Literary Vibes - Edition CXIII - POEMS
Title : Yet Another Dawn (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the 113th edition of LiteraryVibes. It makes a lovely combination with the calm, soothing presence of January.
We have a basket of offerings for you. Prof. Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo, a renowned Gynaecologist, presently the President-elect of the Indian Society of Perinatalogy and Reproductive Biology, has written two interesting articles from his professional experience. They are posted at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/413 and https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/414 Mrs. Sunanda Pradhan's rich tribute 'My Beloved Father' is at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/415 A sterling article on 'The Magic of Meditation' by Ms. Lipsa Mohanty is at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/416 We have posted a separate section named Young Magic from the young poets Keshav, Mrinalini and Trishna in (https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/417 Finally, I am sure you will enjoy the entertaining short stories, anecdotes and a travelogue of LV113 at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/418 The poems are at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/419
We are happy to welcome two new contributors in the present edition. Ms. V M Mridula, and A Shyammohan from Kannur and Trivandrum in Kerala write wonderful, touching poems. We are honoured to include their poems in today's edition. Hope we will continue to have their contribution in future editions also.
January is the month we celebrate the Republic Day with great pomp and ceremony all over the country. Those who have participated in a Republic Day parade or witnessed its splendour would recollect the feeling of pride and joy that engulfs the heart at such wonderful moments. Independence of our country and the decision to make a Republic out of the nascent nation in 1950 are epoch-making events. We have to work to ensure peace and prosperity for our great nation. With dark clouds looming across the border and unrest of various types raising its head intermittently inside, we have to re-dedicate ourselves to strengthening the nation. As the young poet Ayana says in today's edition, "it's time for a new awakening, time to stand by the truth."
It's also time to introspect, to reflect on how our lives can be enriched by small acts with big hearts. I want to share with you a beautiful story I came across recently:
"I WANT TO REMEMBER YOUR FACE"
Nigerian billionaire Femi Otedola in a telephone interview, was once asked by the radio presenter, "Sir, what can you remember that made you the happiest man in life?"
Femi said:
"I have gone through four stages of happiness in life and finally I understood the meaning of true happiness.
The first stage was to accumulate wealth and means. But at this stage I did not get the happiness I wanted.
Then came the second stage of collecting valuables and items. But I realised that the effect of this thing is also temporary and the lustre of valuable things does not last long.
Then came the third stage of getting big projects. That was when I was holding 95% of diesel supply in Nigeria and Africa. I was also the largest vessel owner in Africa and Asia. But even here I did not get the happiness I had imagined.
The fourth stage was the time a friend of mine asked me to buy wheelchair for some disabled children. Just about 200 kids.
At the friend's request, I immediately bought the wheelchairs.
But the friend insisted that I go with him and hand over the wheelchairs to the children. I got ready and went with him.
There I gave these wheel chairs to the children with my own hands. I saw the strange glow of happiness on the faces of these children. I saw them all sitting on the wheelchairs, moving around and having fun.
It was as if they had arrived at a picnic spot where they are sharing a jackpot winning.
I felt REAL joy inside me. When I decided to leave one of the kids grabbed my legs. I tried to free my legs gently but the child stared at my face and held my legs tightly.
I bent down and asked the child: Do you need something else?
The answer this child gave not only made me happy but also changed my attitude to life completely. This child said:
"I want to remember your face so that when I meet you in heaven, I will be able to recognise you and thank you once again."
What would you be remembered for after you leave that office or place?
Will anyone desire to see your face again where it all matters?
Try to touch lives, it matters when it should.
.............
The above is a short write up but with profound implications. If every single person on earth shares the sorrow of one other person at the end there will be no sorrow - only the joy of sharing and changing some one's life.
Do share the links of LiteraryVibes with your friends and contacts. Joy shared is not joy divided but joy multiplied.
Take care, be safe. Keep smiling and we will meet again on 25th February with a new edition of LiteraryVibes.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
PHARAOH'S LAMENT
02) Hara Prasad Das
THE EXILE (KIMAASHCHARYAM?)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
ANCHORED YET ADRIFT
04) Sreekumar K
THE FUNERAL
MY LIFE
05) Madhumathi. H
PLOUGH DEEP...
06) Bijay Ketan Patnaik
THE SEA AT CHANDIPUR (CHANDIPUR RA SAMUDRA)
07) Bichitra Kumar Behura
HEALING TOUCH OF LOVE
08) A. R. Heena Kouzzer
THE OBSCURED!
09) A Shyammohan
TO LIVE UNTIL
10) Mridula V M
IMAGES WORTH ERASING
11) Hema Ravi
TREE-FRESH MANGOES
12) Gita Bharath
JAMES WEBB TELESCOPE
13) Setaluri Padmavathi
A MEMORABLE MOMENT
14) Runu Mohanty
THE WOMAN (NARI)
15) Ayana Routray
EPITOME OF THE INDIAN REPUBLIC
15) Rangamani N
THE BREEZE.... AND THE DESIRE
16) Ravi Ranganathan
NETHERNESS
17) Dr. Thirupurasundari C J
STOKE UP
18) Chandan Chowdhury
O TRAVELLER!
