Literary Vibes - Edition CVIII - 27-Aug-2021 (POEMS)
Title : Serenity (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
Dear Readers,
I have great pleasure in presenting to you the 108th edition of LiteraryVibes with a number of sparkling poems, pulsating short stories, and vibrant anecdotes-cum-motivational articles.
In the present edition we are fortunate to have five new contributors. Ms. Shwetasmini Puhan and Ms. Shradha Satapraba are students in the Sum Institute of Medical Sciences and Hospital, Bhubaneswar. They are accomplished painters and it is a privilege to host two samples of their paintings in our pages along with short write ups. Dr. Radharani Nanda, retired Director of Health Services in Odisha is passionate about reading and writing. P. Mohan Chandran, a celebrated poet from Chennai has many publications to his credit. Shri Shiba Prasad Mishra from Bhubaneswar is a retired bureaucrat who derives great pleasure in writing occasional poetry and sharing with his friends. We welcome these poets, writers, painters to the LV family and hope we will see more of their valuable contributions in our pages in future.
I had published a story "The Perfume" in the 105th edition of LiteraryVibes. Dr. Prasanna Kumar Sahoo, one of our regular contributors, liked the story so much that he has gone ahead and written a sequel to "The Perfume". He has left the story at an interesting point from which it can take different turns and a few more episodes can easily be woven from the thread left hanging. I invite the readers to join the fun and give free flow to their imagination. I will be happy to publish a few sequels to "The Perfume 2.0".
August is a great month of celebration. In addition to Raksha Bandhan and Janamastami we also celebrate our Independence Day. This year marks the beginning of the 75th year of our hard earned freedom. It's a time to remember the sacrifice made by our freedom fighters, the blows they took from the lathis of the brutal British police, the gun shots and the long prison sentences. It is a time for introspection and asking ourselves, have we realised our full potential, has our development been commensurate with the huge resources spent? We have to seek the answer and rededicate ourselves to the building of the nation.
And what better way to do it, than remembering the immortal lines of the Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore and the inspiring poem penned by Prem Dhawan :
Where The Mind is Without Fear
Rabindranath Tagore
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Ae Watan, Ae Watan, Humko Teri Qasam....
Prem Dhawan
Jalte bhi gaye
kahte bhi gaye
aazaadi ke parwaane
jeena to usi ka jeena hai
jo marna watan pe jaane
Ae watan ae watan hamko teri qasam
teri raahon mein jaan tak lutaa jaayenge
phool kyaa cheez hai tere kadmon pe ham
bhent apne saron ki chadhaa jaayenge
ae watan ae watan hamko teri qasam
teri raahon mein jaan tak lutaa jaayenge
ae watan ae watan....
Koi punjaab se, koi maharaashtra se
koi U P se hai, koi bangaal se
koi punjaab se, koi maharaashtra se
koi U P se hai, koi bangaal se
teri pooja ki thaali mein, laaye hain hum,
phool har rang ke, aaj har daal se
naam kuchh bhi sahi, par lagan ek hai
jot se jot dil ki, jaga jaayenge
Ae watan ae watan, humko teri kasam
teri raahon mein, jaan tak luta jaayenge
ae watan ae watan...
Teri jaanib uthi, jo kehar ki nazar
us nazar ko jhuka ke hi, dum lenge hum
teri jaanib uthi, jo kehar ki nazar
us nazar ko jhuka ke hi, dum lenge hum
teri dharti pe hai jo, kadam gair ka
us kadam ka nishaan tak, mita denge hum
us kadam ka nishaan tak, mita denge hum
jo bhi deewar aayegi ab saamne
thokron se use hum gira jaayenge
Ae watan ae watan, humko teri kasam
teri raahon mein, jaan tak luta jaayenge
ae watan ae watan....
Sah chuke hain sitam ham bahut gair ke
ab karenge harek waar kaa saamnaa
sah chuke hain sitam ham bahut gair ke
ab karenge harek waar kaa saamnaa
jhuk sakegaa na ab sarfaroshon ka sar
chaahe ho khooni talwar ka saamnaa
chaahe ho khooni talwar ka saamnaa
Sar pe baandhe kafan
ham to hanste huye
maut ko bhi gale se lagaa jaayenge
ae watan ae watan
Jab shaheedon ki arthi uthe dhoom se
deshwaalon tum aansoo bahaanaa nahin
par manaao jab aazaad bhaarat kaa din
us ghadi tum hamen bhool jaanaa nahin
laut kar aa saken na jahaan me to kyaa
yaad banke dilon me to aa jaayenge
Ae watan ae watan hamko teri qasam
teri raahon mein jaan tak lutaa jaayenge
ae watan ae watan
Ae watan ae watan hamko teri qasam
teri raahon mein jaan tak lutaa jaayenge
phool kyaa cheez hai tere kadmon pe ham
bhent apne saron ki chadhaa jaayenge
ae watan ae watan hamko teri qasam
teri raahon mein jaan tak lutaa jaayenge
inqalaab zindabaad
inqalaab zindabaad.
There is a patriot in each one of us. Each would love to live for the country and die for it. As the poet Prem Dhawan says in the above lines, flowers are nothing to offer for the motherland, we will offer our heads at her feet. In the nineteenth century the celebrated poet Sir Walter Scott had breathed that sentiment so succinctly into a time honoured poem:
Breathes There The Man, With Soul So Dead
Sir Walter Scott
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.
Let us pray, from this Independence Day to next, our country makes rapid strides and shines in a world increasingly descending into darkness. And let that path be illuminated by our firm resolve as well as exemplary action. In whatever way we can, let us contribute to strengthening our country. Let's do nothing that will harm others and do everything that will bring a smile to some sad, forlorn face.
Hope you will enjoy the offerings in the present edition. Please share it with your friends and contacts through the flowing links:
http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/392 (Poems) and
http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/393 (Short Stories and other Articles)
Let me also remind you that all the previous 107 editions of LiteraryVibes are available at http://www.positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Ms. Latha Prem Sakhya, the prolific painter, has hosted a wonderful painting of hers in PositiveVibes. It can be accessed at http://www.positivevibes.today/article/newsview/391
I will be very happy to host similar postings from painters, poets and writers. Let talent be celebrated and bring joy everywhere.
Please take care, stay safe and keep smiling.
We will meet again on Friday, the 24th September.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
HAUNTED
02) Haraprasad Das
CONNING (BHOJABAAJI)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
CREATING HISTORY
04) Sreekumar K
WORDS, BE WITH ME
05) Bibhu Padhi
BHISHMA, WAITING FOR HIS DEATH
06) Bijay Ketan Patnaik
BREATH OF LIFE (SWORODAYA)
07) Shwetasmini Puhan
IMMORTAL LOVE
08) Shiba Prasad Mishra
TRUST AND BELIEF
OLDIE WITH A VEHICLE
09) P. Mohan Chandran
CATAPULTING HOPES, DUMPING HEARTS
RESURRECTED HEART, EXPIRED LOVE
ZOMBIE LOVE
10) Sundar Rajan S
THE SEVENTH SENSE
THE MYSTICAL HAND
11) Latha Prem Sakhya
BIRTH OF A BARD : A MYTH
12) Prof.Dr.Sidhartha Das
LET AGE GO ON
13) Nikhil M Kurien
THE SOUR GRAPES
14) Vishakha Devi
AGENT PHOENIX
15) Bichitra Kumar Behura
THE UNFINISHED STORY
16) Setaluri Padmavathi
THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK
17) Sharanya Bee
A MARIONETTE'S TALE
18) Prof (Dr) Viyatprajna Acharya
SHACKLED
19) N Rangamani
WHO AM I ?
