Literary Vibes - Edition CXXIX (26-May-2023) - POEMS
Title : Gaia, the Green Woman (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
Prof. Latha Prem Sakya 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)
Dear Readers,
It's a great pleasure to offer you the 129th edition of LiteraryVibes which comes decked with forty five beautiful poems and thirteen entertaining short stories. This month we are lucky to have with us three new poets, all of great talent and excellent reputation. Ms. Rani Jacob from London has been into writing poems for a very long time and her poems combine beauty with maturity. Ms. Laxmipriya Gogoi is another exceptionally talented poet from Guwahati whose voice of sensitivity resounds in her writings. Dr. S. V. Satyanarayana is a celebrated Telugu poet whose beautiful poems have been deftly translated by Shri Surendra Nagaraju, a regular patron of LiteraryVibes. We also have two beautiful short stories from Shri T V Sreekumar, a retired Engineer from Puducherry, who has devoted himself to literature with great passion after retirement. Let us welcome the new contributors to the LV family and wish them great success in their literary career.
Two weeks back, while reading the morning newspaper I was shocked by a gruesome news. In a highway in Dhenkanal district of Odisha, a mini truck carrying cans of soft drinks and fruit juice overturned and went turtle. The driver and cleaner of the truck were trapped inside and kept screaming for help. It was a busy hour and lots of vehicles passed that way. Many of them stopped; the drivers and passengers of those vehicles got busy in collecting the cans of soft drinks and fruit juice strewn on the road, completely ignoring the cry for help from the hopelessly trapped truck driver and the cleaner. In a few minutes the cans of soft drinks and fruit juice got cleared from the road, each passing vehicle loaded with the loot. Not a single person came to rescue the helpless driver and his companion. After about half an hour some villagers came and dragged them out, someone called for an ambulance, the truck driver and the cleaner were taken to the hospital in a highly critical condition.
I was devastated reading this news. I realised it was not peculiar to that nondescript town of Odisha. It could happen anywhere in India. I recalled many incidents in the past where our fellow citizens showed scant sympathy to accident victims. There are stories of train accidents where locals and other passengers loot the victims snatching away rings from fingers, removing ornaments from women or wallets from the hapless victims who would be screaming for help. Not a pretty picture of a civilised nation seemingly proud of its heritage and culture. Yet, that is the sad, cruel truth. When I told this to a friend he laughed it away with a profound statement - in a country of more than 1.4 billion people there will be all sorts of characters, some good, some bad, some kind, some cruel. I was not convinced. Even if we have two billion people no one should lose the basic traits of humanity and fellow feeling. Kindness unburdens the mind of many sorrows and worries. No matter how low we feel we must extend a helping hand when needed.
Yes, there are lots of good Samaritans also who set noble examples for others. There are Mother Theresas, and Neerja Bhanots, The heart warms up to think of a Dashrath Manjhi, who dug a pathway through the hills for his fellow villagers, toiling for years, a Medicine Baba - Omkar Nath Sharma of Greater Noida near Delhi, who collects unused medicines going from door to door and donates them to needy hospitals. There are Anand Kumars who identify poor students and coach them free for success in IIT entrance tests. There are Rajesh Kumar Sharmas or Than Singhs who gather children from the slums and impart free teaching to them. They are all examples of selfless service. As the following two stories show, kindness, fellow-feeling and sympathy, collective good and noble intent are indeed sterling qualities which enrich the human soul. Let's take a look at them.
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1. "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"
When Nigerian billionaire Femi Otedola was asked by the radio presenter in a telephone interview, "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 wheelchairs 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 wheelchairs 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 were 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 me 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 your high office or place?
Will anyone desire to see your face again where it all matters?
2. A NOBLE KING AND HIS NOBLER CITIZENRY
The king of Mysore, Sri Krishna Raja Wodeyar IV (called “Rajarishi by Mahatma Gandhi) and Sir M. Vishweshwariah were in a pensive mood. They had reached a dead-end.
The proposed Krishna Raja Sagar (KRS) dam was 6 months away from completion and they had run out of money. Just 8 months ago, the King had mortgaged his family jewels to king of Benaras (now called Varanasi – the oldest inhabited city in the world).
The queen had given her favourite necklaces and family heirlooms for the project. But eventually, that too ran out in mounting labour and construction costs.
According to human psyche, they say, when we are cornered and have nowhere to go, a sudden and un-expected courage takes over our very being. A man thus subjected will pull off all odds in a sortie mainly because he has nothing to lose. Sir MV had an impractical idea, but wanted to attempt.
That morning, he sent out messages to all village headmen that he wanted to meet them in a village near Mandya the next day at 4 pm. The royal messengers rushed out to village after village delivering the important missive. The agenda was not mentioned. Sir MV expected at the most 5 to 10 village headmen would come to the meeting due to short notice.
Next day, they reached the meeting at 3:50 pm. There were more than 500 people, village elders and younger crowd included. All wanted to hear the great engineer who was building this huge lifeline.
There was another man walking with Sir MV. The crowd gasped. For, most of them had never seen the King up so close.
The King was a genteel, but his education had taught him humility. He walked amongst the crowd, spoke to them as a commoner, mingled and finally took up the stage.
He spoke from his heart. In their language. He did not hide anything. He said that he needed help; and asked the villagers if they would work for free for 4 weeks until he found out a solution. He told them that he was thinking of mortgaging one of the palaces. Here was a King who was like them, without money and was about to mortgage his house. “Just like us” they thought. But what touched them most were his vulnerability and simplicity. The King had connected. The effect was electrifying.
However, no one responded. A month of free work meant depleted savings for some, and for others, starvation.
Next morning at 6:30 am Sir MV met the King and they commenced discussing mortgaging the palace when the king’s secretary suddenly rushed inside.
He exclaimed “You got to see this.” Everyone hurriedly went to the palace balcony. The sight was one to behold.
First they saw a few, then hundreds and then thousands. Wave after wave of people were streaming into the palace courtyard. Farmers, teachers, cart-drivers, old men, women - many with toddlers – people of all sort and sizes came to do their tiny bit to complete the dream that was KRS. The King; Queen; courtiers and Sir MV watched the spectacle with unbelieving eyes.
With moistened eyes, the King held out his hand and placed it on his heart – a gesture of deepest gratitude. Even the non-emotional Sir MV was moved. The people of Mysore would not care if they were not paid, but they would complete the dam braving whatever odds that came their way.
KRS dam stands proudly as a testament to a humble King, a brilliant engineer and the toil of thousands of men and women who made it an architectural wonder that it is. But above all, it is a symbolic representation of a miracle that can be achieved if your heart is pure and intentions are well. The sophisticated canal system from KRS to Shivana Samudra has enabled mother earth to deck herself in lushest of green. This area is called the green gold of Karnataka.
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Dear readers, the first story shows how true kindness can illumine the soul and fill it with abundant love. The second story is about collective good and selfless sacrifice that can bring about lasting monuments to human greatness.
I do hope, all of us - each one of us - will rise to the occasion and fulfill our duty to ourselves and to the humanity at large when the occasion demands. Let the hearts remain pure, the souls cleansed so that when we meet in heaven we will shake hands with each other and say with pride, yes, I did what was expected of me.
In the above lines in today's edition of LiteraryVibes I have presented to you two short stories of mine - one about an encounter with God and the other with Yamraj - dealing with the consequences of good deeds and bad deeds. Hope you will enjoy them.
Do spend the summer evenings in the delightful company of LV129 and share it with all your friends and contacts through the following links:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/488 (Poems and Book Review)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/487 (Short Stories and Anecdotes)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/486 (Young Magic)
There is also an interesting anecdote from the pen of the brilliant Gyaenologist Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo at
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/485
Be happy, stay cool and relaxed. We will meet again on the 30th June with the 130th edition of LiteraryVibes.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
AN IRONY, THE IDENTITY
02) Haraprasad Das
ULTRAMARINE KOHL (NILAANJANA)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
TOUCHPOINTS
INSANITY
04) Arupananda Panigrahi
THE BOSOM (CHHAATI)
05) Kamalakanta Panda
THE DISTANCES, NO MORE DISTANT (DURA: SABUBELE NUHAI DURANTA)
06) Prof.Dr.Sidhartha Das
TWILIGHT OF LIFE
07) Abani Udgata
AT THE BORDERS
08) Nandini Mitra
I STRUM THE STRINGS OF LOVE
09) Priyalakshmi Gogoi
SERENITY FLOWS
10) Rani Jacob
A SINGLE QUESTION
11) Dr. S.V. Satyanarayana
MIGRATION
BRIDGE
THREE GENERATIONS
12) Jairam S
EVERYWOMAN. PART 12
13) Sundar Rajan
THE MYSTICAL HAND
14) Padmini Janardhanan
HOMECOMING
15) Aparna P
POINTING FINGERS
16) Gita Bharath
ONCE UPON -- A BANGLE SHOP
17) Seetha Sethuraman
THE SEARCH
LIFE IS FOR LIVING
MY TEARS
18) Sharanya Bee
CLOCKWORK
19) Setaluri Padmavathi
A ROAD TO SUCCESS
THERE'S A MENTOR IN YOU!
