Literary Vibes - Edition CXXXII (25-Aug-2023) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEWS
Title : Hope (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 with great pride and pleasure I offer you the 132nd edition of LiteraryVibes. The month of August is always a time to remember our hard earned independence and pay tribute to those who sacrificed their lives for the future generations to breathe the air of a country free from the shackles of a foreign power. Our country has made great strides in the last seventy six years and earned for itself the respect of the international community. Our scientists, scholars, engineers, industrialists, entrepreneurs have contributed to her phenomenal progress. They have given new dreams to our youth, and lent wings to their fancy. The landing of Chandrayan-3 on the moon on 23rd August is the crowning glory every Indian should be proud of. The achievements are more spectacular for a country of India's size and diversity. It's not easy to manage a country of more than 1.4 billion people with different faiths, beliefs and sensibilities and therefore the challenges are indeed daunting.
One often wonders what made the freedom fighters to sacrifice their lives for the country? Young men and women who marched on to face the bullets and other brutalities of the foreign rulers - what indeed inspired them? What made them so brave, so fearless - the likes of Khudiram Bose, Saheed Bhagat Singh or Udham Singh? Last week, on the eve of Independence Day, while rummaging through the morning newspapers I came across the story of Baji Rout, a boy of twelve years from a small village in Dhenkanal district of Odisha - who has been honoured as the youngest martyr in freedom struggle. He was the youngest son of a boatman and was an active member of the Banar Sena (Monkey Brigade) of Praja Mandal (Party of People), dedicated to the fight for freedom. On a cool night of October 1938 he had volunteered to keep a watch on the boats. The river Brahmani was in full spate. Towards late evening a posse of British policemen came to the river and asked Baji Rout to ferry them to the other side. Such was the courage of the young boy that he refused to let a British man sit on his boat. He was warned and when he did not relent the police fired at him, killing him on the spot. A few villagers came running at the sound of the gunshot and four of them met with the same fate as Baji Rout.
The story of Baji Rout's defiance and daring has turned into a legend, a folklore. Many poems and a number of dramas have been written on him. A short documentary has also been made ("Baji Rout: India's Youngest Freedom Fighter" produced by Candid Cinema). Similar dramas, movies have been made about our other martyrs, which have inspired us over the years, adding to our determination to do good for the country in a spirit of true patriotism.
Another story I found in social media recently warmed my heart and filled it with pride. Let me reproduce it here.
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The Cost of Freedom.....
From an Air Force Officer who flew out the Kargil Casualties, The Just Missed Ones, The Injured Survivors....
The Unknown Sikh Soldier in the Kargil War
I remember it as if it was yesterday. It was the 23 May 1999, and the Kargil conflict was ongoing, my crew and I were in Awantipur to pick up 24 casualties (20 sitting & 4 on stretchers) the casualties on stretchers were extremely seriously wounded. The age of the passengers ranged between 19-27 years. Some had bullet wounds, where the bullet had gone through and through, but he still had his legs and could sit, stand and walk so wasn't on a stretcher (I guess, in a strange Army way, making them feel better, that's how the system works, it actually works. I have actually seen a Gurkha with a bullet wound, helping another Kumaoni who was limping along. It's a system which teaches one to be empathetic towards others). The men who were on a stretcher were the really badly hurt ones, they were those, who had stepped on a land mine & had their legs blown off. A very different sight from those as seen on TV news videos, moving from wounded soldiers to heavy snowfall in some other part of the world, while people watch eating their dinner, disinterested, barely looking up from their phones, this was real life. The pain was terribly real. Also, it was not possible to merely change the channel.
The aircraft was the workhorse of the IAF, an An-32, it reeked of Savlon and fear. As we waited for the last patient to arrive, I realised that my An-32 also was a micro India. The Naga soldier was seated next tall Jat, the Tambi was next to Maratha, the Rajput was next to the JAKLI, Mahar was next to a tall Guards soldier & the tiny Gurkha next to an equally small and sturdy Kumaoni. All united by shades of Olive Green and the invisible thread of pain. Injuries they had suffered on our behalf.
In the ambulance, which was parked just at the edge of the ramp (behind the aircraft), was a Sikh light Infantry Soldier, he was really young. So young, that his beard had barely started to grow, a mere boy. He had lost both his legs in a land mine explosion. In an effort to distract him, I asked him are you fond of cricket? His eyes brightened up immediately, and he promptly said Yes, Sir. Seeing his response, I addressed all my passengers, (The World Cup was ongoing in England) India is playing with Kenya, and Sachin Tendulkar has scored 140 runs in 101 balls not out. He has helped India reach 329 in 50 overs. Tendulkar has dedicated his innings to his father whose funeral he had returned from the previous day. What do you all think, will we win?
'YES SIR' was the immediate answer, All of a sudden, a Tendulkar Tsunami swept through the aircraft and that ambulance behind it.
Everyone forgot their pain & their injuries. They forgot their predicament, all they could talk about was Tendulkar & his century. Everyone started talking to the person next to them. Everyone broke language, and cultural barriers and, new friendships were instantly formed.
I could see my new friend in the ambulance, talking animatedly. His eyes all lit up; his smile was ecstatic as he described Tendulkar's shots. His injuries and pain were forgotten briefly. He was happy, all my passengers were happy. For a brief period, everything was the way they ought to be.
Epilogue: When I landed with my passengers in Delhi, I shared the good news with them that we have indeed won the match, far away in England. My young friend, who was on a stretcher strapped securely to the floor, smiled at me. I shook his hand and wished him well. I was relieved it was dark, and he couldn't see my eyes. My crew and I stood behind the aircraft as they disembarked silently wishing them well. It's men like these, the ones who were passengers on my plane, who silently walk away after giving their youth for all of us. They are the ones we owe our freedom to.