20) Asha Raj Gopakumar
MY JAGANNATH - LORD OF THE UNIVERSE
21) Ayana Routray
THE IMPERFECTLY PERFECT UTOPIA
22) AKSHARA RAI
THE SOUL
23) Shruti Sarma
UNIVERSE
24) Sneha Bhowmick
YET DIFFERENT !
25) Akanksha Arunima
THE SEARCH
26) S Ritika
DUEL OF THE DUALS
27) Hiya Khurana
LIFE OF A FLOWER
28) Runu Mohanty
MANALI
29) Umasree Raghunath
WITHERED SOUL! WINNING ALL!
30) Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
TIGER, TIGER STANDING TALL
31) Indu Pooranan
CYCLE OF NATURE ....
BRILLIANT.....
32) Sudha Dixit
REIGN OF RAIN
33) Chandan Chowdhury
A SAIL
34) Pradeep Rath
IRIDESCENCE
35) Ashok Subramanian
MUSINGS WITH A MIRROR
THE HELL IN YOUR MIND
36) Akshaya Kumar Das
SILKEN DROPLETS
37) Sunil Biswal
WAYS OF GOD
38) Dr. Molly Joseph
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
39) Trishna Sahoo
MY FRIEND
40) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN
Table of Contents :: ARTICLES
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
KAMALA CARE HOME
02) Geetha Nair G
REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST
03) Sreekumar K
AN INSIDE STORY
THE BIRTH OF A PAINTING
04) Ishwar Pati
REQUIEM FOR A COUNTRY SURGEON
05) Krupa Sagar sahoo
STORY OF A SUBURBAN RAILWAY STATION
06) Dr. Prasanna Kumar Sahoo
PERFUME 2.0
07) Dr. Ramesh Chandra Panda
GLIMPSES OF OUR HERITAGE - WHAT ARE NOT OFFERED TO LORD SHIVA?
08) Prof.(Dr.) Gangadhar Sahoo
SORRY
09) Madhumathi. H
VASUDHAIVA KUTUMBAKAM
10) Debjith Rath
THE EXPLOITS OF RAGHAB CHACHU
11) Dr Radharani Nanda
A MOTHER EXTRAORDINAIRE
12) Shradha Satapraba
PATITAPABANA
13) Mr Nitish Nivedan Barik
LEAVES FROM HISTORY: ON OLYMPIC SPIRIT, THE SPIRIT OF POSITIVE VIBES.
14) Satish Pashine
OUR TRYST WITH COVID-19!
OUT-OF-BODY EXPERIENCES: MIND-GAME OR THE PARANORMAL?
BHIKARI!
15) Setaluri Padmavathi
SCHOOLS TODAY
16) D.S. Padmapriya Vinodhkumar
TRUE LOVE
17) Prof (Dr) Viyatprajna Acharya
VIVA WOES
18) Sudha Dixit
THE MIRROR
A MEMOIR - THE REAL HIM
HYPOTHESIS OF KINDNESS
19) Sheena Rath
THE INDIAN FLAG
20) Ashok Subramanian
SHORT STORY: THE COMRADE
21) Gouranga Charan Roul
HAND OF GOD
22) Srikant Mishra
GREAT SON OF THE SOIL
23) Abani Udgata
MORNING WALK
24) N Meera Raghavendra Rao
WHEN TO TELL THE TRUTH
25) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE KING OF HEARTS
Reviews :: LV & BOOKS
01) Anil K Upadhyay
REVIEW OF A FEW STORIES FROM LV107
02) K. Sree Kumar
WHAT ISN'T POETRY - A BRIEF REVIEW OF SOME OF THE POEMS IN LV107
03) Padmini Janardhanan
MANTRA YOGA BY JAIRAM SESHADRI.
04) Hema Ravi
EMOTIONS IN TRANQUILITY
Deep into the night,
moon woken up to its full;
a heartbroken chakor cries
slitting the sky into pieces,
navigating in inky brittle circles -
I feel guilty.
An emptiness in lower ribs,
a throb in the upper.
I search the empty auricles,
ventricles and the chest's atrium
for the sins I don't recall committing -
what, when and how?
I look up, meet stern eyes looking down;
the questioning ones of the Great Bear*,
the Dog's* yellow eyes, the red accusing ones
of the Hunter*, for the sins
I have committed, I don't recall -
what, when and how?
The riddle rips open my ribcage
painfully, I bleed tears of blood
from eyes congealed with
an unknown loss, unfamiliar yawning guilt.
Who would fill this emptiness
with what, when and how?
The night sails soundless,
rudderless, an orphan without
schooling, breakfast, lunch,
dinner as well, not a kind word. Am I guilty
of the umpteen people orphaned
without a country, without an anthem?
Footnote - Great Bear* (Ursa Major constellation), Hunter* (the Orion constellation) and Dog* (the Dog star)
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.
(Trans-creation – Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
These days, ruled by conmen,
we stay on tender hooks -
would the monsoon
bring bounties?
Would the half-built bridge get
completed this year?
Would our elders survive to see
advent of the new age?
Doubts loom –
the monsoon may play truant.
But we are taught by rote - to live
with very little or no expectations,
to sustain on happy memories,
to laugh more in laughing-yoga,
even learn to live without hopes -
desire is the cause of sorrow.
An incomplete bridge shouldn’t
matter much, nor pushing
an old man into a train, promising
to be chugging off to the new age.
Wouldn’t that be wonderful,
like the pied piper’s magic?
Or should one expect
more incredible mind-bogglers?
Perhaps yes, one may -
More wonders on their way,
like applauding the rainless clouds,
“Ah! Don’t they bring picnic weather?”
Or taking a U-turn and
returning into the lanes
of nostalgia, the past,
the times of sticks and stones;
recalling the serenity of mango orchards,
the balmy wind, and singing cuckoos,
soporific dreams to reinvent
living style of the quaint distant past,
better than this new age?
Then the half-built bridge
would be completed
with junk-steel old structures.
Finally, the conmen, like bombers,
done with their targets,
would fly away to their safe havens;
but not before the last sleight of hand –
kind finishing the last of our savings,
asking us to sow the last stock
of grain as seeds on fallow land,
promising a bumper harvest.
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)”
Let me drift on the seas of time
on my ramshackle coracle
with few unstoppable leaks
till I reach my desired destination
a desolate and uninhabited
island territory with no history
with no footprints
no fossils
and no tell tale marks
of blood soaked battlefields
of deceit deceptions and betrayals
no lustful satyrs playing their pipes
no monument of a knight
on horseback with his raised sword
no love songs echoing
in the corridors of long pines
no tombstone with any epitaph
and no shadows whatsoever.
Then I would sit down to start afresh
and dip my brush
into myriad colours of my choice
to create a customised canvas
but then the soundless voices of yore
would hover around me
like a swarm of bumble bees
and tell me how to start a fire
by rubbing two pieces of wood
how to throw a spear for a kill
and all that my ancestors did in the past
and at the end how to build a memorial
in my honour
and even prompt an epitaph
to be engraved on my grave
and then I would turn around
to wipe off my freshly made trail
and look for my paddles.
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.