20) Leena Thampi
DROWNED IN HER LOVE
21) Dr. Molly Joseph M
DANCE OF SYNCHRONY- MARRIAGE
22) Akanksha Murali
SONG OF THE LIVING DEAD
THE LOST HELLO
23) Sheena Rath
GULMOHAR
24) Krishna Tulasi
LAST PAGE
25) Aneek Chatterjee
RAINDROPS TURN PUZZLES
26) Ratan Ghosh
BABA
27)Ravi Ranganathan
DO NOT WE NEED TO REST CONTENT?
28) Sujata Dash
NEIGHBORS
29) Anjali Sahoo
RACE
30) Bipin Patsani
THE HISTORICAL PROCESS
THEN AND NOW
31) Gopal Lahiri
PIECE OF THE SKY
32) Snehaprava Das
THE BOX
33) Saranya Francis
MY YELLOW BRIDGE
34) Prof .Niranjan Barik
UMA ,MY LOVELY DEAR FRIEND !
35) Srikant Mishra
MUSIC
36) Pankhuri Sinha
AND THE WATER FELL AND FELL
37) Sukanya.V. Kunju
RIGMAROLE
38) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE TOUCH OF YOUR LIPS
Table of Contents :: BOOK REVIEW
01) Sonali Pattnaik
WHEN THE FLOWERS BEGIN TO SPEAK
Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
THE COLOUR RAINBOWS WHISPER
02) Chinmayee Barik
A NIGHT TO REMEMBER
03) Ajay Upadhyaya
THE CONSUMMATE CONFIDANT
04) Ishwar Pati
HOW TO GET A MAID
05) Meena Mishra
A LETTER TO MY MUSE
06) T. V. Sreekumar
MERI JAAN
I WOULDN'T DARE
07) Sujata Dash
INVINCIBLE
08) Snehaprava Das
ZERO
09) Dr. Sukanti Mohapatra
A LOVE STORY
10) Ashok Kumar Ray
GANGASAGAR
11) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE LEDGER
YAMRAJ AND HIS BIG BUFFALO
12) Gourang Charan Roul
A VISIT TO GOHIRATIKIRI...
13) Satish Pasine
THE SONG OF LIFE!
14) Sumana Ghosh
MOTHERS –A SPECIES BY THEMSELVES
15) Sudipta Mishra
SAVITRI BRATA: WHY...
16) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY...
Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Anura Parida
THE MYSTICAL MANGROVES
02) Trishna Sahoo
WHO AM I?
What I carry and contain
is myself. Entirely.
From the best to worst.
An incongruity,
a beautiful dichotomy.
My immaculate exterior
and suave manners
covering a selfish fish.
The best of my arrogance
the worst of my aesthetic.
They roll together.
Cut me open,
meet a teacher.
Shift the page,
find an impresario.
By instinct, bipolar
in a theatre of the absurd.
I instruct
as a teacher,
fighting the nemesis;
as convener
asking, embracing,
absorbing it,
loving it. Am no fool,
not exactly wise! A binary!
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is an award-winning Indian poet from India, besides being a story writer, translator, editor, and critic; a former president of Poetry Circle, Bombay (Mumbai), an association of Indo-English poets. He edited POIESIS, the literary magazine of this poets’ association for eight years. His poems have been widely published, his own works and translation from the works of other poets. He has published three books of his poems and his poems have appeared in twenty anthologies in India and abroad.
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
To come off my high horse,
courage was not enough,
rather, pretenses came handy.
When floating among clouds,
my image, resplendent
by the glow of the day,
fell into the water
scooped in your palms
to be offered to the sun;
and you fell in love with me.
I was not there
to share your tears of joy.
Believe me, in spite of
my best efforts, I could not come down
below my station to be with you.
Changes however
crept in surreptitiously
like the Bay of Bengal
changing colors quietly -
the meaning of love and pride
changing in my lexicon likewise.
Of late, I feel like being
your inseparable shadow,
unable to stay apart.
Wish, I could smear my timid love
by your eye-shores as ultramarine kohl,
color of the deep-blue sky.
Mr. Hara Prasad Das is one of the greatest poets in Odiya literature. He is also an essayist and columnist. Mr. Das, has twelve works of poetry, four of prose, three translations and one piece of fiction to his credit. He is a retired civil servant and has served various UN bodies as an expert.
He is a recipient of numerous awards and recognitions including Kalinga Literary Award (2017), Moortidevi Award(2013), Gangadhar Meher Award (2008), Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award (1999) and Sarala Award (2008)”
The other day when
I crossed over to
become a septuagenarian
and I sat down to take stock
of the touchpoints
that we continue to share
and tried to make a new inventory
I couldn’t find many
which could be jotted down
and an almost bare sheet
of paper stared back at me.
No longer we sit on the
rusty and weather beaten bench
hand in hand
under the acacia tree
in the corner of the park
looking at the moon through
its branches swimming
against the gossamer clouds
as a faint yet familiar tune wafts in
from a distant flute.
The rides on our old second hand
Lambretta in the narrow
lanes of Fort Cochin
in the small hours
soaking wet in the downpours
look so very remote and fuzzy
nor do we take any more
alternate licks
of the silky smooth ‘softy’
overflowing off
the waffle cone.
But still you need my unsteady hand
to pull up
an obstinate zipper on your hoody
before we go for our walk
that we still take together
in the wintry mornings
and when we return home
to insert the key in the lock
with fidgety fingers
to open the door
and then we sit together
reminiscing our visit to
the Sistine chapel
and wondering
what could have happened
if God’s outstretched hand
didn’t touch Adam’s
and then we switch on
our audio system
to listen to devotional songs
from the YouTube juke box
playing through Bluetooth.
I am neither
a lunatic nor
am I moonstruck…
Yet I don’t mind carrying
the label of insanity
on my sleeves
that you all have
stitched on me
so very adroitly..
For I know
when I hide
within the veils of insanity
everything is admissible
everything is explainable
everything can be reasoned out
logic be damned..
Blame it on insanity.
But I continue to wonder
as the crescent through
the boughs winks at me…
Why in love we go insane
and why does hate too
drive us to insanity?
And again
aren’t we all a bit
of a cuckoo?
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.
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
The sun is going down,
long shadows
measure the ground,
the last sun is still on the terrace.
Some gossips flap wings.
But neighbouring terraces
behaving like strangers, gossips there
practise the art of silence.
Your sari doesn’t show your loveliness
to advantage, spread it for airing
in the terrace sun. its crispness
may bring your shape alive.
You look elegant in saris
of darker colour,
your contours stand out
in a white sari.
The night’s darkness subsumes
a wind that plays like a petrel with
your sari-wrap, a play of black and white.
Even jackals of the night go berserk.
Arupananda Panigrahi is a senior Odia poet, his poems mostly rooted in Odisha’s native soil; has four collections to his credit; he writes his poems in a spoken tradition in an idiom unique to his poetry. Sprinkled with mild irony, his poems subtly closet at their cores the message of hope even at the moment of proverbial last straw of despair. (email add – arupanadi.panigrahi@gmail.com)
THE DISTANCES, NO MORE DISTANT (DURA: SABUBELE NUHAI DURANTA)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
Neither the river nor the mountain
seem distant anymore. Centuries ago
the mountain might be sitting remote,
the river, a prattling brook, at its foothills.
The brook morphed into a stream,
then into a river, flowing to us,
wetting our land’s parched throat,
feeding its hunger with fertile silt.
The river brings happy tidings
from the hills, its water getting enriched
with minerals; our land harvesting gold.
Hills and rivers our sentient sentinels, guardian gods.
The river flows wider, deeper, full of fish,
prawns, crabs, other tongue-ticklers.
High tides push the sea to meet us,
the river bringing us her mountain mother.
The hills, river and the sea
make the vertices of a holy triangle,
we the humans at its fecund delta
enjoy the prospects of idyllic pastures -
Food basket, bird songs, the humming
cicadas in shrubberies, cool breeze
blowing from the river, and the hills bringing
rains, and presenting a new sun every morning.
The distances have shrunk.
The mountains, river and the sea
seem like in our neighborhood,
our hearts beating in tandem with theirs.
Kamalakanta Panda (Kalpanta) is a renowned Odia poet lives and writes from Bhubaneswar, the city of temples, over the last forty years. He is often referred to as Kalpanta (meaning the ‘ultimate’) in Odia literary circles. He is a poet of almost legendary repute in Odisha and if one has not read Kalpata, then, he hasn’t read the quintessence of Odia poetry. He is famous for a quirky decision: he would never collect his poems into books himself. However, one may not find an Odia literary journal, or an anthology not enriched by his poems. His recent passion is to re-discover quaint and musical Odia words, and use them in poetry to enhance its nuances and contours. He is shy and quiet by disposition and believes to serve his muse, the deity-poetry, away from humdrum and razzle-dazzle of poetic forums. (He can be reached at his resident telephone No.06742360394 and his mobile No. 09437390003)
Time flies, hairs grey,bones age and skin shrivel,
Enthusiasm wanes, but memories always trail.
Sad are those that had given you pain,
Sweet ones always linger along.
Trails and tribulations are part of life,
Builds the amature, tough and right.