19) Pradeep Rath
ROAD TAKEN
20) Abani Udgata
DOORS
21) Sukanya.V. Kunju
A SILENT WOMAN
22) Sreedharan Parokode
THE TWO SLIDES
23) Niranjan Barik
DEBATE AND DIALOGUE WITH THE GREATS!
24) Kabyatara Kar
GIRL CHILD
25) Dr. Molly Joseph M
WINGED SELF..
25) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
COMING HOME
Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
BLOOD ON THE OLIVE BRANCH (From ‘War Zone’)
02) Dilip Mohapatra
THE PARTY
03) Ishwar Pati
TRYST WITH ENTERTAINMENT
BUREAUCRATIC ZOO
04) Chinmayee Barik
ESKIMO
05) Sreekumar K
UNTIMELY VISITORS
06) Ranjana Chowdhary
THE FRONTIER SCOUTS OF THE CHITRAL AND GILGIT REGION DURING THE DAYS OF THE RAJ
07) Dr Prasanna Kumar Sahoo
THE BURNING WITHIN
08) Sundar Rajan S
THE SEA I SEE
09) Dr. Radharani Nanda
UNFULFILLED WISH
10) Gourang Charan Roul
ENCHANTING NIAGARA
11) Satya Narayan Mohanty
THE MISSING ENCOUNTER MAN
12) Prof (Dr) Viyatprajna Acharya
BITTER-SWEET NEEM
13) Srikant Mishra
FELINE FUN
14) Sheena Rath
RAHUL & HUSHKOO MUSINGS
15) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY : LETTERS FROM A FATHER TO A SON
16) Ashok Kumar Ray
GANDHARI
17) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
MY FAMOUS DAD
ToC :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Mrinalini Mallick
A BIRD'S LIFE
02) Keshav Maheswari
RESILLIENCE
03) Trishna Sahoo
MY FAMILY
(From the recently published ‘The Silk Road Anthology’ of 140 modern world poets from 40 countries including India, referring to the ancient Egyptian civilisation.)
We walked by the Nile and talked
of the Egyptian mystique,
raising the dead from the womb
of the pyramid, our mind
sketching the hieroglyphs
of joy and tears.
Millennia flowed down our feet,
washing the faces of Giza, the Great ones' –
Pyramid and the mysterious Sphinx,
Cairo boasting of its lights on the wings,
Abdel Al-Sisi* bowing reverently.
Raising the souls of artisans
from the encrusted bones and blood
on pyramid walls; and from howling echoes
of the farmers and traders in its grand atrium
whose pockets were pinched empty
to build the titan of titans at Giza.
Your radiant face was subdued
wearing a sombre mask,
darker than oxidized gold,
clouded by gorgeous Cleopatra's
beleaguered stances;
your visage was commiserating
with the mirror in Nile -
"Did she, the woman with the asp for hair,
the Serpent for her curves,
ever play the 'femme fatale'?"
"She loved opulence, power and muddy joy,
a Molotov** on lissom feet
walking like an uncapped grenade;
in her holocaust, empires sank,
Nile was no match, nor the Serpent
for her unsparing Sphinx-like reserve,
explosive silence, deadly."
I told you about the dung beetle
of my childhood in my rural home,
away and far from the Nile,
my hours spent in following it
rolling its huge dung balls
backward, and uphill,
of its teaching - to take up challenges.
We played a game of poker,
betted a wish, you lost and I wanted you
to be Isis***, the goddess, but
you desired to be a human, Cleopatra.
I knew, had I lost, Antony
would be far from my reach.
Even if I had learnt taking challenges
from dung beetles**** as a child,
challenged to roll huge dung balls
uphill and backward, I was no Atlas.
Also mother was the spoiler, game stopper,
calling me indoors for lunch.
But Pharaoh was a different fish,
I could take the canoe
loaded with my gold and gods
from womb of the pyramid
along the Nile to after-life.
I asked, "Would you be my Nile?"
You shook your pretty head,
"No, rather the Serpent*****", you said.
I was clueless - had we drawn even?