My memory has long forgotten me
My sight has wedded the dark
Fingers read Braille on my skull
My dear words, do stay on
Stay on my thoughts
Stay on, my thoughts
You stayed up late with me
On nights when sleep had periods
You were the go between
After I had crushes
And before I had affairs
And then I was rather speechless
You were busy, I hope
You danced on my tongue
To infotain the young
You bloomed on nibs
To fill in the blanks
You were cold
You were hot
You blazed and embalmed
You kept me company
In my solitude
You grew, mutated, proliferated
Brought in your significant ones
Brought out a sleepy rhythm
And made flash mobs in streets
Like ants you moved
Ever so slowly
Through my veins, arteries, nerves
You crawled all over my skin
Tickling, nibbling, biting,
And woke me into thoughts
You whispered in my ears
What to tell my girl
You shouted at me
What not to say at all
You lay in books
And put me to sleep
You climbed on billboards
To make me chase rainbows
You fused many into several
And then several into one
You tied together
The opposite poles
Of this meaningless world
Festival over, curtains fell
Theatre deserted, seats empty
Stay with me
As I make a firework of myself
The show is not yet over
Lying in own ashes
The pilgrim might progress now
Sreekumar K, known more as SK, writes in English and Malayalam. He also translates into both languages and works as a facilitator at L' ecole Chempaka International, a school in Trivandrum, Kerala.
BHISHMA, WAITING FOR HIS DEATH
You lie on a bed of arrows, your head
resting easy on Arjuna’s superior skill.
You could have wished otherwise, although
you preferred this state to every other.
There is a certain pride in calling death over
even while life is still so abundantly alive that
even death hesitates to take the last step
towards what would be its finest hour.
You scan the sky where
the sun, stunned to watch
the extraordinary sight of your pride
taking its much-needed, humble rest,
is stilled, has forgotten
its natural western course.
You wait for the final minute
of the sunset hour, for now
the afternoon is widely spread
over the battlefield of Kurukshetra,
and the noises of the battle seem
absent at last. Silence moves furtively
from place to place, the narrative waits;
the pause in action appears to have
brought closer the discrete details
to one another, mocking at
our arrogance, impatience,
our grim ambitions, disguised pride.
What else are you waiting for,
now that you have almost got
what for so long you had been already
foreseeing perhaps and only desiring?
Perhaps you want Arjuna do it
for the last and final time—
make earth’s clear mineral water rain into
your open mouth, your last supper?
(**Based on a major episode in the Indian epic, Mahabharata.)
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.
(Transcreation by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
Oh, my dream merchant, you promise
showers of wealth into my life
in the blink of an eye. You promise to give
me job, house; not even stopping there,
you show me dreams of the riches with
a stable of cars, bevy of attendants, kingship.
I am poor, a daily wage-earner,
I earn my pittance during the day
and satiate my hunger by a nightly meal;
neither do I daydream of finding gems in
my bone-breaking toil of daytime, nor
have happy dreams in my fatigued nights.
Your bargaining art is par excellence, Sir;
an astute trader encrypted into your DNA.
Your offer us stillborn ideas - exchanging the fish
and salt of our own sea for castles in air, or bartering
our life’s essentials – food, air and peaceful nights
for living in in arial ivory palaces of imaginary plenty.
We, the poor, take birth from mothers’ wombs
in thatch and mud hutments, standing on
ramshackle scaffoldings of wooden planks,
topped with the rotten bamboo rafters;
our benevolent gods sit in humble alcoves;
our forefathers were consigned to flames here.
We foresee a tomorrow when our forefathers
coming down to enjoy a moonlit night in the land
of their ancestors but getting the shock of their life (sic)
to find the new tinsel towns thriving there.
Their cries of anguish, beating of breasts, go silent
lest we, the poor, may lose our much needed sleep.
Until my breathing has not stopped,
my heart not ceased to beat life’s rhythm,
I would rejoice in my nativity, the scent of my soil
that have regaled me since I was born.
Hey Ram, bless me with the power to die
by wish, if my land is stolen away from me.
(The poem ‘Sworodaya’ meaning the ‘Breath of life’ is a poem for the dispossessed, the people having no hope in the offing. It is the opening poem of the poet’s collection ‘OODVASTU’ meaning ‘The dispossessed’. The poetic thought has a socialistic leaning.)
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
The sacred love of Radha and Krishna,
The love that binds the whole world into one.
An unconditional love,
Without any expectation,
The purest one with sacrifice and emotion.
That is the story of two inseparable names,
Radha Krishna and Radha Krishna.
Talking about doing the painting. I was doing some kind of search what kind of paintings I can make as an experiment as I like painting ..Then I developed interest in Pattachitra making which is a famous traditional art in Odisha .Patachitra artform is known for its intricate details as well as mythological narratives and folktales inscribed in it. Pattachitra is one.These paintings are based on Hindu mythology and specially inspired by Jagannath and Vaishnava sect. The name Pattachitra has evolved from the Sanskrit words patta, meaning canvas, and chitra, meaning picture. Pattachitra is thus a painting done on canvas, and is manifested by rich colourful application, creative motifs, and designs, and portrayal of simple themes, mostly mythological in depiction.The traditions of pattachitra paintings are more than thousand years old.I was aware of all these background of pattachitra for a very long time.One day I visited 'Utkalika' a store in Bhubaneswar where I saw so many pattachitras and I decided to make one.what could be so satisfying than painting Radha Krishna as my first Pattachitra.so I spared some time & tried to make something out of my comfort zone and you tube helped me a lot in this and this is the result I got.I got so many appreciations for this which will encourage to do more of this kind in future ..
Shwetasmini Puhan is a final Yr MBBS student of IMS & Sum Hospital, Bhubaneswar.Did intermediate from BJB Junior college. Wants to become a selfless clinician & serve people..Holds special interest in painting, crafting, reading novels & scientific journals,writing stories, Cooking ,Baking & sports . Also a member of SOA NSS and various NGOs. Loves to participate in all the extracurricular and co-curricular activities.Has received various prizes for achievement in academics , painting,debate & science exhibition.Loves exploring natural places. She can be reached by -shwetasmini24jan@gmail.com
God is great and omnipresent.
Here is a true experience
Heard from other friends and relatives
Suddenly head bowed to the divine.
Driving at a ghat road in a car
Lost in dreams of surrounding
On a sharp bend the car lost control
About to fall off at the road
A boulder out of nowhere saved the car from speeding and the car stopped
leaving everyone in mystery
Everywhere in cruel times and despair
People pray God to get good and fair
When trust and beliefs surpasses everything
Whatever happens is accepted with joy and care.
Oldie is learning driving and enjoying.
And making others to run away in fright.
Trainer is aghast, her heart is tight.
Sky is blue, the clouds are thin,
Oldie is singing, dancing in merry,
The road is plain with surrounding green,
Pleasure to drive and sing.
Oldie wears a smile matching her zing.
Age is no bar if the will is strong
A lesson for everyone to enjoy, sing and learn.
Shiba Prasad Mishra is a retired Administrative Service Officer with a passion for poetry and literature. A post graduate in Geography from Utkal University, Bhubaneswar, he loves to write short poems and shares them with his friends.
CATAPULTING HOPES, DUMPING HEARTS
You raised my hopes like water in a desert,
But discarded me suddenly like a 'heap of dirt.'
Of true love, you showed me myriad 'dreams,'
Which ended up only in nightmarish 'screams.'
You showed me the path of love, 'invisible,'
Which only turned out to be, 'unfeasible.'
You kept me in a state of 'suspended reality,'
Until, upon myself, I could no longer pity!
You aroused in me, feelings of eternal pleasure,
Little did I know, it would cause me chronic and severe pressure!
In the 'ocean of pain,' I thought you saved me from drowning,
But in the 'sea of trauma,' you left me groaning.