Reclining in the couch of bygone years,
Try to forget the pathus that mind bears.
The pasture lying in front could be green ,
Oh traveller, look ahead to fulfill the dream.
Ruminate the achievements that made you accomplish,
When tired, steer to the zone you relish.
Mind is the guide that will not make you sway,
Enjoy every bit of life ahead, happy and gay
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.
At the borders.
The path leads to the fog beyond.
You do not leave your home behind
unless it resembles the mouth of a serpent.
Your past is scanned now amid
the gloomy air of thick-set jaws,
bayonets jump up here and there
like well behaved hounds, somewhere
heavy vehicles grunt, stretch limbs.
You realise looking at the sky overhead
that the clouds form bombed-out earth
you left behind are floating by .
The friendly neighbourhood, familiar streets melted that day like candle wax
in the rain of fireballs falling from sky.
Words lost their substance when the season of war crept up every where.
And your home became a hoarse voice
in your jaded ears telling you to run, run.
You cut open the skin of your days and nights and saw barbed wires closing
in.
You stood at the same borders in the past
long back under the same sky full of smoke and today is just an interlude .
Abani Udgata lives in Bhubaneswar. Writes poems both in English and Odia. Udgata has been awarded in all-India poetry competitions and published in anthologies. He has been a regular contributor to LV. Email: abaniudgata@gmail.com
The rhythm of the song
So divine,
Come, listen to the rhythm of the falling rain,
I'll not cry in vain,
Raindrops ,the heartbeat of my soul,
Prayers open the doors above
I strum the strings of love.
On a path of spiritual awakening
I reach a new high,
My wisdom gives me something to believe in,
I'm mesmerised,
The melody haunts my reverie,
I drown in a trance,
I strum the strings of love.
The strength within invokes the supreme power,
Takes me on a path so pure and dear,
I'll cleanse myself in that spiritual shower,
The rhythm of the falling rain,
Makes me dance,sing in tune,
I drown in a trance,
I strum the strings of love.
The rhythm of the falling rain
Reminds me of you again,
My heart yearns for you
But I don't want to cry in vain ,
It pours down like a holistic -hymn,
I drown in a trance,
I strum the strings of love.
Nandini Mitra is a poet based in Kolkata. A post- graduate in English Literature from Jadavpur University. She is in the profession of teaching for last twenty -five years. She has published her first book of poetry,The Road To Tranquility, recently. Has worked as a freelance journalist for a prestigious Bengali magazine published from Kolkata. She is passionate about Music and is a trained classical singer. However, writing poetry has become an integral part of Nandini’s journey of life since 2011. She believes in the religion of humanity, compassion and love. She has a rich sense of metaphors and imageries and enthusiastic about weaving poetry relating to the realities of lives and the diversities of nature. Her poems have featured in various national and international anthologies.
I rowed my boat
Gently down the stream
Happy and contented
Realising how true is now my dream.
With time I have gained experience
Becoming like the water shapeless and formless
Adapting myself to situations
Finding within me immense happiness.
Like the lotus I have grown through the mud
Opening my petals one by one
Gaining wisdom all along the path of adversities
Learning that like kindness and compassion, virtues there are none.
The sky is my limit
I shall colour it with the hues of my loving heart
The greenery inspires me to water my own garden
From the blooming positivity, I shall never part.
So I row my boat with an aura of serenity
Along the stream I go with the flow
Enjoying life's moments my heart sings with joy
Embracing and growing through what I go.
Priyalakshmi Gogoi from Guwahati, Assam is a teacher by profession and a poet by passion. She has been writing since her school days and her poems have been published in popular newspapers in her city. Her poetry has seen the light in blogs, Instagram, editorial, e-magazines and she has co-authored few national and international Anthologies. She has been awarded several times for winning Poetry contests in various literary platforms. She is a World English Saino Writer and a Gogyohka writer as well.
She has been awarded the 75th Independence Day Literary Honor 2021 and India Independence Day Global Literary Honours 2021-22 jointly given by Motivational Strips and Gujarat Sahitya Academy in "Recognition of Exhibiting Literary Brilliance Par Global Standards". She has also been conferred with Rabindranath Tagore Memorial Honour, 2022 by Motivational Strips and Dept of Culture, Govt of Seychelles and its journal SIPAY.
She has been awarded Honorary Membership, The Gold Writers Award among others for her Poetic excellence by the prestigious Drukyul Writers Association, Bhutan.
“What do you do?”
No, I will not ask that question
I would rather check
Whether you are in the throes
Of chasing rainbows
Whether your feet are sore
Running after what made you run
After it
“How old are you?”
No, I won’t ask that either. Sorry, not interested.
I would rather want to know
Whether you’ve been foolish enough
To fathom the depth of love
Alone
Whether you scaled its peaks
Weighed down by sweet dreams
Whether you’ve danced for days
In an unbuttoned shirt.
May I ask...?
Whether you’re able to
Put your finger on
What pains you or me
No running away
No wiping out
No balms
Whether you ever
Squatted with someone
Hugging the moonlight
Sublime and subtle
Whispering just
About the dawn
About tomorrows
I would like to know
Whether you’ve danced
All too wildly
All to carefree
On fire upto your toes
Never giving two hoots
To what hems you in
Whether you have overflowed as joy
From your cup or mine
Tell me?
Whether you could see beauty
Where it doesn’t even exist
Have you hugged yourself
Patted on your own back
In sheer solitude
Not interested
In other credentials
Just satiate my gentle curiosity
Just tell me what makes you tick
Rani Jacob is a Neonatal Nurse from UK. She is interested in arts and literatures. She has published in Poetry book called Ormakal Sukshikkanullathalla ( memories not to keep ) in Malayalam last year .
(Tranlated from Telugu by Elanaaga)
Yesterday,
my father quit his native hamlet;
moved to the city for livelihood.
Today, my children,
hankering after a bright career,
tucked computers under the arms
and left the city for abroad.
Now,
I am a silent, solitary witness
between yesterday and today,
between native place and foreign land.
I am a loner belonging to nowhere.
***
(Tranlated from Telugu by Elanaaga)
Poetry is vast like life
Life is beautiful as poetry.
The heart’s feeling is sweet as the muse
Muse is true like passion.
Emotion is the main element of poetry
Expression is an endless bridge.
Poetry must flutter as a flag
in the hands of labourers;
should boom in the hearts of the oppressed.
Must echo in the roars of valiant warriors;
blaze as words on walls.
Poetry must become a heading in newspapers
and a path showing torch for booklets.
People’s distress, dialect
must take the shape of poetry.
Also, of a weapon of the alphabet
for agitation, anguish, and anger.
It’s meant for social movements, equality;
for sprouting as a song of heart as well.
***
(Tranlated from Telugu by Elanaaga)
The day before yesterday, my grandfather,
born and grown as a slave
departed, turning his head downwards.
Yesterday my father,
born as a slave but lived as a free man,
exited with head held high.
Today, I, born as a free man
and grew with no compulsion,
am chanting globalization;
being pushed into slavery again.
Dr SV Satyanarayana was born in 1954 in Hyderabad. An M. Phil and Ph. D. in Telugu literature, he worked as a professor of Telugu at Osmania University. He was also the Dean of the Arts faculty and later the Principal of the Arts College. After retirement in 2014, he played a prominent role in the A.P. Progressive Writers’ Association and the Indian Writers’ Association. He was the Vice-chancellor of Potti Sreeramulu Telugu University. He was also a member of the Telugu Advisory Board, Sahitya Akademi. He is a member of the current board as well.
He authored 3 collections of poetry and English translation work. He published 27 literary books so far and edited 33 books.
Dr. Surendra Nagaraju, born in 1953 in Telanagana State, Elanaaga is a well-known poet, translator and critic in the field of Telugu literature. He is a paediatrician, but now only pursuing his literary interest. After working as a Medical Officer abroad for 6 years, he rendered his services in Andhra Pradesh Vaidya Vidhana Parishat and retired in 2012 in the rank of Deputy Commissioner.
He penned 32 books so far, 15 of which are original writings and 17 are translations. Of the latter, 8 are from English to Telugu, and 9 are from Telugu to English. His works comprise books of free verse, prosodic poems, experimental poetry, language-related essays, essays of criticism, standard crosswords and so on. He is an ardent fan of Indian classical music, especially Hindustani.
EVERYWOMAN. PART 12 of many such.
You flit ‘n float
With sudden ‘n swift
Turns, never eyes
Of others, resting fully.
You sound
Like a butterfly too,
Whose flight
Converted to a tune.
You need love.
You say!
From someone highly,
Locking each others’ feelers
You need flitting (and flirting)
Circling in lock,
To ever higher floating.
You say!
All good imaginings.
Only you are not a butterfly.
You are a human!
And if you do meet such a one,
He'd have dispensed his coil,
Even as he continues
In this mortal.
For, you see,
Your ideals, sky-high,
Colours on your wings,
Unearthly.
Little Butterfly of a soul,
Sip the nectar,
Imbibe the honey
In every human flower,
Irrespective of whether
He has in him
High thoughts
Or not.
Always keep flitting
Higher and higher still,
Toward the Sun.
Your wings won’t burn.
You won’t fall with a thud.