(Cipher of metaphors used - Abdel Al-Sisi* - The present president of Egypt. Molotov** - petrol bomb. Isis*** - An ancient goddess of Egyptian civilization. Dung beetle**** - the insect was worshiped by the ancient Egyptians as sacred, often found carved among hieroglyphs on walls and pillars of pyramids. Serpent***** - Described as the Serpent of the Nile in Egyptian myths, believed to be a giant snake, named Apep, living in the river Nile, attractive in an evil way with magical powers.)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is a poet/ story writer/translator/literary critic, living in Mumbai, India. The publishers - Rupa & Co. and Allied Publishers Pvt Ltd have published his three books of poems – VIGIL (1993), LIPS OF A CANYON (2000), and LITMUS (2005). His poems have been widely anthologized in fourteen different volumes of anthology by publishers, such as – Rupa & Co, Virgo Publication, Penguin Books, Adhayan Publishers and Distributors, Panchabati Publications, Authorspress, Poetrywala, Prakriti Foundation, Hidden Book Press, Penguin Ananda, Sahitya Akademi etc. over the period spanning over 1993 to 2020. Awards won - Vineet Gupta Memorial Poetry Award, JIWE Poetry Prize. Former president of Poetry Circle (Mumbai), former editor of this poet-association’s poetry journal POIESIS. He edited a book of short stories by the iconic Odia writer in English translation – FROM THE MASTER’s LOOM, VINTAGE STORIES OF FAKIRMOHAN SENAPATI. He is widely published in literary magazines; lately in Kavya Bharati, Literary Vibes, Our Poetry Archives (OPA) and Spillwords.
(Translated from Odia by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
Normal eyes don’t notice
such subtleties -
he,
always an outsider,
a seeker’s lamp in hand,
has crossed the verandah,
over to the courtyard
to go away, let him go.
It is not really him,
only his live remains
still asleep in his bed
with uncertainties.
It’s his cursed lookalike,
fossilized over ages,
a vain seeker
of his own rite of passage,
a river that flows
between the two unsure banks.
Should his runaway-part
be a surprise, or his effort to escape?
Drunk on nectar,
dozing inside a flower,
shouldn’t an insect
wake up and fly away
before the petals close
entrapping it?
Shouldn’t one plan
his jubilant evening
atop the distant mountain
before the post-sunset gloom?
If Goutam’s marriage-goal
was to win a woman’s thighs,
why did he leave his wife
and attend to his land’s call,
to gather the scattered dreams
of a new dawn?
Submerged in the joy
of a young wife’s yielding flesh,
why did he feel guilty
of causing the night
thrash in pain, and see blood
dripping from his own nails?
Was his machismo a mask
put over his pain and remorse?
The exile does not know
when would this night end;
when would he possibly return
from his self-imposed banishment
with alien fruits and shoots
from distant lands.
Also, he doesn’t know
if his gifts
would do good
or bad to his people.
But he knows for sure,
he will find his comatose self
waken up from its stupor,
coming around wide-alert.
He also knows that the Devil
would still be lurking
by his bed
hiding behind the curtains
to catch him
in his hypnotic net.
Would the saga of this seeker,
an exile
appear bizarre
in human history?
Mr. Hara Prasad Das is one of the greatest poets in Odiya literature. He is also an essayist and columnist. Mr. Das, has twelve works of poetry, four of prose, three translations and one piece of fiction to his credit. He is a retired civil servant and has served various UN bodies as an expert.
He is a recipient of numerous awards and recognitions including Kalinga Literary Award (2017), Moortidevi Award(2013), Gangadhar Meher Award (2008), Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award (1999) and Sarala Award (2008)”
The signal warns of imminent peril
the waves are wild
the gales are gloomy
few boats have capsized
here and there
few survivors flailing the waters
fervently to stay afloat
some have been locked up
in Davy Jones’ locker
and some hanging on
to the life rafts and flotsam
hoping to be spotted
and rescued
and you drop your hook
and moor your ship
to the weatherbeaten anchor
that sinks its shank
fluke and arm
into the bottom of the sea
to keep you steady
and secure.
There’s no way
that you may weigh your anchor
in near future
and set your course
once again so soon
you got to wait
till the calm returns
and your passage is safe
and the sea gulls
dot a clear cerulean sky
guiding you
till you make the landfall.
As your ship undulates
and swings
in tandem with
the swells and surges
and you rock on the recliner
lashed to the quarter deck
ashes of your desires
simmering under your skin
embers of your passion
turning into stardust
while you frantically follow
a frozen sun
shrouded in flames of ominous
clouds
sometimes playing
dumb charade with a dead moon
your mind goes berserk
unfettered and unmoored
aimlessly drifting
sometimes kissing the void,
sometimes following the scars
sometimes savouring
the pulsating absences
and the frigid embraces
sometimes shouting as loud as you can
that no one can hear
sometimes speaking to self
in solipsistic silence
rummaging through
your old chart tracks
to draw up your balance sheets
while waiting
to hoist your hook
and set your sails
to brave the waves
and tame the tides
once again.
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.