You took 'pleasure' in dishing me out 'pain,'
But from pain, eventually, I could only 'gain.'
RESURRECTED HEART, EXPIRED LOVE
P. Mohan Chandran
You resurrected my love, which was dead,
But buried it again, before it could spread!
You awoke my love, which was dormant,
And created in my heart, a deep dent.
Like Rip Van Winkle, my heart was in a state of 'deep slumber,'
But your presence caused 'turbulence' in my heart, times without number!
Distant I was from love and its feeling,
But like a cart-wheel, you sent my heart reeling!
My faith in love had just begun to grow,
But before it could fully blossom, you severed its flow!
The very mention of the word "love" now seems so scary,
A mere thought about it makes me absolutely dreary!
Maybe love and I were never made for each other,
Whenever I embraced love, I had to sail through 'rough weather!'
Always, my heart, you steal,
But leave it in such pain, it can never heal!
Cocksure I was, my love would succeed,
Diagnosing my heart precisely, my love, you would accede.
Exacerbated, was my heart’s affliction,
Forever, once it heard your spurning diction!
Grief was running in my body, like blood,
Happy, I couldn’t be, as I was alive, but yet dead!
Insufferable was my heart’s pain,
Jetsam, I felt like, and otherwise, couldn’t feign.
Kamikaze act, I wanted to perform,
Locomotive power I lost, and drowned myself in an emotional storm!
Mellowing my trauma, was a Sisyphean task,
Nonpareil was my misery, which I couldn’t mask!
Outliving my abysmal melancholy, was a miracle,
Petrified was my heart, after this debacle!
Quagmire of emotions, was my heart,
Ruthlessly slew into many a quart!
Shell-shocked I was, by your love rejoinder,
Tempest ran through my heart, burning it to a cinder!
Umbrage I took, at my love’s repudiation,
Value of love you taught me, on every occasion.
Whammy, I suffered in love, which couldn’t be reversed,
Xoanon of love you were, but cursed!
Yin of love, you came as, into my life,
Zappy I was, but love made my woes rife!
NB: The above is an abecedarian poem, i.e., which has all the letters of the English Alphabet in order.
P. Mohan Chandran dons several hats in the form of a Business Writer, Creative Writer, Tech Writer, Business Researcher, Creative Thinker, Poet, Teacher, and a qualified Lawyer. Mohan has penned more than 1,000 poems in English on different genres, viz., sonnet, free verse, quatrain, limerick, haiku, acrostic, abecedarian poems, and on different themes such as Love, Marriage, Friendship, Life, Nature, Peace, Politics, Terrorism, Animals, Environment, etc. He has penned more than 8,000 quotes of his own called “Mohan Sutras,” based on his own life experiences and keen observation of people’s behavior, which has been well-received and appreciated by his followers and other social media users. He can be contacted at mohanchandran.writer@gmail.com.
In the silence of the night,
Rain drops falling from a height,
Splattering in a splash,
To bedeck the picturesque green grass.
The incessant rain rings a refrain,
Mesmerizing me with casual disdain,
Drawn magically by the clatter,
To welcome it on my platter.
I hug the rains in a wide embrace,
With closed eyes and skyward, face.
Enveloped by every drop of the trickle,
That cuts across me like a sickle.
In stupor, my eyes open to the lightning,
To drink, in a fraction, a scene, so enthralling.
A thunder burst wakes me from my reverie,
I clasp my hands to my ears reflectively.
The music of the rain with the breeze to mingle,
Set my thoughts on a jingle.
As silently the dawn beckons serenely,
The dancing rain drops revel, enlighteningly.
As on the dazzling water front, they pop,
Outlined by the hillocks, as a backdrop,
My six senses perceive with awe, the beauty, so innate,
Ringing in the synergy, of the "Seventh Sense" state.
Ne'er sure of the untrodden path,
My tiny feet, hesitatingly sought,
Undaunted, I trudge along
The winding path, lone and forlorn.
Prayers galore escape my lips,
As each time I falter and slip,
Until a beacon of Hope emerged,
With it the vast expanse of mist submerged.
A new dimension engulfed my zeal
Tempering in me a will of steel
And confidence, so profound,
Drawn from my Friend, new found.
That Loyal Hand did trigger,
A desire to pursue my goal with vigour,
Hurdles to surpass, became very few,
As avidly, I took the cue.
When things did appear bleak,
Solace, I could seek,
Through thick and thin, He stood,
No doubt things turned out good.
For now I have my bearings right,
Every goal well in sight,.
Do I need him anymore,
To guide me thro' what's in store?
Time has its own tale to weave,
But I for one perceive,
A precious bond, everlasting,
Whether or not, things are daunting.
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.
Enchantress Ceridwen blessed with children two,
A beautiful girl Creiwy and an ugly son Awagduo
She brewed a cauldron of inspiration and knowledge
For her son Awagdu, ugliness to compensate.
Gwion was appointed to stir the brew
An year he toiled without break or rest
The last day of the year three drops splashed onto his finger
To soothe the burning finger he put it into his mouth.
Lo, he was gifted with visions beautiful
Past, present and future bright
Danced enchantingly in his inner eyes
Frightened, Gwion ran away for life.
Furious Ceridwen chased him to kill
A hare he transformed to hide from her
She a greyhound to tear him to pieces.
He became a fish in a stream
She an otter wild to swallow him.
He flew away, a bird up in the sky
She followed a hawk to prey
A golden grain he turned, hiding in a wheat sheaf
A black hen she became and swallowed the grain.
Nine months passed and she in labour
Delivered a boy child so beautiful,
Ceridwen's heart refused to kill him;
In a leather Bag she set him adrift.
Elphin the prince found the babe beautiful.
Radiant bow, Taliesen was he named.
He grew up using his magical inspiration
A bard to reckon in all of Wales.
Prof. Latha Prem Sakhya, a poet, painter and a retired Professor of English, has published three books of poetry. MEMORY RAIN (2008), NATURE AT MY DOOR STEP (2011) - an experimental blend, of poems, reflections and paintings ,VERNAL STROKE (2015 ) a collection of? all her poems.
Her poems were published in journals like IJPCL, Quest, and in e magazines like Indian Rumination, Spark, Muse India, Enchanting Verses international, Spill words etc. She has been anthologized in Roots and Wings (2011), Ripples of Peace ( 2018), Complexion Based Discrimination ( 2018), Tranquil Muse (2018) and The Current (2019). She is member of various poetic groups like Poetry Chain, India poetry Circle and Aksharasthree - The Literary woman, World Peace and Harmony
(Original Hindi poem by Sri Atal Bihari Bajpayeeji. "Umar ki ayisi teyisi")
It's not how big is your home,
Keep a cosy corner to sit and laugh alone.
We know that the sun is far far away,
But make the home to welcome his rays.
At times go to the terrace and count stars at night,
Stretch your hands to reach the moon so bright.
Make a habit of meeting people and pals,
Try to groom neighbours, loving and good.
At times, loiter in the rain and jump in the squids,
Enjoy life, making paper boats for kids.
Grow a tree near your home,
Listen to the chirps of birds alone.
It's not how big or small is your home ,
Remember to have a corner for gossip and fun.
Whichever road you tread, on your way,
Spread jest, laughter and make others gay.
Each stage of life has its own relevance,
Forget not to make best use of every chance.
Do not make age make you grieved,
Dispel nihilism and enjoy indeed.
Time has to move so is age,
But they shouldn't bring sorrow nor rage.
Let age move ahead on its own,
Sir, enjoy every moment with pleasure and fun.