All fears unfounded.
Jairam Seshadri is the author of MANTRA YOGA ( 2021 Rupa Publications) WOOF SONGS & THE ETERNAL SELF-SABOTEUR (2019 Partridge) and JESUS SAHASRANAM - THE 1,008 NAMES OF JESUS CHRIST (2018 Authorspress). He is a CPA with an MBA from the US and has worked in the U.S, Canada and England for over 30 years before returning to India to take care of his father.
He founded the India Poetry Circle (IPC)) six years ago, which has seven anthologies to the group’s credit, in addition to two more in the pipeline to be published this year. IPC, through its offshoot, IPC PLAYERS, has also produced and staged several skits, as part of its ‘POETRAMA’© series, including a production of Shakespeare’s MACBETH online. Shakespeare’s KING LEAR will be staged online this Christmas 2022.
Jairam lives in Chennai and can be reached at 9884445498 or jairamseshadri@hotmail.com.
(Kyrielle form poem)
Ne'er sure of that untrodden route,
In my ambitious pursuit,
Thro' winding path, lone and forlorn,
To my Mystical Hand, I turn.
Prayers galore, escape my lip,
As each time, I falter and slip.
A beacon of hope, I discern,
To my Mystical Hand, I turn.
New dimensions engulf my zeal,
Tempering in me, a will of steel,
Drawn from my friend, with due concern,
To My Mystical Hand, I turn.
The Mystical Hand did trigger,
The will to pursue with vigour.
To attain what I fondly yearn,
To my My Mystical Hand, I turn.
S. Sundar Rajan is a Chartered Accountant with his independent consultancy. He is a published poet and writer. His collection of short stories in English has been translated into Tamil,Hindi, Malayalam, Telugu, Kannada and Gujarati. His stories translated in Tamil have been broadcast in community radios in Chennai
and Canada. He was on the editorial team of three anthologies, Madras Hues, Myriad Views, Green Awakenings, and Literary Vibes 100. He has published a unique e anthology, wherein his poem in English "Full Moon Night" has been translated into fifteen foreign languages and thirteen Indian regional languages.
An avid photographer and Nature lover, he is involved in tree planting initiatives in his neighbourhood. He lives his life true to his motto - Boundless Boundaries Beckon.
True.
Some return home
After many a wandering
Assured of peace and rest
Assured of balm
To ease pain and distress
To heal the bruised self
For home is a place
Where denial, refusal are aliens
The prodigal child welcome
And yet
Some need a place
To share the pride of achievements
Without benchmarks or comparisons
Some need someone
To accept his expression of love
However shabby or sketchy
Some need a place to unload the joys
collected and safekept
To share with a loved one
Homecoming is not merely
To find solace
Also to spread joy.
Not merely to breathe a sigh of relief
To find a resting place
Also to bring relief and rest.
Padmini Janardhanan is an accredited rehabilitation psychologist, educational consultant, a corporate consultant for Learning and Development, and a counsellor, for career, personal and family disquiets.
Has been focussing on special education for children with learning difficulties on a one on one basis and as a school consultant for over 4 decades. The main thrust is on assessing the potential of the child and work out strategies and IEPs (Individual Educational Plans) and facilitating the implementation of the same to close the potential-performance gap while counselling the parents and the child to be reality oriented.
Has been using several techniques and strategies as suitable for the child concerned including, CBT, Hypnotherapy, client oriented counselling, and developing and deploying appropriate audio-visual / e-learning materials. Has recently added Mantra yoga to her repository of skills.
She strongly believes that literature shapes and influences all aspects of personality development and hence uses poetry, songs, wise quotations and stories extensively in counselling and training. She has published a few books including a compilation of slokas for children, less known avathars of Vishnu, The what and why of behaviour, and a Tamizh book 'Vaazhvuvallampera' (towards a fulfilling life) and other material for training purposes.
There’s a lump inside
My heart not throat
I just want to spit it
And feel lighter
It gets heavier
As I try to spot it
It slips to lungs
Suffocating my system
As I pant for breathing
I look around
For coping mechanism
I drown deeper
Into my muddled mind
I see a mirage
An accusing finger
Pointing towards me
I rub my eyes
To see who’s finger it is
My vision gets clear
I see the familiar finger
Which belongs to me!
Self accusation is a nemesis
Break the curse
Tread this earth
With lighter steps
Making your days merrier!
Aparna is a poet, writer, academic and a lover of literature. “Speck of a Soul" was her first published anthology of poems in 2019. Her poems have also been published in several anthologies of repute. She coauthored and published “Painting Dreams" - yet another anthology of poems in 2020. She was the Editor of “Metamorphosis”, a book devoted to Art and Poetry.
Asian Literary Society conferred “Poet of the Year Award” on her in the year 2022. She received “Poet of the year” award from Ukiyoto Publishing House in the year 2022. She was awarded the “Best Poet - Editor’s choice” by Spectrum Awards in May 2021. Her poem *Saviour’s Destiny* was long-listed for IPR Annual Award 2020.
The Altrusa international Madras club on the occasion of Women's day (March,2020) awarded her for her service in the field of education and writing. Her latest collection “Snippets of the Soul”(2021) is a book of quotes. Aparna lives in Chennai, with her tag line,” She lives a life of Poetry”.
The temple was built of grey granite
It's outer walls striped red and white.
At its gate was a thatch-roofed shop
With a single lamp burning bright.
It filled the street with fragrance
Of sandal paste, turmeric, flowers, incense,
And on every shelf bangles shone
Sparkling in rainbow effulgence.
People flocked to the little shop
For every auspicious occasion
And bangles from this lucky shop
Graced many a great celebration.
Over the course of the years
The Temple's grey steeple was painted over
People shopped at malls and marts
For marriages and bridal showers.
Dresses and mores had changed so much
Ornaments became exotic charms
Bangles were relegated to cupboards now
Rarely seen on womens' arms.
The little shop had changed and morphed
Into a steel and glass edifice
Custom gives way to modernity
Inevitable is this kinesis.
But my memory still refuses to stop
Remembering Devi's Lucky Bangle Shop.
Gita Bharath has enjoyed five years of teaching middle school before starting on a banking career that lasted thirty four years. Now, happily retired, she focusses on writing and trying out kolam art. Her first book Svara contains three hundred poems, comprising narrative, humour,and philosophical verses. Her work has featured in international anthologies, and won prizes from Literoma, Asian Literary Society, Story Mirror, etc,
(Acrylic on canvas painting by Seethaa Sethuraman)
Those truly living are seen searching for “the” work,
Those tirelessly working are seen searching for “the” life,
We are all passengers of this journey of life,
Our search, one way or the other, will always be rife.
LIFE IS FOR LIVING
Seetha Sethuraman
Catch hit, life will slip away,
Live it, life will pass you by,
Share, happiness will multiply manifold,
Smile, tears of joy will glisten your eyes like gold.
MY TEARS
Seetha Sethuraman
Salute to my tears…
My tears never leave my side,
Sorrow or happiness, my tears help me cross over the tide.
These tears are mine….they envelop my joy and sadness…
My tears understand me, better than even me,
They trickle down on their own and produce peace within me.
Salute to my tears…
Seethaa Sethuraman has had a creative orientation right from her school days – dabbling in writing,drawing and painting as well as learning Indian dance forms and Carnatic music. Thereafter, the usual suspect in professional education and corporate pursuits assumed centre stage (B.Pharm, MBA by education and a Health market researcher by profession); till the pandemic strongly nudged her to delve back into her creative side; alongside her continuing corporate endeavours. While formally learning Bharatanatyam had already begun since mid-2018; writing poems and drawing-painting turned somewhat prolific since the last 2 years.
As per seethaa, she writes/ draws-paints when the calling within her turns so strong at that moment; that it just cannot be brushed aside till it has been acted upon. So far, she has been doing them for her own self without giving much thought about publishing them. Coming across the Literary vibes platform has, however, enthused her to share this creative happiness with the outer world. Through this process, she also looks forward to receiving feedback/ comments that will encourage her to keep creative expressing; always.
You
Moving like a clock’s needle
Punctual , Unstoppable
Day & night what is within your mind
But seconds within minutes within hours
I forget the moment you
Morphed from human to machine
Waiting for nobody
Ticking in circles &
Holding pride in that
Illusionary,
Observant yet so oblivious
To your own deficiencies but
A little human that way.
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.
Is an achievement so easy?
No, not at all
It's full of twists and turns
There's no straight route to reach
No shortcuts and no miracles
Hard work is the only key…
You need to be intelligent and wise
The best planner creates the best actions
As you practise, you will know the depth
You can choose a guide to show the way
Advice is to follow, words to value
Acceptance makes you triumphant!
Fear not to face the great challenges
That keeps you bold, confident and skilled
You're blessed with calibre and qualities
You left no stone unturned in the process
So, here is the fruit of success, see
You're successful in finding the fate!
Travel like a strong winged bird
Cross the seas, oceans and valleys
You found the purpose in every deed
That made you victorious today
Your strenuous work earned you result
The fruit is sweet, but roots are bitter!
I show you the torch in darkness
You can step on the starry blanket
The light of the world kisses your forehead
The lucky red carpet welcomes you
Pace every mile with a cheerful smile
You're fortunate in finding the destiny!