(This is a poem about the new world of disloyalty)
People rushed in
Those who had heard
And those who hadn't
To see he who won't
He died a calm death
After serving the firm all his life
Some people thought it funny
Someone would show loyalty
At this age and these times
I had seen him in the park
During the first year he was here
Now the park isn't there
Neither is he
We had heard him talk
Tell us jokes and stories
The coffee tasted so good
With the anecdotes he shared
Now we all drink tea
Everyone knew him
As a good heart
No one knew
His heart would play such
A trick on him
In the hospital
Where they cut it open
The docs were shocked to see
A heart made of flesh
People had mislead them
Into believing it was of gold
The postmortem results
Are sure to come out now
We are all waiting to know
Whether we had a hand
In the murder
(This is a poem which was inspired by my own life, its ups and downs and mostly downs)
Sitting in the shade of my own past
Resting myself before I go any further,
I see crowding in and around me
Lessons I learned on the way
My long forgotten childhood
When You used to be part of me
Dreams used to be true and
Truth was no stranger to fiction
My self grew big and strong
I grew weak, my hand small
I lost my light on the way
My mind was no longer fresh
The stains on parchments
I licked and relished with my tongue
None of the letters I learned
Looked anything like a lamp
I remember being born with another
Can't go back and search him out
In the groves I had played
Hide and go seek with Him
Painful my life, sorrowful my cup
Had no hope of emptying it
Died alive seeing me my enemy
I had done it all to myself
Now I am ready to accept
Whatever is on my plate
You are my light; my long way
Begins today with this first step
I know you are my judge
My plea is not much
My sorrow should not last
But your memory should
I thought I was an armada
And the ocean calm and pacific
I stand corrected, the ocean is stormy
And my canoe is way too tiny
You are a luminescent being
Light up my mind, make it clear
I have no one else, nothing else
Can't find another way to end my pain
I know I need many corrections
Small ones, big ones, painful ones
The road to freedom is nothing but
The determination in a clear mind
My hands have to be clean
Great alertness and vigilance
Shouldn't forget you till my death
Till then you are my light
You are in my every tissue
I have lost like salt in water
Only a few more years to be here
Be with me till it all gets over
Sreekumar K, known more as SK, writes in English and Malayalam. He also translates into both languages and works as a facilitator at L' ecole Chempaka International, a school in Trivandrum, Kerala.
A bunch of fresh turmeric, smiling in the pot
For the festival of harvest
To Worship the shimmering golden rays of the Sun...
How firmly the roots penetrate the soil
Like hope to hold on tight!
In how much kindness, the soil embraces
The thin tiny fingers of the roots
Inexplicable journey to witness...
A million thanks to all the farmers...
A small plant grown at home, gifts ecstasy
How blissful, euphoric it would be
To those farmers during harvest
Working tirelessly loving every crop
Every particle of the land
Soul absorbing the soil's heartbeat
For farmers, Agriculture is a Yagna, cathartic ritual
By the sweat of their brow
Planting, harvesting, a Prayer, meditation!
Fields become a school Farmers are teachers, mentors
Soil, and sweat teach
The deity, the Almighty dwells in labour...
A bunch of fragrant turmeric
Ploughs my inner soil
Gratitude grows like fresh crop
Watered by tears...
A bilingual poet-writer(Tamil, English), Madhumathi is 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, Amaravati Poetic Prism, and in e-zines UGC approved Muse India, Storizen, OPA – Our Poetry Archives, IWJ - International Writers Journal, Positive Vibes, and Science Shore.
‘’Ignite Poetry'’, “Arising from the dust”, “Painting Dreams", “Shards of unsung Poesies", "Breathe Poetry" are some of the *recent Anthologies her poems, and write ups are part of. (*2020 - 2021). Besides Poetry, Madhumathi writes on Mental health, to create awareness and break the stigma, strongly believing in the therapeutic and transformational power of words. Contact: madhumathi.poetry@gmail.com Blog: https://madhumathipoetry.wordpress.com
THE SEA AT CHANDIPUR (CHANDIPUR RA SAMUDRA)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
Are you angry? Sulking?
You didn’t allow me
to have an eyeful of you;
you ran away
beyond my eyes’ reach.
I remonstrated, begged you
to stay back, but you didn’t listen.
Never. You seemed moody,
whimsical; putting aside my entreaties,
you returned to unreachable distances.
Wished, you had looked back and
noticed little kids in multihued clothes
walk behind you, coaxing you,
pulling you back to safety of the shore
from drowning in the deep ocean’s pit.
You have returned again and again
but forgotten to take back your shells
scattered on the sprawled sand banks;
the crabs feel unsafe out of your water,
scurry away into their little bunkers if startled.
Women are walking around
in that wet sand with baskets
balanced on the hips, to pick dreams,
the lovely sea-shells, that
they would sell for frugal meals.
At a short distance, Balaram Garhi,
the fishing port, the power-boats
and fishing-trawlers await your return
to go with you into the deep sea
for filling their sails with the winds of hope.
Your sulk is not as fickle as the ice cream
that melts if taken out of the refrigerator.
It has its own mood and time to decide
when, how much, and how far.
Like an unpredictable spoilt brat.
You only know when you would
do away with your tantrums,
return to your indulgent lovers,
who have pampered and spoilt you,
waiting to just have an eyeful.
(From the poet’s Book ‘UDVASTU’ of Odia poems.)
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
It really hurts,
Whatever one may say,
In spite of the pretense
That all is well,
Nothing really happened,
Heart aches
Emotions flows out
Through eyes as little droplets.