Prof. Dr. Sidhartha Das is a renowned Medicine Specialist and Diabetologist of Odisha. He retired as Principal of the SCB Medical College, Cuttack. He is a recipient of many awards including Life Times Contribution Award (2014), Madras Diabetes Research Foundation, Life Time Achievement Award (2019), Research Trust of Diabetes India, Distinguished Services Award (2019), Research Society for Study of Diabetes in India. He has been, among other things, the Chairman of the Association of Physicians in India, Odisha Branch (2011) and Vice President, Diabetes India, and a Medical Expert for the Odisha Human Roghts Commission (2010-19). He lives in Cuttack and is passionate about literature, reading and writing poems and anecdotal stories.
The grape vine lay entwined,
Her heavy bosom exposed,
Purple, romantic, inviting,
Ready to express the wine
If pressed properly.
Betwixt the tendrils and leaves
An old scar remained.
A blemish made by a sly fox.
He got aroused and leapt at the cluster.
He bit the air, then the dust.
“Sour globules called grapes”
Smirked the sore fox
As he walked on from the bunch.
Dr. Nikhil M Kurien is a professor in maxillofacial surgery working in a reputed dental college in Trivandrum. He has published 2 books. A novel , "the scarecrow" in 2002 and "miracle mix - a repository of poems" in 2016 under the pen name of nmk
The future began to crumble,
And I had to travel back.
With high hopes of preventing what lies ahead,
I made it my duty,
My duty to put that future to bed.
They had denied and buried it deep —
With meaningless paradoxes and theories.
Their ignorance appalled me.
And I started to fulfil my duty,
My duty to make them see.
I had to warn them of the ebb and flow of horrors and tragedy,
But they turned a blind eye to my ramblings.
And slowly, Unfathomable atrocities unfurled.
I failed in my duty,
My duty to save the world.
I travelled back in time to yet again forewarn them.
And I was relentlessly mocked,
Until the darkness took over once more.
How could I complete my duty?
My duty to stave off what’s in store.
History may repeat itself but it’s up to me to change the narrative.
Travel – Warn – Fail – Repeat.
This box never gets ticked – ever!
Insanity isn’t repeating something
in an effort to see a different outcome.
It is, in fact, doing the same,
truly aware that the results remain unchanged
There lies my duty,
My duty to repeat this until I become deranged.
Vishakha Devi, the second daughter of Mrs and Mr S. Vijayaraj, is born and brought up in Chennai. She did her primary schooling at Rosary Matriculation School, Santhome and is now pursuing her middle school education at Vruksha Montessori School, Abhiramapuram. Vishakha, currently in the eighth grade, loves the English language and has a significant penchant for writing short stories. She has received many awards for oratorical and essay writing competitions at the school and inter-school events.
Encouraged by her English teacher, Ms Vidya Shankar, she has now begun her maiden journey into the world of poetry.
Rain in any season
Makes me feel
Something is amiss
Quietly, I think,
Is it the sun shine,
The moonlit night
Or, your beautiful smile?
More than all of this,
I feel a vacuum in my heart
So deep and hungry
Can swallow the clouds
Quenching an intolerable thirst.
Sparkling streamlets flow down the hill
Creating rhythmic music
Whistling cold breeze
Trying to whisper something,
Hallucinating smell of the soil
Releasing my soul out
Making it wander around
In the wet green meadows
In random style.
Little monsoon flowers twinkle
In the wild grass field
Declaring the advent of love
In the misty air of the morning.
I have gone far ahead,
The past now looks
Faint and hazy,
But,all of a sudden
Old memories come alive
With pouring of monsoon rain,
Feel like weaving
My unresolved story.
Don't know where to begin,
Better to wait patiently,
Let things happen,
Without my intervening.
Stealthily, she comes
Sitting beside me
Watch the incessant rain
From my cosy balcony,
Invisible, yet so beautiful
Exactly, the way,
She used to be,
May be, expecting some magic,
I choke trying to speak
While she stops me
Putting her fingers on my lips,
I look through her teary eyes,
Droplets of love are still so bright
The heart starts pounding,
Exhilarated and happy,
Ready to conclude
The unfinished story.
Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura, is an Engineer from BITS, Pilani and has done his MBA and PhD in Marketing. He writes both in Odia and English. He has published three books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” , “The Mystic is in Love” and “The Mystic’s Mysterious World of Love” and a non-fiction “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. He has also published three books on collection of Odia Poems titled “ Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” and “Nirab Pathika”. Dr Behura welcomes feedback @ bkbehura@gmail.com. One can visit him at bichitrabehura.org
Can you make someone’s soul happy with your words?
Will you be loved when you hurt someone with your talk?
Can you advise and change someone’s journey of life?
Would you get away due to your nature of talk?
Develop relationship with a friendly speech
Loving words help you approach everyone;
What can you talk to an angry man?
Once you utter a word, can’t take it back!
Your speech speaks about your culture
Your attitude tells who you really are;
Disrespect not, be not an adamant
Communication connects you with men!
Words explain your thoughts and views
Your thoughts bring you dignity and beauty;
Speech is silver, think before you speak
Every word is powerful, that you utter!
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
You see, it's not an easy task to fix the broken joints, snip the strings attached - once pulled by many,
Turn the roughened wood to flesh and skin, insert some bones and lift the drooping head,
Jolt the heart to start pumping red again.
I should admit I would miss my pretty frocks, the solidified smile,
My farcical gestures to see you laugh.
It's only now that I realized I may have been amusing you quite too much.
At some point, you found humor in my sobbings and ululations,
You played with my limbs - loosened the strings and tightened them up, shook me vigorously,
Trampled me in a box and upon the stage, beneath the limelight -
You made me dance and scream, laugh and wail,
Run hither and tether like an inconsolable madwoman,
All the while the viewers of your ilk watched and laughed to their merriment.
What a show!
You kicked me to the corner, proudly shook their hands of compliments,
Human, you are a master-puppeteer!
You made a living out of my misery.
"It's all forgivable now that I've become one of your kind"-
I walk up to you and whisper the same to your now solidified ears.
Alas, it's a frown that they've painted on to your puppet face,
But inside, who knows, you might be giving me a genuine smile.
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.
Freedom is a far cry
Still we are shackled,
Before two pieces of free bread,
A platter-full of rice and lentil,
Subsidized rice, be it sleazy!
We are shackled
Before the tug of
‘Saffron’ and ‘Green’;
Encaged in endless material desire
Via ‘Limeroad’, ‘peachmode’ and ‘Jabong’ online!
We lost our freedom
To cemented walls of ‘temple’ and ‘mosque’;
Scratched mother earth’s bosom
With barbed wires so fierce!
We are buckled before
The craving of two- inched muscle,
For gluttony and emotions that sly;
We still give away
To lecherous thoughts that pry;
Alas! We are trapped,
With the forgotten love
For non-self from self.
‘Path’ misconstrued as ‘goal of life’
‘Comrade’ deluded to be ‘companion eternal’;
Nay—break this shackles now
Listen to the call sweet,
In your deepest corner
Of heart and soul!
Arise, awake, liberate;
For you are eternally free,
A bird to merge in Thee!!
Dr. Viyatprajna Acharya is a Professor of Biochemistry at KIMS Medical College, who writes trilingually in Odia, English and Hindi. She is an art lover and her write-ups are basically bent towards social reforms.
I am amorphous..... I remain anonymous.
In your fancy world, I am the fairy luminous.
Resting on your shoulders, as Juliet, I'd sing notes of gaiety,
When the Romeo in you, brings out poems on love and beauty.
