautiful arrangement of words

Jul, 31, 2021
Pradyumna kumar Padhi

MY MOTHER.. Short yet sweet from Trishna... keep writing.may maa saraswati keep her blessings always on you.

Jul, 31, 2021
Pradyumna kumar Padhi

POISON..Nice concept chandan.. keep writing

Jul, 31, 2021
Piyush Pal

The poem “My Mother” depicts a mother’s Love in such a beautiful way ! Keep it up Trishna !????

Jul, 31, 2021
K SREERAMAM

I found your e-publication very thought-provoking and inspiring. It is quite useful for lifestyle management particularly for elders. I too want to contribute my original creative's for your consideration of publication. Kindly let me know the procedure for it. Regards and thanks.

Jul, 31, 2021
Ajeet Kumar Pattnaik

GURUJI pranam. Wish you have a an euphoria, ecastic and mesmerizing day ahead of you. About the theme "mother" is a precious and incredible thing and which would not be compared to any dainty and worth-its-weight-in-gold in the world. Her Amity, proclivity, and accord towards their children is far-fetched sans any narcistic. Hitherto, from the mythology period to nonce modern period, no body is juxtapose of her sermon to others is benevelent, altruism,utopian ,not on your nelly an avaricious and mythomania and pseudologia fantastica. Golden calf has muck in with and bestow her in all muddle. So her endearment is mucho prolepsis. ????????????

Jul, 31, 2021
binitanayak09@gmail.com

"Poison" is so beautifully presented.

Jul, 30, 2021
Dr Pamela Priyadarsini

Light and shadow written by my father,a story with a hint of reality,beautifully presented .I admire his writing and love the concept very much

Jul, 30, 2021
Biswajeet

POISON This is so beautiful,i am speechless! Great work brother

Jul, 30, 2021
Prachi Agasti

Chandan, the poem 'Poison' is amazingly penned. Great work!

Jul, 30, 2021
Rajashree Behera

So lovely and meaning poem..... really mother is the best thing of this world and we are nothing without her ...one look to her is cure of all pain and sorrows,....very good poem by such little cute girl....

Jul, 30, 2021
AKSHARA RAI

The poem"My Mother" written by Dear Trisna is a wonderful poem which beautifully illustrates the selfless, the loveliest and the most nostalgic relationship shared by mother and her child!! Beautiful phrases!! Keep it up my dear budding writer ???????? You have a long way to go!! All the best, keep going and shine on????????

Jul, 30, 2021
amaresh jena

The poem POISON is really good.

Jul, 30, 2021
Biswajit Maharana

I have gone through every individual blogs and I personally feel I'm not the right person to judge them as these are beyond my imagination but certainly Mr.Chandan's blog was bit short but so catchy to me.I really appreciate every individual for this effort

Jul, 30, 2021

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Literary Vibes - Edition CVII (30-July-2021) - POEMS

Table of Contents :: POEMS

Table of Contents :: ARTICLES

BOOK REVIEW ::

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