Smiles are deliberate
To cover up anguish and pain,
However,
A friendly heart interprets
The hidden silence
Lending the shoulder
To unburden the soreness,
And all the unfounded regrets.
It's better to forget.
The trees don’t remember
The past tornado and cyclones,
Have grown new leaves and branches
For future challenges,
Birds have built new nests
Making it difficult for the predators,
With skills learned
From past experiences.
It seems
I have understood
Love,little better,
Should open up
Without any expectations,
Allow it to shower on its own
Stay calm and receive,
Stretching my hands.
Nothing hurts anymore,
Happiness or sorrow,
Pleasure or pain,
All become the same
With the healing touch of Love.
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
People are polluted,
Feelings are extinct.
Ego is like stars in the sky,
Though kindness is merely a virtue.
Man-made stuff has been
Prioritised,
Whereas, rare and realistic substances goes unseen.
Heena Kouzzer is pursuing MBA HRM (first year) in MGR University. Her hobbies include reading novels , dancing, exploring new things and writing. She has a blog page on Instagram named "@hkgram20" in which she pens her random thoughts. She started to write because she wanted her words to speak for her and spread positive vibes among her fellow humans.
To die....
With the pound of the lashing rain on my chest
playing percussion
With the hoot of the night owl in my ears
turning pot
With the lap of the falling leaves on my back
sounding verse
With the suckling leeches on my shin
getting succulent
With the nibbling guppies on my skin
rousing lust
With the howling wind on my face
licking fierce
With the deafening crickets deep under
rocking out
With the earth sweet down my throat
sowing seeds
Until to live...
With the trail of the oxygen mask
gasping between my feet!
A. Shyammohan is a dental specialist moonlighting as a writer. He has published film reviews and film based studies in Hindu Metro Plus (Trivandrum, Kerala), and in malayalam magazines like Mathrubhumi, Kalakaumudi, Kumkumam and Kalapoorna. He has also written & presented short stories and plays in AIR. His focus is to translate on paper, the Social & the intense personal issues that comes to his attention.
(Translation Sreekumar Ezhuththaani)
Some are to be deleted
Even the pretty ones
Painted by many
Paid by many
Famed
But, delete them anyway
Boring ones
Exciting ones
Wetting the eyes that watch them too long
Those that cannot elicit a smile
Nor give any peace of mind
Do not keep them in your memory
If they hurt your eyes too much
If they don’t go with your heart
Delete them
Those that hold no hope
Those that hound you
Burn them
Mridula V.M is a School Teacher and writes in periodicals. She has published a collection of poems and takes classes on the Victors Channel. She has also received poetry awards at the state level
Walking down the road
I ducked
as a missile went past
and fell with a thud.
It was a stone hurled
at a large mango
on the sprawling tree
with branches spread out
laden with mangoes
bent forward as if offering.
Glaring at the urchins,
I turned to give them a mouthful.
My eyes fell
on the delicious mangoes above
tempting and inviting
ready to devour.
I walked on with a meaningful smile
while the urchins stood gaping.
Hema Ravi is a freelance trainer for IELTS and Communicative English. Her poetic publications include haiku, tanka, free verse and metrical verses. Her write ups have been published in the Hindu, New Indian Express, Femina, Woman's Era, and several online and print journals; a few haiku and form poems have been prize winners. She is a permanent contributor to the 'Destine Literare' (Canada). She is the author of ‘Everyday English,’ ‘Write Right Handwriting Series1,2,3,’ co-author of Sing Along Indian Rhymes’ and ‘Everyday Hindi.’ Her "Everyday English with Hema," a series of English lessons are broadcast by the Kalpakkam Community Radio.
The atmosphere is getting smoggy, you know
But it's human evolution that made it so.
Smoke from a factory, not a volcano,
The cattle industry with its carbon mono.
So it is up into space we must go
To expand the frontiers of that which we know,
Deploy a space-telescope, an oculus, an eye,
To watch the history of the stars in the sky.
Beyond the moon's orbit it was carefully placed
Shields protect it from the sun's fierce blaze
Spreading out its immense mirror- arrays
It collects, deciphers, star light from spaceways.
The Morse code sent by the blinking stars are old
Those stars may even now be dead and cold,
But their messages seem sharp and clear--
Are they semaphoring bliss or fear?
Gita Bharath describes herself as a Tamilian brought up in the Northern parts of India. She currently lives in Chennai. After teaching middle school for 5 years she has put in 34 years in the banking service. She is a kolam & crossword aficionado. Her poems deal with everyday events from different perspectives. Her first book SVARA contains 300 thought provoking as well as humorous poems. Many of her poems have appeared in anthologies.
If you give a gift, it will last for a while
If you give money, it can be easily spent
If you give food, it can be quickly eaten
But if you give a smile, a moment is made!
If you give amenities, life becomes better
If you give me luxury, I can cherish my life
If you become silent, I can talk nothing
But if you speak out your mind, I listen!