I'm the Mona Lisa - of your dream epic,
If you care to bring to print all your lyric.
Yet in short time, truly quick and swift,
I'd be there, as your sweetheart, seated in your midst.
That's when you'd call me a perky lass lissom,
Collating Lily of the Nile that begins to blossom.
Roses beckoning, as you enter the garden at sunrise,
I'd waft like the scented breeze and caress you with surprise.
Past noon as you walk tall and proud on the green meadow,
From behind I'd follow you, unaware, taller, like a stark shadow!
An endearing mom, I'd lull you to enjoy a post-lunch siesta;
Or, be the queen of your pair to play a card game, rummy or canasta!
When you take a long stroll along the beach, in twilight,
Won't I, your little darling , love to watch with delight,
Those tiny, browny bubbler crabs surfacing,
Your large footprints in the sands effacing-,
As the shallow foamy waves hug the shore,
And my song on the ebb and tide, you may encore!
If, instead, you drift to look away and above horizon,
You'd be gazing at me with awe, as setting sun, round and crimson.
Again on that starless, yet luscious moonlit night,
In your REM sleep that you couldn't catch right,
You tossed me in your dream, into the deep blue sea,
When, betwixt the tall waves, I rise like a mermaid, you're lucky to see!
When nothing is permanent in life, worldly
I ain't any different, I should put it humbly.
Those unversed may brand me nothing but run-of-the-mill,
Though in verses of your poetic imagery, I am, what you will!
Yes, I am amorphous......
I had better remain amorphous......!?
N. Rangamani, a resident of Chennai, graduated from IIT Madras; superannuated after more than thirty-five years of service in (Aircraft Maintenance) Aviation. He has revived his writing passion post retirement. He likes to write and puts it to action, sometimes. He writes in Tamil and English. Contact: rangkrish@gmail.com
MY JAGANNATH - LORD OF THE UNIVERSE
My days are filled with tranquility.
Dealing everything with serenity.
Opening my eyes for Mangala-arati.
Begins my days with your darshan.
How beautiful in your semblance.
Blessed with your presence.
I wondered at your appearance.
But loved you at first sight.
From the day I saw you.
My dreams overwhelmed by you.
Wished to know more about you.
As a mind reader, You rid me of my doubts,
Without interrogating me.
Even when I know, you are with me.
Wish to see you at Puri,with your siblings.
Jagannath Subhadra and Balabhadra
Symbols of care, love and kindness.
0h, Lord of the Universe, My Jagannath.
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.
THE IMPERFECTLY PERFECT UTOPIA
Utopia as defined is a place of perfection
Where peace and serenity is all that prevails
It's the sovereign place of dreams come true
Where flowers of triumph is all that hails
This utopia that we seek for,
On a map will never be found
It's true to call it all imaginary
But may be utopia, really does exist if we look around
What's victory without defeat, what's happiness without misery
With no odds in the world anymore
The essence of gratification will be lost
For there's no joy of 'after' if there's no woe of 'before'
So, a place where not only we are prosperous
But also let others feel loved, grow and atone
And where we find happiness even in the smallest reasons
Is the perfectly imperfect utopia of our very own
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.
To none I do belong,
Not me, to you;
The body only belongs.
Like a free bird,
I fly with freedom.
To another body I sail,
The day you perish,
For a New Dawning.
Nothing with me I do carry,
Neither sweet nor bitter,
All memories transcend,
In the flux of time.
When the bitter wind whipped,
And the corpse turned into ashes. And the tale came to an end,
For a new tale to begin....
You can’t stop me because,
To none, I do belong.
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 sparkling veil, spread up high and vast
We see above us as evening starts
Embroidered with planets, comets and stars,
Of which a small piece we gaze upon from earth.
But do not get mistaken of thinking it as the end,
For what we see is just a tiny speck of this veil from land.
The veil is spread endless and wide,
Neither a corner, nor a side.
With countless stars, so beautiful and bright,
Making the veil of the universe sparkle with their light.
They join hands together to form galaxies,
Millions of which are unknown and remain mysteries.
Not to forget the planets, in picture books look so small,
But actually gigantic they are, each one being a mega ball.
They rotate and revolve, these giant spinning tops,
Some as cold as ice, some very hot.
Eight of which form our solar system,
Rotating and revolving around the sun.
Like a grandfather sitting in the middle,
With the planets being his granddaughter and grandsons.
Not only these but also satellites and asteroids,
Orbiting the sun and the planets.
These too are quite important,
Like the grandchildren’s toys.
That beautiful shiny tail of the shooting stars,
As they burn up above the earth.
Like an angel with her divine light,
That forms the light streak, so beautiful and bright.
This is just the beginning
Of this universe very very wide.
We don’t know and will never be able to,
Tell the number of these celestial bodies with their glittering light.
So now when you gaze up,
Do remember and please don’t forget.
The universe is endless and what you see,
Is only a very tiny little speck.
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.
YET DIFFERENT !
Sneha Bhowmick
We share the same sky where sun and moon sway.
We breath same air, drink same water.
We diminish in same soil ,
Someone in cemetery another finds refuge in crematorium.
We call mother in same accent, sing in same intonation.
In some dark night we fight among us,
At dawn we ask about well being.
We cry hugging each other,
Ask for forgiveness from one another.
Life is different but worth it !
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."
When I was growing, I wanted to explore
Through the woods and wild galore
I set my sight and hopes high
Oh' higher up than my might's eye
Unaware of what be my encounter
I remained in fake desire
Hollow within, spotted without
Up above clouds of bout
No moon, no pointing hands
Not even a Kindle, in the frame
When all around making it spur
Gold for coal and a penny for ore
I bellowed! Day in and out
From my silent room, in a distant town
I looked with all my luck and purpose
That one soul to hinge on
Looked inside and out
In all I felt and all I could not
Four years and ten trials
Baby, I’ve sold my soul to find my fire
I found, found did I
That the search was mere futile
You can give me names or put me to cross
But then I’ll stand there watching you engrossed
In a sin cousin to mine, but never mind
You can be the Hero and call me the vile
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
" Oh my! Mrs. !
Erie silence and then rupturing storm
Like cuckoo's call from the old clock, it's our home's norm?
Why seethe in agony, and suddenly erupt,
Be open my dear, why keep emotions lumped?"
" Oh Mr. , dare that you say?
You are the reason, cooped up I stay!
They called you superior, our roles thus set,
So you dominate, dance on top of my head? "
" Darling Mrs. I may seem the reason for your problems,
But look deep, are you ignited by problems unknown?"
" Mr.! I have thousands reasons that fuel me,
My deepest regret, you never understand me!
When I vent out, why do you make noise?
If you are considerate, no one would hear our fight! "
"Mrs. ! Beware!
I control you, else there'll be unrest
If I go off suddenly, you may burn even the guests
If you exist without me for long, you'll be tarnished
Bear me, without me you cease to exist!"
" Mr. ! I know that very well,
That's how the rules are set ,
Unjust, agonized, thus my case rests!"
[ The daily fight between Mrs. (read pressure cooker) and Mr. (read cooker whistle) in every indian kitchen. ????????]
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
(Trans-creation – Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
Would Manali be busy with
so early in the morning?
Would she be plucking juicy
sweet wild berries from the jungle,
or sitting by a purring spring
and throwing pebbles into its ripples,
in reverie of her beloved?
Might she be sitting on a swing
made out of wild creepers?
Could she be taking an early bath
in the river Vyas*, perching
languidly on a rock projecting from water?
Could she be preparing a paan,
sweet and scented, for her beloved?