I was muddled, depressed, and threatened
I found no way to step further safely
I sighed and stared at the silent sky,
Thinking of an advisor to guide me
Ultimately, discovered the right one!
With a truthful heart, you touched me
In a darkened path, you spread a light,
A light that is bright, hoping and convincing
I stand with hundreds of hurdles here
The financial issues never let me be in peace!
Toiling days offered me restless status
I found you at the right time as a genuine lead
I conversed, discussed, and planned
But your relentless plans, and pains
Designed my life at this moment
The moment that's precious and memorable!
I am grateful and blessed with a well-wisher
In my long list of favorite friends today,
In this diplomatic and egocentric world,
I acquire one who resembles you
Yes, I found a good mentor in you,
A truthful guide, philosopher, and friend too!
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
Liza can't find her glasses,
She asks her husband, 'Glen,
Have you seen my glasses? '
But that's not his name , still he pretends to save her from the shame.
Never mind.. her voice feels like lullaby to his ears.
Which leaves him freely floating in her arms safe.
Once a sweetheart always a sweetheart that's how love breathtakingly lasts.
Beautiful face may wrinkle, memory may fade but her beautiful heart will always remain young and the same.
She is an entire collection of poetry summarised into one soul unexplored.
Liz calls out the dead ones'names but
she can't remember her children's names.
Sometimes she smiles and sheds tears
She doesn't know how to find her way around the house, they have been living together for two decades.
She hurls the things,throw tantrums,hits him black and blue oh gosh!
She drools and piddles a lot and make a mess of her dream house,
Still he kisses her cheek, holds her hand,and calls her his baby, donning a parent's role.
He dresses her, brushes her golden tresses,keeps her like an angel adored,
He cries in dark reminiscing the golden days of yore,
To her the phrase 'Better half' sounded so odd,
Hence,she went ahead and completed him and made him whole.
Alas!now how could he watch his loved one with this cruel insidious disease entailed,
Forgetting everything feels like you are dead when you are really alive,
Coherent version of the person you knew morphs into someone new.
She is a grieving figure with a heart of spring flowers.
And he wanders like a shadow along with her on fate's way,
Isn't it painful that she can't recollect her own name?
Words failed, mobility failed
She is lost in the fog of her own mind.
This world may not mean anything to her now.
Though the best of her is gone,
But this anonymous man recognises well thus stands tall next to her,
The sun kissed window blinds cast rays of colouful hope on his face.
Tied to her passionate threads he awaits,till she calls him by his sweet name once again.
**Poem About Alzheimer's Disease and unconditional love .
Born in Jammu and brought up in Delhi ,Leena Thampi is an articulate writer who's lost in her own little epiphanies and she gives them life with her quill. She's an author extraordinaire with three books to her credit -"Rhythms of a Heart", "Autumn Blaze" and An Allusion To Time'. She has many articles published in India and abroad. She has received many elite accolades from different literary platforms worldwide.
She has been awarded by Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips twice for her best contribution towards literature in the year 2021 and 2022.She was also the recipient of Rabindranath Tagore Memorial literary honours 2022 by Motivational Strips. Her work mixes luminous writing, magical realism, myths, and the hard truths of everyday life. Besides her flair for writing and deep-rooted love for music, she is an Entrepreneur,Dancer,and a Relationship coach She is currently working on her fifth book which is a collection of short stories.
(Courtesy- Artist Henri Matisse)
Marriage! is it a marriage of minds?
how it flounders these days etched on slithery, slippery rocks
two pairs of compass, yoked on common axis each so intransigent,
products of environ so different.
once the initial glow fades, you see more the disparity
which you view with disdain...
can you steal time to look into each other's eyes,
a peep at the persona who makes he or she?
Ecce homo! look man, woman!
Why we chose to focus only on one side, blind folded, pejorative...
don't jump into the dead sea of mounting expectations
Only to drown and perish...
open your eyes to accommodate, accept, adopt as yours
the other self, the one chosen to swim together across the sea of life...
If hassles still suffocate, let free the caged
for it gives happiness in giving way,
whatever is yours is sure to return...
Life is a slate cored to the full by a crazy kid,
if you don't wipe it out through understanding, forgiveness
how can we keep on using it again?
Dr. Molly Joseph is a Professor, Poet from Kerala, who writes Travelogues, Short stories and Story books for children. She has published twelve books,10 Books of poems, a novel and a Story book for Children. She has won several accolades which include India Women Achiever’s Award 2020. She believes in the power of the word and writes boldly on matters that deal with the contemporary. She can be reached at E mail- mynamolly @gmail.com ; You tube- https://www.youtube.com/user/mynamolly
If I were to pen down all that is inside me,
it would sing a song
of sadness that would break your heart,
of a melancholic soul lost in the woods,
of woe leaving nothing but heartache,
of desolation trying to fill the void,
of a despondent heart looking for courage
of despair looking for hope,
of gloom looking for light,
of misery lying in her own grave,
of a soul mourning for her bereaved self
of a soul hunting for a happy spirit
waiting to see rainbows and start anew.
Hello my old heart
How have you been
Are you still there?
You have barely been beating
It has been long
Since I entrusted you to another,
Everyday I add another lock
Keep you hidden behind another gate
Don't worry now
Nothing lasts forever
I shall keep you safe
In there, safe you can never break
Akanksha Murali is an aspiring engineering student with a dream of becoming a successful entrepreneur and author. Weaving together words to unravel emotions is what She tries to do with her work. Books and words have always been an escape for her, a home in her world. A voracious reader and an enthusiastic writer. When she is not telling stories through words, She tells stories with her photographs.
Orange volcanic lava fills the sky
Every corner of the city as though lit up in flames
Gulmohar blooms everywhere
Telling you that summers are here
Exhibiting exuberant clusters of scarlet flowers
Painting the sky tangerine
Earth looks like a new bride
Smeared with vermillion
Creamy murky pregnant clouds
Blanketing the nude blue sky
Days are getting warmer
Incessant raindrops waiting to fall
My heart filled with joy and solace
As I carry nature's painted canvas in my dreams
My eyes likes glittering pearls remain embedded in my heart.
Gul.....Persian word meaning flower
Mor/Mohar....peacock
Sheena Rath is a post graduate in Spanish Language from Jawaharlal Nehru University Delhi, later on a Scholarship went for higher studies to the University of Valladolid Spain. A mother of an Autistic boy, ran a Special School by the name La Casa for 11 years for Autistic and underprivileged children. La Casa now is an outreach centre for social causes(special children, underprivileged children and families, women's health and hygiene, cancer patients, save environment) and charity work.
Sheena has received 2 Awards for her work with Autistic children on Teachers Day. An Artist, a writer, a social worker, a linguist and a singer (not by profession)
Little footsteps
Jumping up and down
Little jawline
Smiling as you wear the crown
Little mouth
Singing London Bridge is Falling down
Little hands
Which come to hug me when I'm in town
Little eyes
To have a curious look
Little ears
To listen when mom reads a book
Little tongue
To enjoy every food that's cooked
Little fingers
To give back every toy that you took
Little arms
To stop whenever you're hit
Little stomach
To digest all the food in it
Little back
To prefer to sleep than to sit
Little hips
To have all the pants fit
Little legs
To run and run and run
Little brain
To sense that you're having fun
Little smile
To light me up like a sun
Little shoulders
To hold me like you're the one
Little heart
To have a tiny beat
Little chin
To look up crisp and sweet
Little hairs
To comb them neat
Little toes
To support your feet
Little elbows
To just stay there
Little thighs
To cover with the pants you wear
Little ankles
To fix and tear
Little nose
To breathe sweet fragrance, I swear
So my dear baby,
Don't age
Because if you do
You will be filled with rage
My dear baby,
Just remember you are never caged
And you will understand everything
When you read the last page
The last page will never come to the shore
It can never be touched forevermore
You will get it after many years of age
Above the world is when you read the
Last page
S. Krishna Tulasi from Bangalore, studying 1st PUC in Presidency PU College. Her interests include reading, writing and music. She is an ardent fan of writing. She believes in giving social meaning or sharing her knowledge and experiences for the benefit of others.
I can’t believe my eyes now-a-days.
Crimson dusk appears gray;
blue waves threaten me black and white.
I’ve lost all faith in my tongue,
in words uttered and in taste,
in gobbling or spewing.
Noble words go astray when
uttered; you, me or everyone
in the street taste acidic.
Raindrops turn puzzles;
and soothing breezes; hilltops
and faces, pale, mellowed.
Everything is gray, everything
is hollow. Upside down, I can
only murmur: toss me straight. .
Aneek Chatterjee is a poet and academic from Kolkata, India. He has published more than five hundred poems in reputed literary magazines and poetry anthologies across the globe. He authored 16 books including four poetry collections titled, “Seaside Myopia” (Cyberwit, 2018), “Unborn Poems and Yellow Prison” (Cyberwit, 2019), “Of Ashes and Persiflage” (Hawakal, 2020) and “Archive Avenue” (Cyberwit, 2022). He also co-edited the “Poetry Conclave Year Book 2022” (Authors Press). Dr. Chatterjee received the prestigious “Alfredo Pasilono Memorial Panorama International Literary Award 2023”, conferred by the Writers Capital Foundation. He was a Fulbright Visiting faculty at the University of Virginia, USA and a recipient of the ICCR Chair (Govt. of India) to teach abroad. His poetry has been archived at Yale University. He can be reached at: akchatjee@gmail.com
Few more years left...!