If you spend hours at work, it’s a benefit
If you waste time on a task, it’s a loss
If you give material, it may certainly vanish
But if you give your time, a moment is made!
If you talk to folks online, they can hear you
If you use media ever, it will entertain you
If you turn the pages of life, a page is known
But if you hug your friends, a moment is made!
If you shop things online, your job is done
If you bargain with keeper, happiness, you gain
If you visit the shop, you can feel everything
If you realize reality, your moment is made!
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
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
A woman packs a bundle
of riddles, undecipherable;
could be princess, a beggar.
She holds her cards close to her chest,
she only knows the man who strums
her heart-strings, producing music.
She needs no bed of roses
for her forty winks, nor she
needs a palatial roof on her head;
She reposes in her man’s adoration
and love, a woman’s breath of life,
her paradise on earth.
The woman is no night-creature
of naked desires or at the beck and call
of flesh, she is not an unholy grail
containing turbid wine without sparkle,
her love is not requited on a sleazy bed
but in her longing for her beloved.
Purity of a woman is a smoke,
a myth created around her marriage
to a man who need not calibrate
her purity with hallmark, or touchstone.
Her love is her benchmark of womanhood,
steered by a word of reciprocation.
Like a devotee lavishing on the lord
the best of spiritual and worldly worship
she heaps fer attention on her beloved,
tied to him across the chord of love,
pulling each other like the lord and devotee,
feeling incomplete without each other.
(From the poet’s collection MOHINI)
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.
EPITOME OF THE INDIAN REPUBLIC
Gods above, the stars and the sky seventy two years ago
Witnessed the breaking dawn of 26th January
The awakening of a new nation,
Our hard earned freedom leading to a Republic
The flag unfurled on an August midnight
Broke into a million smiles at this new beginning,
Unbuckling the shackles from British royalty,
A new constitution declaring our true freedom.
The synchronised marching on the beats of drum
Escorted by the blare of trumpets in aggression
Takes us reminiscing the pride and glory again and again
Empowered are the voices that had faced years of suppression
Celebrating a government the people, for the people, by the people
A secular, sovereign, democratic republic after agonised bondage.
Yet, after years of independence, and the glory of a republic
India is yet to achieve many milestones
Sports, science, agriculture and defense we are leading everywhere
But we have let slip the values for which we are best known
The true spirit of democracy is under challenge,
Innocent citizens are rendered powerless,
Corruption rules the roost, crimes remain unsolved.
Mother India sheds tears for the many still oppressed.
But enough is enough, it's time for a new awakening,
Time to stand by the truth we have known for thousands of years
To vouch for the values that define our country.
It's time for a new revolution, a mission to make India great again.
Ayana Routray, a student of Class XI 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.
Drifting cozily away from the mother wind,
Setting course to ease self for a while, and behind
The gentle breeze wandered even farther,
Looking for her soulmate, and be together.
Keen to adorn self and to better her look,
Searched for a decent mirror,..... a silvery brook.
No sooner did she find a silent rivulet,
That's void of fishes, pomfret or mullet.
Set eyes on the chill and clear sheet of water
That reflected the azure sky with no crater,
And the tango played by Stratus and Cirrus.
But, it wasn't to be a great sight to impress;
Her intent spoilt, averse to watch clouds dance,
She fell very soon into a deep trance.
That spectacular, beautiful scene of reflection
Had caused a terrible mental aberration??
And she could neither hover still over there,
As it is but her nature, we're aware.
Perturbed, as she yelled 'Maaa', without any clue,
There appeared the mother wind, to her rescue.
Struck with a jolt, the still and pure water surface
And the clouds, and the sky began to efface;
The 'shabby' sketches thus removed,
The breeze became 'dumb', but relieved!
Escorted and dropped in the garden of roses then
She started singing merrily, in the pleasant inn,
Amidst chirping birds and blissful aura of beauty,
Spreading lustful fragrance lasting to eternity!!
...
...
...
I woke up suddenly, shouting 'Maaa' in distress;
Are you around, to wish me and to repress??
Help me find nascent, lovely verses, chaste
To describe my sweet, ever loving soulmate!!
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
Meditation took me yonder
Peace has already built a nest there
Surely not a place of no thoroughfare
It glows more the more you ponder...
Now and then, a conscious drawal,
away from people, places,familiars
Is my Mantra to dy-mystify me
It is not easy to rest in that Nest
At best you can nibble and withdraw
A divine vibe strikes your inner cage
With a Bliss that is unbearable
Even Hermits will be at their wit’s end
Trying to balance the joy that unbinds
These sojourns suffice to set my goal
A synthesis of body, mind and soul...
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.
Reach for the stars,
is what we hear,
Potent are our dreams.
Easy life or worthy life?
Choose,
Breathe passion,
Live for your passion.
Passionate life synonymous with a purposeful life,
aren't they?
Life's musings!
Identify your strength,
Count on, count on!