She might be making a garland
of roses for God in her Goshal village,
offering prayers in the village temple.
I wonder, what might be occupying her
so early in the morning?
The rising sun behind the hills,
the pears ripening in slim arms
of hanging trees in orchards,
the shadows playing hide and seek
with the morning light
on hill flanks, the chill in streams
breathing vapourous clouds,
and the chirruping birds singing on trees;
are they all - the sun, trees, streams, hills,
and the birds fall one over the other
to catch Manali’s attention?
Even a fleeting butterfly,
the furry rabbit, a roly-poly puff
of a cloud compete
to find space in the daily
sky-blue wear of Manali.
And lo, here an unknown poet
living by the seashore of Puri,
more than thousand miles away,
is trying to capture Manali in a humble poem,
filling in her humble arms Manali’s beauty,
colours, fragrances, and sweetness!
And the lovely ever-young princess Manali
reposes in her languorous hillside,
making her home a pride of her land.
(So far, I have translated Runu Mohanty’s love poems. This poem, ‘MANALI’, from her new book of Odia poems, ‘MOHINI’ (meaning ‘the seductress’), is one of her landscape-poems. In her imagination, the hill station of Manali is transformed into a lovable persona. Her language is coined in her unique style to give the hill township a sedate and tranquil sensuality.)
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.
Raising like a phoenix
Amidst the raging fires
That engulfed the roof
Over my head in a gulp
Turbulences all around
Hope, that I just found
The only solace to move ahead
Despite the things to wed
Tears that stopped to shed
One fear at a time to chase
Where did the strength
That came from within
Every time, I was ripped
I shouted aloud, for help
Every time, I was killed
I found a resurrection
Just because I did not let
The hope within die
Just because I did not let
The fears to rule over
Thunders that scared
Winds that blew off
Fires that burnt me deep
Yet, I kept the hope in leap
The only mantra, to win
No matter what it takes
The belief that it gives
That This too Shall Pass!
Once a withered soul
I know now to win it all
For I just have one hope
That what we believe
Is what we truly achieve
Yes, there is no end
To human suffering
But it is this hope
That makes us move ahead!
Storms that can rage strong
Yet, we will win and move along!!!
Umasree Raghunath is a Senior IT Professional/ Author/ Blogger/ Poet/ Lawyer/ Diversity & Inclusion Social Activist/ Motivational Speaker, Past President - Inner Wheel Club of Madras South, Vice-President-eWIT . Umasree has close to 400 poems across various themes, subjects, situations and emotions and been writing since she was 13 years old. She is the Author of the Book- Simply Being Sidds and also has a live blog in her own name.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
(A different pose of a tiger in a newsprint photograph inspired me to write this poem.)
Tiger, tiger standing tall.
Stretch a little more and you get it all.
Tiger, tiger with your coat of black and yellow.
You seem to be a jolly good fellow.
Tiger, tiger what have you seen up the tree?
Stretching on your hind legs to check and see.
Tiger, tiger with your ferocious growl.
At the dead of night, you hunt and prowl.
Tiger, tiger with your sharp tooth and nail.
Your huge, shining eyes to scare humans never fail.
But tiger, tiger remain a quadruped and only for hunger, kill.
And don’t be a biped like humans who harm and have different sinister deals.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick is a scientist by education, educationist by profession and an author and poet by passion. She has published five books and has received several awards for her poetry including the Golden Rose from Argentina for promoting literature and culture. Some of her poems have been translated into 31 languages and her poems have been published in more than 250 national and international journals. Paramita has started and is the President of Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library (IPPL) Mumbai Chapter. She also writes travelogues which are published regularly in e-magazines. She lives in Mumbai, India with her husband and daughter.
I was born as a happy bud,
On a dirty, clayey bed of mud.
In just a few days, I was detached from my mother,
Yet, it did not really bother,
For my bed of dirty loam,
Was switched to comfy foam.
Once an unnoticed plant,
Was now a bouquet grant.
I enjoyed a birthday party,
And was proud of my impeccable beauty.
But the next day, I was distraught,
As my gorgeous petals began to rot.
"Rotten is Forgotten", they say,
And the very next moment, I was thrown away...
-
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.
From Dawn to Dusk
Dusk to dawn
It is filled with what we have undergone
It is mixed with moments
Comprising shades of emotions
Some happy and joyous some sad, angry, or forlorn
Is it the end of the day?
Or a new beginning ?
The twilight periods appear to be in harmony
In a state of peace and calm
With what happens on the two sides of midnight
Creating a cycle of life
Which goes on and on
From Dawn to Dusk
Dusk to Dawn...........
We come into this world with a brain
Some of us are noted to be brilliant
While some of us are not
The level of brilliance
s bound to be of variance
All depending upon the chance
One gets and also uses to his abundance
The brilliant people stand out in a crowd
All of them doing their family and friends proud
The brilliant people shine
They face hurdles without a whine
Brilliant people are buoyant
They do not sink in failures
But float up with success
Facing the obstacles
Making their neurons a receptacle
By which they provide many a miracle
May the brilliant sustain
As we come into the world with a brain....
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.
Let me dance in the rains
Thus wash away my pains
It will hide my tears
And wash off tear- stains
The rain song of tip tip
With its melodious refrains
Makes the whole environs musical
And festive aura maintains
The rumbling of the clouds
High wind before the shower
With darkness gathering around
The lightening showing its power
Rapturous in anticipation
With melodies in my heart
I wait for delightful spray
And rain – dance to start
The freshly washed foliage
Their bright, verdant leaves
The dust free colourful flowers
It’s heaven on earth I believe
I never belonged to religion
At any of life’s stage
But rain brings serendipity
Everywhere I see His image
Sudha Dixit, was born and brought up in UP. Presently settled in Bangalore.. She is doing what she always wanted to do - painting landscapes and portraits & writing poetry / articles on net and various magazines, including print media.
She looks at nature with myopic eyes & paints it wearing tinted glasses, with poetry in her heart. Poetry just happens. It acts as catharsis in her life, removing the toxin from her heart in the form of words on paper. It’s therapeutic. This high spiritedness reveals itself in both, her poems & paintings.
I the helmsman of my ship,
Suddenly did slip my hand from the steer
The ship banged with a loud thud
Then began to sink, I- with frozen emotions, paralyzed, traumatized
The ship- its prow and mast disappearing from the sea into it, deep, deep into it
And I inanimate to the fullest just a soul entrapped within me
With ship sinking deep and deep, the thrust of water overpowered
The strength of ship- I was in the thrall of
Merciless, unbearable sorrow, burden, responsibility, and above all,
The piercing pressure of not losing the amassed faith, respect, love
Let the ship perish, let me be killed before we reach the ocean bed
As we sank- sank deeper and deeper, the ship started collapsing,
Blood came as tears, oozing out more from heart than eyes
Then the hulk seemed a hundred tons and the ship rushed to the floor
I became courage-less and power-less to withstand the pressure and begged death
Something from some unprecedented source- may be intense desire, motivation or encouragement
Brought back my parting soul along with moral strength and desire to live
I collected all my guts and cried out as best as I could, thinking those my last words
Save me! He Jagannath help me! Y’ Allah! Oh Jesus! Lord Shiva! Whoever may be
I am your son not unknown, I beg you just once to bless me my life
Please save me! With that I turned motionless
Then some majestic power installed in me some miraculous powers
Inside water- my ship sucked air, I breathed with gills and feeling my reviving strength
Too long after that, we were still underwater fighting with the thrust, the burden
And struggling for breath and balance, but gaining strength by the influence of the Supreme power.