Just weeping in the bed of your last breath
Baba...!
I know I was just nothing but a piece of straw...!
Just drifting away in the streams of Kaljani in its angry flow
Many times I tried hard to walk to the brim
Never could I step against the violent streams
Slowly the streams homed me in a painful human sea
Only to receive the stings of bees...!
Never I died down Baba but I woke a new
Only to color my days like morning dews
Often I melted away by the morning Sun rays
Thy thought dragged me again to enlighten those days
I know I am a deathless spirit so long I feel thee
I will live in thy spirit like Banyan trees
Neve never never will I forget those Kaljani streams
So long I will live in a society of victims
2. Days gone"
Better, the days gone...!
When there was no Missile, Atoms and deadly attacks of Drone
There was none to dust and crumble human bones
Better, the days gone...!
Swords often blooded once many zones
Yes, swords often blooded once many zone
Still better, the days gone...
At least the rest had a safe zone...
Flood that blooded many many bones
That had stormy lust to invade others' zones
Still better, the days gone...
While the rest had lived in a musical tunes
Still better, the days gone...
When the buzzing insects never forgot their songs
When the birds never forgot to knit their homes
When the watery hearts never died of poisons
Of course there lived too this anger, greed and lust
But nothing could dust this humble innocent hut
Though the land saw the drops of dripping blood
The rest had a fearless life living on this earth
Now this earth is fathomed
With the virus of Drones, Missiles, Atoms
Drying up drying up drying up all bones
Like the cactus zones
Let's rather go back to those days
To feel the fragrance of nature's humble face
Let's walk to live in His grace...
Let's walk to live in His grace...
Dr. Ratan Ghosh, PhD, Associate Editor of an International Literary Journal entitled “THE MIRROR OF TIME” ISSN-2320-012X, free lance writer, poet, Short Story writer and a Novelist. His poems have been featured in many national and international E- journals, Journals and paper back anthologies across the globe. He has authored the books like--- MY LOVE, an Anthology of love poems, THE WEEPING SOUL: POEMS BY Ratan Ghosh, a book of Hundred poems on Eco-poetry, FOOTPRINTS: VOICES OF REFUGEES, poems by Ratan Ghosh, a Historical anthology of verse, QUOTABLE QUOTES a book on motivational Quotes and a short story book entitled BRA AND OTHER TALES published from Canada.
His edited books are GENDER DISPARITY, NOSTALGIA, CASCADE, SUNUP and THE CONTEMPORARY WORLD ENGLISH POETRY.
- He has been declared as the WORLD YOUTH ICON OF LITERATURE, from THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF ARTS AND CULTURE, India affiliated to THE WORLD ACADEMY OF LITERATURE, HISTORY, ARTS AND CULTURE, MEXICO on 15-11- 2019.
- He received prestigious award International Award of Excellence "City of Galateo-Antonio De Ferrariis" from Italy, 2021 The Award Ceremony, in the presence of political, cultural and entertainment authorities, took place in Rome on October 14, 2021, at the Primaticcio Room in Dante Alighieri Society.
- He has also received “MEWADEV LAUREL AWARD” in 2019 from CONTEMPORARY LITERARY SOCIETY OF ALMOR: BANDA (U.P, INDIA) and YOUNG INDOLOGY AWARD, 2020 from INDOLOGY, an international Literary Journal,
- LAUREL DE POET, (Ref. No- C&C/II/127054) he was awarded from EVERYCHILD LIFELINE FOUNDATION on 23rd day of April, 2021
- ORDER OF SHAKESPEARE MEDAL (Ref. No-2021/00S/170 awarded from Motivational Strips, World’s most Active Writers Forum, on 23/04/2021.
- He was awarded RABINDRANATH TAGORE MEMORIAL AWARD jointly endorsed by SIPAY, an International Literary Journal and REVUE LITTERAIRE SEYCHELLOISE: DEPARTMENT OF CULTURE, GOVERNMENT OF SEYCHELLES.
DO NOT WE NEED TO REST CONTENT?
(Picure Credit :: GettyImages)
I see the shadow moving
In the clouds
Across the sky.
I am so sure
That I am no longer restless
And that it still feeds me.
My thirst is there for so long
I have not drunk anything
Since the last rains yesterday
But that is so full of peace
And clouds have shaped it everywhere
And there is nothing more to long for.
There is only warmth
And a desire to let go
Things into eternity
There’s a desire to look closely
And even benignly
At people and things around me
And more and more I tend to think
That only envy separates us deeply
From being so natural!
Ravi Ranganathan is a writer, critic and a poet from Chennai. Also a retired banker. He has to his credit three books of poems titled “Lyrics of Life” and “Blade of green grass” and “Of Cloudless Climes”. He revels in writing his thought provoking short poems called ‘ Myku’. Writes regularly for several anthologies. His awards include recognition in "Poiesis award for excellence" of Poiesisonline, Sahitya Gaurav award by Literati Cosmos Society, Mathura and’ Master of creative Impulse ‘award by Philosophyque Poetica. He contributes poems for the half yearly Poetry book Metverse Muse . He writes regularly for the monthly webzine “ Literary Vibes” and “ Glomag”.He is the Treasurer of Chennai Poets’ Circle.
The tree is humongous
its sprawling branches house
birds and their non stop twitters
the gleaming aura of the sun
lets its heart burst with joy
revel with jubilation
The trunk is mammoth in circumference
has grown with experience and age
like wisdom of a sage
many creepers find it safe to hold on
throwing tendrils forward
they swiftly climb and march on
with less gripe and more resignation
A few raucous crows
engage in shrill chatters
stewing on day today chores
their voices filled with cold fury
rise to a falsetto in no time
squirrels go up and climb down
in their effortless pace
happily munch on food particles
slouching past muddles and noise
they are contented in their ways
they never had much
but always had enough to satiate hunger
A series of anthills below
grow by leaps and bounds each year
are they home to only ants
or some reptiles too occupy the space?
God only knows!
poking nose in all matters
is not considered sensible
so let us dissociate and digress
A rusted post box, a few furlongs away
remains a mute spectator
to the happenings all through the day
once bustling with regular visits
laments loneliness and forlorn stature
craves for the heydays
and role as a messenger
It peddled fervent hopes
be it of happiness or of sorrow
now curses old age and rusty demeanor
It has a word of caution
for the fugitive tree
"like me...someday you too shall have
to face condemnation
when your brighter phase leans
people forget all good doing
keep harping on shortcomings"
faking a smile the tree says-
"I am happy for today
let me live and cherish the moment
tomorrow is a myth
a distant dream for me
I shall deal with it
with grit and equanimity."
Sujata Dash is a poet from Bhubaneswar, Odisha. She is a retired banker. She has three published poetry anthologies(More than Mere-a bunch of poems, Riot of hues and Eternal Rhythm-all by Authorspress, New Delhi) to her credit. She is a singer, avid lover of nature. She regularly contributes to anthologies worldwide.
A race carries on.
On the stairs,
A spring tail looks forward
And hops after a grasshopper,
Led by a frog and a rabbit in a row,
One after another!
Which random hop
Will cross over the final fence?
Nobody knows.
Nobody is happy enough either!
Nobody enjoys the nearby pond,
The lovely lotus inside,
The green meadows around,
The blushing breeze outside,
And whatever lies at his disposal!
Hence, the race still continues on stairs
To an undefined dreamland of definitions!
Next to the fence,
A snow leopard yawns
Within an illusion of a rudder in paws!
A handsome house of snow
Rests alongside,
Bordered by many black shadows of bells!!
Anjali Sahoo writes poems both in English and Odia. Her first poetry book A Tryst with Thunder (2021), published by Authors Press, New Delhi, sheds light upon manifold aspects of life. They take the readers to the world of imaginative vibrancy, unearthing hidden mysteries of the world. Her published works include three poetry books and two short stories collections in Odia.
“Each fault is a new discovery
in the search for truth
and hence a part of the creative process.
What harm is there
if Columbus missed the way
and reached a continent?
- Song of The Happy Cripple
(HOMECOMING/ 2010, Bipin Patsani)
First publ. Indian Scholar/ 1981
Not only in days, our own,
the days of our success and glory,
the pain and strain we endured
and that we fought bravely at any cost,
are also integral parts
in the history of our growth
whether we won or lost.
So why curse history,
why do we try to erase
and reverse the historical process
and waste our time in ifs and buts?
Hiding our wounds, darkening,
deleting the shining sides of others
and ignoring the historical process
are signs of our inferiority complex.
We change names, structures,
we change geography of a region,
its habitats, its politics and course.
Can we reverse the flow of the Ganges
back to its source?
No one can bring liberated minds
back to the shackles of unreason
the high priests of bigotry
so eagerly have in store for us,
nostalgic for their good old days
when they had ensnared our minds
for their selfish interests,
for their snobbish amusement
and comfort.