Let sparks sustain you,
Let sparks propel you,
Ascertain the secret ingredient to success,
Relish the desirable happiness menu,
Passive life or passionate life,
Choose.
Life filled with passion is life in action,
Life of satisfaction,
Life of abundance.
Stir up your cells and shine from within,
Keep up your melatonin,
Select your Ikigai,
Being creative is untaught,
Pull out phenomenal moments from ordinary ones.
Shrug off troubles that bothers more than the soul,
Work, to keep the heart as light as a feather,
Work, to sleep like a baby,
Get imbued with the right spirit,
Experience a blissful life,
By letting your passion shine.
A cheerful Biochemist and Molecular Biologist, Dr. Thirupurasundari C J (Dazzle) has a university rank and gold medal in her Bachelors and Masters respectively. She fetched her state and national level fellowships for Doctoral studies. She started her research and teaching experience at a Diabetes Research Hospital. She is recognised as someone who teaches with passion. She took this ethos to a school and also excelled as Assistant Professor in a reputed University, Chennai and then for a brief stint at the Vector Control Research Centre, Puducherry. She has PG diplomas in Bioinformatics, Clinical Research and Patent Rights. She has participated in national and international scientific conferences and has published her research findings in peer-reviewed journals. Cancer, Diabetes, and Horticulture are the fields, she has traversed. The last of which was put to use at the Indian Institute of Horticultural Research. Her other passions include yoga, sudoku, poetry, sketching, gardening, and experimenting new cuisines. Besides being a science content writer, an editor for “Science Shore” e-zine, she has published her oeuvres in Bangalore Poetry Circle, Adisakrit, Positive vibes, Chennai Poets’ Circle, Indian Periodicals, International Writers Journal, Inner Child Press International, INNSAEI, Spillwords, and other anthology groups. Her oeuvres are also available on literary platforms like TechTouch talk, Cultural reverence, Namaste India, Muse India-Your Space, Story mirror, Pratilipi and others. She draws inspiration from others! Her thirst for dance is being quenched recently. She is happy within.
What did you see then o traveller , what did you see then ?
Did you see anger, hatred, enmity, lust in their eyes ?
Did you see affection, friendship, trust, love in their eyes ?
Did you feel sufferings in their souls or a state of bliss ?
Did you feel the oneness in the atmosphere or segregation !
Who knows after all they will meet again or not , was it for a namesake ? Was it fake ? Was it real ?Or just a show-off !
Every one knows all are just travellers on the same path , no one is other's competitor , no one is other's enemy !
Why so much hatred then , why suffocation ? why sufferings ?
O traveller do you have an answer to my question ?
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
Two roads run parallel,
one neat and distinct,
the other blurred.
One runs through sun shine, green grass, rocky terrain and streams.
The other slight hazy and dark.
They meet somewhere, quite distant.
I have walked
on both the roads all these years.
Prefer the lighted one as birds sing
and children play.
I walk, sing and dance, stumble upon the rocks, get bruised,
again walk and rest,
build castles in the air.
Sometimes veer a little
and tread upon the other.
A bit forlorn,
It tempts me though slithery and cold.
Sniff at the alluring smell, jump a little
and recoil.
Love to walk on the first road
though the dark road beckons me since my birth.
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.
Every time he stands outside
a door, another opens.
The same brooding shadow
splashed in a swathe looms
across the sky.
He walks hand in hand with
the old smell and dust
on hair and sweat,
in a ghost-town
under seize.
A valley hemmed in by
ancient hills , run over
by familiar gusts from one hill
to the other, one door to
yet another.
When it all began , it was blank.
There was no warning, no
premonition, no oracle
foretelling this
labyrinth of doors.
Each door, a mirror, caught
his blurred images .
What lies behind?
Again, a starless, blank sky.
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
Silence isn't empty
It's full of unasked questions
And enigmatic answers.
When a woman chooses silence over speaking
Take it she has realized,
there is no point in wasting time
over someone who isn't willing to hear her.
Silence has different meanings.
It is strength, pain, hurt or anger.
Silence is a girl's loudest cry.
She uses it to express her pain.
She is speechless
when her heart is too tired for words.
She is erudite, she has more to say.
But the society silences her.
If she raises her voice
Society silences her;
Keep quiet, you are a woman.
Sukanya.V. Kunju is a post graduate student of St Michael's College,Cherthala. Writing poems is her passion. Most of her poems, have been published in the Literary Vibes as anthology.
Right and Left
are the two sides seen
in this travel.
Exactly what is right?
Excellent description is not established.
If rightly speaking what is left?
No right remarks!
It is it and that is that..
That's all.
In reality there is righteousness, but counted?
Wings are under the strong claws of
sentiments and sequence of scenes.
One is not the opposite of another,
it is a thought,
a calculation, a success and a failure too!.
All are destined to visions!
In between the two, there lies the litmus of life,
uncounted, but encountered,
making pulse rate of movements stable!