At last our eyes met the blue sky, the yellow sun. And the air
Rushed into our bodies refreshing our souls and we, with second lives granted from God,
Sailed towards our goal of dream.
But still I fear- if the damaged ship sinks again, though it has travelled miles after that with progressive speed? But then I can’t dare to distrust the divine power that kept me alive, that keeps me going. But as a doubtful man I am, I will always wait for an answer till end. Let’s see if we reach till the end, beyond my dreams, beyond everything- to the life’s end, before sinking. Let the same power propel my ship on the boundless ocean much, much longer after I- a mortal being- perishes .
SUMMARY
This poem talks about a time when we fall, when we are broken, due to our grievous fault. It describes about how we commit mistakes, how we are burdened by the feeling of guilt, and how we even beg to die before we reach our destined future.
Then the good part comes. We are provoked to get out of it with all our remaining powers. Most of us have felt that the Almighty really helps us in such situations. So, we are saved.
Later every thing becomes quite stable. But we feel that we may fall again, ignoring the fact that the God has mend our broken soul with his own hands. And after such heavenly hands touching us, we can’t doubt about his forgiving us and again falling down.
Chandan Chowdhury is a final year MBBS student at IMS and sum hospital, Bhubaneswar. To get in Touch: twitter.com/c_howdhury ; linkedin.com/in/c-howdhury ; Email - c.ku.chowdhury@gmail.com.
Darkness descended
on Afghan hills at morn,
sun beams quivered,
a pale of gloom covered the cloudless clime.
We rejoiced,
clapped at our little victories from
ramparts of Red fort,
as we listened to empty slogan of Amrit Mahotsav,
the sky turned crimson.
Abdicating the trust they fled,
one fat with stolen cars and cash to Oman,
the other complacent and stubborn
to a chilled vacation.
Vast multitudes shudder,
seek refuge in sly corners,
fear hovers in air
like a bluish ghost,
caresses their limb at iridescent hours,
lapping shores lull them
to sleep.
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.
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.
(Image by Nicola Giordano from Pixabay)
Hell is in your mind
It is in this life, not after
It is your own making
Or it just happens to you.
It burns within like a cauldron
The sky is no more azure
The thoughts are like grey clouds
Pregnant with problems
Colliding inside vociferously
Creating myriad thunderous conflicts
And sparks of anger emanate
Like the furious bolts of lightning
And when the fury spills over
Through your red eyes
Now raining unabashed
Only this time, in salty tears
Again, to flood the mental landscape
And common sense drowns
And sinks to the bottom
In the unfathomable deluge
With a little breeze in your lungs
I mean, a deep breath,
The stormy clouds are blown away
No more rain, thunder, or lightning
Somewhere the flashflood recedes
Revealing the sunk sense again
This time, with sediments of sanity
Shining in your tear-washed face.
Image :: ParallelVision from Pixabay ( enclosed) for illustration.
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.
(Silken shining droplets Sitting on the petals,)
A majestic view in creation,
Eyes simply in sheer infatuation,
Heart throbs with sighs,
In love with silken petals before the eyes,
Rains have long gone,
The beautiful petals waiting for the powerful sun,
To sip the droplets satiating it's thirst,
Solar radiance slowly consumes the droplets,
The flower waits for another shower,
To get drenched for uncounted hours,
The beautiful flower in solitude display,
Soliciting everyone to it's magic outlay,
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.
Inscrutable are the ways of god, they say.
Is that so? My heart would always say nay.
For I was so drunk with conjugal life’s nectar sweet and sour,
Days and decades went by; savoring all that you had to offer.
Now that God has done his design, I am reduced to nothing.
I look around to find you, only to face your memories flashing.
Those sweet bitter moments are what I am longing for,
Others may differ, but those were nothing but the life’s elixir.
The dreams that you saw and I made mine, Are all but colorless, if you won’t shine.
With you by my side, life was a glory, Sans you, I cringe to face the fury.
(Outpourings from a grieving soul)
Er.Sunil Kumar Biswal is a graduate Electrical Engineer and an entrepreneur. He is based in Sunabeda in Koraput District of Odisha. His other interests are HAM Radio (an active HAM with call sign VU2MBS) , Amateur Astronomy (he conducts sky watching programs for interested persons/groups) , Photography and a little bit of writing on diverse topics. He has a passion for communicating science to common man in a simple terms and often gives talks in Electronic media including All India Radio, Radio Koraput. He can be reached at sunilbiswal@hotmail.com
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
Dr. Molly Joseph
Isn’t it late for a Debate, healthy, whole some, holistic
for us the ‘anthropocene’ to survive,
Yes, better late than never.
Mother Earth on Death bed, her swan song resonates…
We the ‘homo sapiens’, the culprits, short visioned, greedy,
drying up oceans*, blocking rivers building hydel projects*
destroying balance of bio diversity,
now planning to set up satellites in space with huge mirrors
to reflect and refract sunlight in desired directions
destroying the organic rhythm of nature,
Where are we heading to?
Encroaching habitats of non human species
who have equal rights on earth, how we cause
transmission of toxic ‘zoonotic’ virus
which turns mutant causing epidemics,
Where are we heading to?
Who is to be blamed, Semitic religions that bred
the arrogant hegemony of man as the master of the universe
or the rash use of Science for self appeasing growth
for Nations to run rough shod over each other.
High time to stop our blame game to sit around
the table of debate healthy, wholesome, holistic.
Notes: * The Aral sea has dried up due to the intervention of erstwhile Soviet Union.
* Three Gorges Dam, the largest Dam in the world, built by China, which is alleged to cause serious imbalance in the Earth’s rotation round the Sun, the Mars and Earth being the only two planets in the biosphere of the Sun.
Dr. Molly Joseph is a Professor, Poet from Kerala, who writes Travelogues, Short stories and Story books for children. She has published twelve books,10 Books of poems, a novel and a Story book for Children. She has won several accolades which include India Women Achiever’s Award 2020. She believes in the power of the word and writes boldly on matters that deal with the contemporary. She can be reached at E mail- mynamolly @gmail.com ; You tube- https://www.youtube.com/user/mynamolly
I met you as a stranger,
Now you are my friend.
All good things,
You always recommend.
You show me the path,
That seems to be right,
When I'm in dark,
You show me light.
You stand beside me,
In good and bad times,
Both of us work together,
As if we are twins.
When I'm angry,
I stop talking to you,
You say, "Sorry,my dear friend! I am for you."
You extend your hand,
Whenever I am in need,
You are no more a stranger,
A friend in deed.
Long live our friendship,
That is what I pray,
Ages after ages,
Evergreen it stays.
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.
EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
I will still ride the horse
like the wind, and go miles
looking for you,
till the mountains will echo
the deafening hoofs.
The stars will burst into dazzles
and rain on the moonlit desert.
My memories will dig deep
to find your signature
on the parched papers.
The urn will wait for dead hopes,
the ashes will pour in
and fill it to the brim.
The echoes will fade over time.
the horse will look for a new saddle,
the shadow will leave the rider and move on
The leaves will fall
the sad skies will shed tears
to quench the flames
and save the forest from burning down.
I will walk on, horseless,
saddleless, looking for you,
my unfulfilled goal, my receding dream.
Ruminating on how life cheated me,
showing a path, but cutting the ground under.
I know deep within my heart,
the end is but a ghost of the beginning
and everything in between a sad chimera.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing short stories and managing the website PositiveVibes.Today. He has published eight books of short stories in Odiya and has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj.
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