There is nothing to be scared of
coming together of ideas and cultures
which have made us what we are today,
free from the hegemony of those
who had been luring us, using us
with the promise of securing for us
a place in heaven, registered by rituals,
or else threatening us
with their gifted power to curse
and its frightening consequence.
Not in surrender to marketization
of ‘mokhya’ and mass investment,
only by free thinking can one aspire
to reach the height of excellence
and attain the depth of inner peace.
A sense perception of the highest order
and nothing else,
heaven is there in free thinking
and in the work one enjoys doing.
A nation is not all for the nexus
of a king, corporate and karmakandis,
striving together for power share.
A real Rastra falls not low as a snare
to use people for a favored few,
it is free and friendly rather for all
in its cozy creative atmosphere.
So beautiful the world was
and life in general
so easy, warm and amicable
for the ordinary folks
who knew no pretensions!
What made it torn apart,
what wind, what game
of give and take
swept all our dreams to dust,
our pillars of peaceful coexistence
succumbing to rust?
That this business
of seeking support
would turn our home
to a battlefield
and the winning craze
would metamorphose our life
to a public pandemonium,
we did not know.
The more money we make
in our selfish self-righteous zeal,
the more we break ourselves
as we break our homes
leaving fraternity at stake.
Everywhere we see
the mad race for space,
the unfortunate plight
of push and pull
we see everywhere
as people swap self esteem,
swap support and thorough fare
for free feed, feasts and favour.
Bipin Patsani (b. 1951) has published poems in many prestigious journals and poetry anthologies including Indian Literature, Chandrabhaga, Journal of Indian Writing in English, Indian Scholar, Kavya Bharati, Poetcrit, International Poetry and Prophetic Voices etc. He has been translated to Spanish and Portuguese. He has three poetry collections to his credit (VOICE OF THE VALLEY, ANOTHER VOYAGE and HOMECOMING). He is a recipient of Michael Madhusudan Academy Award/ 1996 and Rock Pebbles National Award in 2018. He did his Post Graduation in English at Ravenshaw College, Cuttack in 1975 and served as a teacher in Arunachal Pradesh for 34 years till his superannuation in 2012. He also received Arunachal Pradesh State Government’s Award in 2002 for his dedicated service as a teacher. He lives with his family at Barunei Colony, Badatota in Khordha District of Odisha, India.
I dream a world where stars guide me.
This way or that way,
How important it is to walk along.
I learn to sing the language of the galaxies.
A sort of soft music to heal my wounds,
A transformation, close against my heart.
I ask the moon to give me wings.
This is the other part of knowing something,
I want to be free to fly anywhere.
Let the darkness come in and the whispering breeze,
And roll me back and lift me up,
I wish I can go that far.
I can’t wait to be a piece of the sky,
Can you?
Gopal Lahiri is a Kolkata based bilingual poet, editor, critic and translator and published in English and Bengali language. He has authored 29 books (19 in English and 10 in Bengali) to his credit that includes three solo edited collections of English poetry on Jallianwala Bagh, translations of Tagore songs, Voices Within, and four jointly edited collections of English poetry on Indo-American Anthology, Scaling Heights, Home Anthology and Poetry Conclave Anthology. His translation work (From English to Bengali) of short stories of Israel was published by National Book Trust. His poetry is also published across various anthologies and in eminent journals of India and abroad. His poems are translated in 16 languages. He has been nominated for Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2021. He is the recipient of the Poet of the Year Award in Destiny Poets, UK, 2016, Setu Excellence Award, 2020, Pittsburgh, US. His latest collection of poems ‘Alleys are Filled with Future Alphabets.’ has received Pan Asian Ukiyoto awards.
Do not open it now,
Wait for while
You will find much time any way,
Because when I go
I am not going to take the box away;
Do not be too curious,
Hold on till I quit,
You may find them of no use to you
Whatever I have treasured in it;
A few plumes of exotic birds
I had let my dreams settle on years ago
But they never spread out to fly,
A few liquid wishes
that in the closed musty air
have grown pale and dry;
A handful of crystal smiles buried under
A pile of sllken pretences, and an
Undying hope to meet you once
Just to say a simple goodbye!
A few notess I wanted to sing
In the shadow of my solitude
A bundle of unspent moments
That never turned to memory,
A bunch of dull, empty pages
On which I could have written
Another history,
Wait a while before opening it
Or, the tender petals of love
stored inside may wilt
They will be not of use to you anyway,
But it has taken me a lifetime
To collect and stow them away;
I have stacked inside it
My skies of summer, autumn and rain
My seas holding in their beds
Several pearls of pain,
Do not make a rush to open the box
There is still time for that
You may discover a
dead volcano of slumbering desires
that could not come alive
in ecstasy till last;
At the very bottom you may find
A bunch of orphan words
I had vainly tried to weave a poem with,
When I will not be there
You may pick them out and string together
To spin a truth or make a myth;
Snehaprava Das, former Associate Professor of English is a noted translator and poet. She has five collections of English poems to her credit Dusk Diary, Alone, Songs of Solitude, Moods and Moments and Never Say No to a Rose)
Upon my commute, a yellow bridge appears,
Glistening with hope as morning sunlight clears.
Its hue so vibrant, a beacon of cheer,
Assuring me that any void can be steered.
Each step I take, it guides me with its glow,
Symbolizing unity, a bridge to bestow.
With its golden arches, it conquers the space,
Instilling in me faith, a reason to embrace.
At dawn's arrival, it warmly embraces,
A yellow guardian against life's harsh faces.
With beams of resilience, unwavering and bright,
It rekindles my spirit, igniting the light.
Like an artist's masterpiece, it paints the sky,
A pathway for dreams, where impossibilities lie.
With every sunrise, it murmurs with grace,
"All gaps can be closed, embrace this chase."
Within its presence, solace is unveiled,
A belief reborn, where hope is exhaled.
No matter the hurdles, the struggles faced,
The yellow bridge assures, redemption is embraced.
Oh, how I cherish this sight of gold,
A symphony of triumph, a story untold.
For in this structure, I find courage unfurled,
A metaphor for life, a redoable world.
Saranya Francis is a multilingual poet, English lecturer, life skills trainer, faculty facilitator and artist. She has to her credit three published anthologies of poetry titled Being Purple, Ambedo and Sonder. She Edited Antargata (2020), Co-edited Confluence I and II, she curates the monthly poetry open mic of Bangalore Poetry Circle. She is the recipient of Star Ambassador of World Poetry at the World Poetry Conference (2019), Bharat Award for Literature (2018) and other such accolades. Saranya Francis is currently an Assistant Professor of English at ST PAULS COLLEGE, Bengaluru and a Part-Time PhD scholar at Amrita Vishwa Vidyapeetham, Chennai.
Uma my friend, lovely dear friend,
A sweet sober serene face,
Happiness ‘s personification
Uma grew with the tea shop
That Uma' s mother did set up
At the new road crossing
To fight penury and widowhood
And raise Uma, the lovely child she had!
The smoke from charcoal stove,
The sign of development our village people loved
In rain, summer or winter, they converged together
To bring the world to their tea platter and closer
Uma suppoting her mother in the tea endeavour
When other children played merry-go-round here and there.
Uma joined the school, just then newly opened,
At the doorstep in our village
Uma became a friend to me and many other children ,
After our school pass out in different colours,
Our paths would meander,
I went to the capital city for college to add glory and glamour.
Uma stayed in village to add aroma to tea flavour
Me and others would get it free with hospitality ever warmer
Visiting village once in a blue moon or whenever !
Tea cup may cheer the customer,
But changing fortune for the owner is really rare,
Uma my friend remained there,
Social nor spatial mobility was Uma’s cup of tea ever,
To your imagination you may put wings and colour,
why I am singing of Uma, just a foot-soldier, a commoner
Why Uma loved me or I Uma on the other!
I got the news and rushed to Village,
Uma was not there with that smile signature,
The Tea shop was gone, there stood a bulldozer,
For expansion and beautification
That had made Uma's heart broken!
People said, that was Uma’s only legal possession.
But they were aghast to see the tehsildar’s brain and brawn,
the omnipotent State’s power of eminent domain!
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.
Series of notes high and low,
The cooler is the mind, the smoother is the flow.
Enjoy the trek in the trail of time,
Power is within, be the Driver prime.
A celestial flute’s tune pervades the cosmos,
Rejoice in it and watch the eternal circus.
Stage stretched far for the show to go on,
Dance and revel with the music from the horizon.
Waves of blush and bliss in rotation,
Keep on surfing in the magnificent Ocean.
Ocean is huge, daunting is the water,
Crossing is not hard for a brave Swimmer.
Srikant Mishra is an Engineer by profession. He has graduated from NIT, Rourkela and studied “Advanced Strategic management” in IIM, Calcutta. He is passionate about English literature and has involved himself in literary work since late 90s. One of his poetry “Life Eternal” has been published in Aurovile magazine in Pondicherry in the year 1999. Another poetry “Autumn” has been appreciated by few poetic forums in the United States. Recently he has started writing short stories that depicts real life experiences. Apart from literature, Mr Mishra loves yoga, monsoon outing and occasional singing.