P.L.Sreedharan Parokode is a bi-lingual poet and lyricist from Malappuram district, Kerala. He has a Master's degree in English literature and Population Studies and a Post Graduate Diploma in Parental Education. Sreedharan has thirty books of poetry to his credit, including 'Weeping Womb', 'Slum Flowers,'Mahatma Gandhi' 'Nelson Mandela',Poems', 'Don't mum Please' etc. He has also written songs for professional dramas, for albums, songs for competitions, devotional songs etc. He has written songs for animation film also.
Sreedharan has attended various literary conferences in India and abroad. He presented his poems at World Congress of Poets, in Taiwan, 2015, China, 2018, and literary conference in Serbia, 2007.
He has received awards and honours from various organisations, such as, Sahitya shree Award, Sahitya Shiromani Award, Shan E Adab Award etc. He has also received an Hony.Doctorate from the World Academy of Art and Culture
Sreedharan is currently engaged in Doctoral Research in Population Studies from Annamalai University. Earlier he was working in the Administrative wing of the University of Calicut.
DEBATE AND DIALOGUE WITH THE GREATS!
Yes, you the Great,
I debate and dialogue with you,
Am a simple soul, not a wise one,
Don’t feel afraid of me
I am not with words profound like an Aristotle,
but too simple even for any commoner ,
You said about middle path, fine ;
but why did you say this world is illusion,
Life is only pain and passion,
Solution lies only in Nirvan,
But did you solve the riddle ,
You just said to leave and escape ,
Still you are the Light, you are the great ,
That is what historians said.
After that came another great,
With sword as the symbol of valour ,
With a mission to be a world emperor,
But returned with empty hands down
To say he was carrying no treasure.
Then you, who people call a big soul,
You are not great still,
No historian has yet given you the title,
You said humans are one
God is one
World a family
But both the world and the country stand divided
On what you stood for,
You are jeered as the most impractical, an anti-national
You are not a big soul, nor a founder of Nation,
If you showed light in the Dark Continent,
Why you failed here, in stopping the day light butchery,
Stopping the borders in mind and on land?
Stopping the borders and fault lines written in blood?
And, remember, you were a politician,
but ventured to be a historian,
In a world of devils that understands not word but sword ,
you talked of Dove ,
Where swords had taken the form of atoms,
And atoms had become Damocles’ sword
You talked of ploughshares!
And yes, finally He or She or Transgender
Or whatever may be the gender
He who eternally hides, where of course one does not know
People credit you for what all we are and all we see around
But what a poor creature he must be
His creatures last not longer
Than a small piece of paper, just another small human invention
Still you are great of greats!
All of you are utter failures,
All of you are proven wrongs,
You are not worthy of debate or dialogue,
I can demolish you in arguments
Not in high verbose, but simple words
You are not worthy of debate or dialogue,
I will hold it with me!
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.
It feels so proud to
Voice a few words about the sweetest creation of God
'Girl Child' are not mere words
They symbolize the greatest strength in every form we see.
The symbol of a circle with a cross below
speaks volumes about her..
In her strides of cuteness
with trinkets and bangles adorning her hand
fills happiness in the hearts of her parents....
As she transforms into her youth with grace and beauty
She attires herself in strength and determination,
She vows to remain the support of her creator
And everyone around her selflessly..
Her empowerment is clearly seen
In her exalted position in every profession.
Blessed is the society to have a girl child nurtured
For a beautiful future of this nation....
Kabyatara Kar (Nobela)
M.B.A and P.G in Nutrition and Dietetic, Member of All India Human Rights Activists
Passion: Writing poems, social work
Strength: Determination and her familyVision: Endeavour of life is to fill happiness in life of others
WINGED SELF..
Dr. Molly Joseph M
my winged
self
stalks
unseen
unbidden..
it is the eve
lulled
to sleep
in the
cool blanket
of the
night...
the noisy houses
of my hamlet
retreating
in to themselves...
one can hear
rosaries
and chants..
somewhere
in the front yard
on that concrete
Tulsi grown
stand
a small lamp
flickers..
somewhere
little ones
chatter,
shouting out
demands
to fatigued
parents
after
a day's
labour...
the cool wind
caresses...
a reminder
of December
that has
faded away...
keep watch
it can turn
cooler,
assures
the wind...
trees nod
assent
waving
leaves...
yes, time
to retire
into
the silences
of the
night..
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
COMING HOME
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
You might have seen her,
smilingly detaching herself from her shadow,
walking like a woman in her dreams
like a slowly falling star on the lakes,
like a bird that folded its wings and settled down
like a dew drop on a patch of doting grass.
Finally when the breeze cools down
and the morning sky turns red,
the stars twinkle their good byes
She enters, slow and calm
like a sigh frozen on a flake of snow
like a leaf falling from a thoughtful tree
like a silent pebble rolling down a gentle slope.
I can feel her presence,
she has finally come home,
smelling of a man
that is not me.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . He has published nine 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. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
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