Like the falls of Niagara
At the centre of my life!
The Falls of my dreams
Or the beauty of reality !
The water fell and fell
Like there was no boundary
No border! No dispute
Over water! Here or any where!
The day they turned me in
Tears fell from my eyes
Like rivers flowing past
The Ocean!
Pankhuri Sinha is a bilingual poet, story writer and translator from India. Two poetry collections published in English, two story collections published in Hindi, six poetry collections published in Hindi, and many more are lined up. Has been published in many journals, anthologies, home and abroad. Has won many prestigious, national-international awards, like the Girija Kumar Mathur Award, Chitra Kumar Shailesh Matiyani Award, Seemapuri Times Rajeev Gandhi Excellence Award, First prize for poetry by Rajasthan Patrika, awards in Chekhov festival in Yalta and in Premio Besio Poetry competition in Italy, Sahitto award in Bangladesh, and Premio Galateo in Italy for poetry in mother tongue. Has been translated in over twenty seven languages.
She has studied in Delhi University, Symbiosis Pune, SUNY Buffalo, and the University of Calgary, Canada. She has worked in various positions as a journalist, lecturer and a content editor. Has done writing residencies in Hungary and Bulgaria, and attended the Tranas Literature Festival in Sweden.
I remember the joy-filled summer days,
playing with a full heart.
and suddenly misfortune visited me.
The days were filled with sadness
and prayers in plenty
Parents were upset, not knowing what to do.
I felt for them, for their emotions.
I have heard my story from others.
I faced so many snags,
My hair cut off
I couldn't recognize people around me,
It took time to recover from the mishap,
Many prayed for me and made vows,
It was a kind of rebirth for me,
Ah, so many memories to light up my days.
I walked along a sad rigmarole
And today how beautiful life is,
A life I had almost lost and got back....….
Sukanya V Kunju is a postgraduate in English language and literature from St.Michaels College, Alappuzha. Most of her poems have been published in Literary Vibes. She is an aspiring poet. She is the co-author of the book Dusk and Dawn.
THE TOUCH OF YOUR LIPS
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Leave the touch of those lips
On the brim of the trembling cup
Who knows how long its flavour,
Its presence, will linger there.
Time will wonder, is it a kiss you left
Or a strand of incandescent light
A something which will glow
Like an undaunted flame.
Or, will it leave the cup
And fleet from heart to heart
Giving a new hope, a fresh glimmer
Soothing them with a touch of love.
For everyone whose homes are alight today
There are thousands plunged in darkness
For every radiant smile on joyous faces
There are the fragments of many broken hearts.
You will carry a new vision
To all those whose dreams are dead
Lying as heaps of sad despair
On hopelessly abandoned streets.
For, your soft kiss is meant
To glow in the darkest hour
And be a solace to
A million silent, tired souls.
Yes, there are those who will rise
To feel the touch of your lips,
The ones that carry magic in them,
The lips of an unforeseen destiny.
(On the morning of 24th May, newspapers were agog with the exciting news of around a thousand aspirants who had cleared the Civil Services Exams, 2022 and celebrated their success. There were photographs and messages galore, many a career on the cusp of launching. Yet, there were 5,00,000 others who wrote the exam and failed. As the saying goes, success has many parents, failure is always a lonely orphan. This poem has been inspired by the success stories of the achievers, but is also meant for those who fell in the race, but would get up and run again.)
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 . Two collections of his short stories in English have been published recently under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali and A Train to Kolkata. He has also to his credit nine books of short stories in Odiya. He has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
REVIEWS:
WHEN THE FLOWERS BEGIN TO SPEAK
“I’m neither a poet nor a scholar of literature and poetry, so I will speak about my experience of reading Sonali’s debut volume of poems. Right from the outset, from the feel of the book, there is a very tactile and visceral relationship that the reader is drawn into. As I began reading the first section, ripped, it felt as if I were privy to a turbulent emotional world, a space that resonated with my own inner world. For who among us has not experienced heartbreak, disillusionment, brutality and sorrow in relationships? But perhaps few of us can articulate it with such honesty that is both beautiful and poignant to witness. I had to read this book slowly, for the intensity of the work demands it. In section 2, reckoning, as the poet finds her voice amidst the ruins of a relationship, one experiences the powerful place of words, of love and of new life in healing. To be reborn, as we are, in Section 3, is to experience wildness, wild hair, wild truth, wild dreams, falling water, that resist taming. It is also to experience new loves that are accommodating and open ended, that don’t demand erasure of the self, that are trusting and kind. I am yet to read the final section of the book, risen. I feel as if I have journeyed a long way, along with the poems in this book, reliving and reflecting my life’s experiences. I belong to a different generation than Sonali, but it seems as if there is so much in common across generations, as we find our identities as women who want to experience both love and freedom. I’ll stop here, but before I end, I would like to congratulate Sonali on this labour of love, this profusion of flowers that speaks to so many of us.”
—Prof. Anjali Monteiro (Former Dean and Professor, TISS, Mumbai, Award-winning Documentary Filmmaker, Author and Media Educator).
Comments or short reviews/blurbs from others:
“Its narrative nature and poetic intensity make it an arresting volume, containing the original voice that Writers Workshop has always looked for in an author [...] an excellent and formidable volume.”
—Ananda Lal, Academic, Theatre Critic, Director-Writers Workshop
“‘When the flowers begin to speak’ is everything I imagined from this talented poetess, she’s poured the exceptionalism of her soul into this collection and it’s stunning. This is not a prosaic story of motherhood or victimhood, this is an urgent, pulsating read, and one that haunts the subconscious long after reading. Sonali is unafraid to speak those urgent truths, she weaves them with the talent of her wordsmithery and I for one am entranced by her gift of words and ability to bequeath whole complex experiences in a single poem.”
—Candice Louisa Daquin, Award-winning Poet and Senior Editor at Indie Blu(e) Publishing, USA.
“...a stunning new book of poems that arrived in the mail, fiery and passionate like the author, fighting words seeking to burn the masks, melt the freeze.”
—Maya Joshi, Professor of English and Buddhist Scholar, Lady Shri Ram College
“A milestone in Indian Feminist Writing, truly!”
—Sudha Rai, Former Dean and Professor of English Literature, University of Rajasthan and Author
“They say don’t judge a book by its cover. But it is equally true that the cover is what creates a first impression and draws us into the book. Sonali Pattnaik’s “when the flowers begin to speak” has such a unique old world hardbound red and gold cover, you are intrigued. It has the look of an ancient text- a manuscript unearthed perhaps. You enter the poems not knowing what to expect and then its alike an assault – of the best metaphors, imagery and imagination that I have seen in poetry in our times. She hits out at patriarchal oppression without obvious punches but using tools in her literary armoury. So what comes across is strong but not reduced to sloganeering or messages. The art form is always paramount. She gives you her very being. In ‘daughter/love’ “When they ask me, a single mother with her child, “ Who does she resemble?” I have not the answer they are looking for… In ‘civil code’ she makes you realise the hollowness of diplomacy in a time when one must speak one’s minds- when battle lines between good and evil are so important “being civil is that formidable thing that makes you Friends with murderers and thieves…” But this book has so many dimensions beyond hurt and cleansing and breaking. The poems talk of finding your lost voice , of courage and of defining evil. It is so tempting to keep talking of one poem after another. But I don’t want to spoil the reader’s fun – at all. A must buy!!! A must!”
—Vandana Kumar, Educator and Award Winning Poet of Mannequin of Our Times
Dr. Sonali Pattnaik (PhD) is an award winning feminist poet, academic, educator and visual artist. She is the author of when the flowers begin to speak (Writers Workshop, 2021), a solo collection of poetry that marks a woman’s journey through abuse, survival and hope, for which she was recently awarded the WE ‘Intense Feminine Power’ Gifted Poet Award 2023, and the inaugural WE Illumination Award. She is the recipient of the Orange Flower Award for Poetry in English, 2022. Her debut book has been featured in the prestigious Journal of Commonwealth Literature, Sage, 2022.
Her poetry and art have appeared in several international and national anthologies including, The Kali Project (edited by Candice Lousia Daquin and Megha Sood), Of Dry Tongues and Brave Hearts (edited by Semeen Ali and Reema Ahmad) and Through the Looking Glass (Indie Blu(e)) and in prestigious journals including Dissident Voices, Contemporary Literary Review, The Indian Express, The Bombay Review, Setu Magazine, Café Dissensus, Muse India, The Yugen Quest Review, Fem Asia, Sampad (UK). Her non-fiction book based on research on the Body Politics of Contemporary Bollywood cinema is forthcoming from Orient Black Swan.
A well published academic in the area of visuality, literature and theories of the body, she is both an alumnus and erstwhile professor at Delhi University and is currently Visiting Professor and External Expert, Board of Studies in in English at St. Xavier’s College, Ahmedabad. She has participated extensively in advocacy work for gender equality and safer societies including being the Convener of the College Anti-sexual harassment committee and a leading member of the gender cell of KMC, where she held the post of Permamnent Lecturer in English at Delhi University. Her vision remains a synthesis of her critical and academic work with her poetic, artistic voice towards a more equal world.
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