Dear Country Men and Women, Freedom doesn't come Free.
You get it for Free because it has been Paid for in Full by the Lives and Blood of our Soldiers.
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There are many such inspiring stories. Why only the Independence Day - everyday of the year we should sit quietly for a few minutes and reflect on the state of our nation. We should ask ourselves, are we fulfilling the expectations of our freedom fighters, our martyrs, our brave soldiers? Are we doing the best for our country, are we true to the spirit of sacrifice which had inspired adolescent boys like Baji Rout, young men like Bhagat Singh, senior leaders like Mahatma Gandhi or Netaji Subas Chandra Bose, and the fearless men and women who guard our borders, standing steadfast in scorching heat or blinding snow? The answer is not far to seek, because it lies within us.
Hope you will enjoy the offerings in today's edition of LiteraryVibes. We have two new contributors joining the family of LV this time. Ms. Tamali Neyogi, Assistant Professor of English from Burdwan, West Bengal, writes exceedingly well and her poems bear the signature of unadulterated poetic beauty. Ms. Rajroopa Bhattacharjee from Pondicherry has written a beautiful piece of reminiscence. Let us welcome them to the LV family and wish them the very best in their literary journey.
Please share the wonderful pages of LiteraryVibes with all your friends and contacts through the following links:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/502 (Poems and Book Review)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/501 (Short Stories, Anecdotes and Miscellaneous Articles) and
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/500 (Young Magic)
There is also a medical related anecdote from the pen of Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo, the eminent Gyanecologist at
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/499
Shri Satish Pasine, one of our regular contributors to LiteraryVibes had recently visited Iceland and enjoyed its pristine beauty. He has written an excellent travelogue on his experiences. Since the article is long, we have posted it in a separate link. I am sure you will enjoy the gripping narrative as well as the superb pictures at:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/498
Please remind your friends that all the 132 editions of LiteraryVibes can be accessed at
https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Take care, keep smiling till we meet again on Friday, the 29th September with the 133rd edition of LiteraryVibes.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
FUNERAL
CAMEO
02) Haraprasad Das
JESUS CHRIST (YISHUKHRISTA)
03) Dilip Mohapatra
FACELESS
RECLUSION
04) Abani Udgata
OPPENHEIMER : the big picture
05) Tamali Neogi
BLEEDING MIND
GRANDMA'S INTERPRETATION
06) Jairam Seshadri
EVERYWOMAN - Part 15
07) Meena Mishra
SOARING HIGH
STRONG FASCINATION
CLUTCH THE MEMORIES
ON MY SON’S BIRTHDAY
AM I INSANE?
08) Hema Ravi
HOI POLLOI…
09) Madhumathi. H
BEFORE THE COFFEE GETS COLD...
10) Ravi Ranganathan
FERNDOM
11) Hrushikesh Mallick
KARNA
12) Runu Mohanty
ONLY FOR YOUR SUBLIME PRESENCE (TAME ACHHA BOLI)
13) Setaluri Padmavathi
AMITY
14) Seethaa Sethuraman
BEIGE HARMONY
15)Sharanya Bee
SHAPE OF LIVING
REAPPEARANCE
16) Pradeep Kumar Biswal
I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY
17) Sujata Dash
DEAR SOUL
18) Sheena Rath
RAINS
19) Leena Thampi
SHE'S PERFECTLY IMPERFECT
20) Anjali Sahoo
THE SMILE
21) Sreedharan Parokode
WORDS OF VERDICT
22) Vidhya Anand
BRIDGE ON THE EDGE
23) Soumen Roy
TO SISTER DEEPIKA
TO SISTER BAISHAKHI
TO MY SISTER SUZANNE
24) Bipin Patsani
AESTHETICS
A FUSE
WHAT DO WE OFFER PEOPLE?
25) Prof. Niranjan Barik
EMBROIDERY, THE PERFECT PROFESSION!
26) Nandini Mitra
AUGUST MORNING WHISPERS IN MY EARS
27) Pradeep Rath
POESY
28) Aparna Suresh
ME AND HER
29) Prof.Dr.Sidhartha Das
BOATS WAITING AT SUNRISE
30) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE VOICE
Table of Contents :: BOOK REVIEWS
01) Dr Rekha Mohanty
RESILIENT LEAF
02) Pradeep Biswal
NIGHT OF THE SNAKE by Snehaprava Das
Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
ON STAGE
02) Chinmayee Barik
SIGNATURE
03) Ishwar Pati
THE ELUSIVE TOMATO
04) S. Sundar Rajan
CHANGING TIMES
05) Sreekumar T V
WRONG WRITING
06) Jayshree Tripathi
IT’S ANOTHER KIND OF LOVE
07) Rajroopa Bhattacharjee
THE LAST JOURNEY
08) Dr. Sukanti Mohapatra
TRUTH
09) Bankim Chandra Tola
LIFE AFTER RETIREMENT
10) Sujata Dash
A GENTLE NUDGE OF SPRING
11) Hema Ravi
GOSSAMER THREADS...
12) Snehaprava Das
ROSE IS A POEM IN RED (1)
ROSE IS A POEM IN RED (2)
13) Sunanda Pradhan
RESOURCE MOBILISATION ( SERVICES)
14) Ashok Kumar Mishra
BHOOMIKA
15) Sumitra Kumar
TOMATOES PERCHED HIGH
16) Ashok Kumar Ray
DURGA
17) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
HIGH COURT AND A HIGHER COURT
Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Anura Parida
MY GRATEFUL HEART
02) Trishna Sahoo
THE SKY IS THE LIMIT
POEMS
Today, I dusted and mopped the house,
mowed the lawn, pruned the hedges,
put flowers in every vase,
jewelled the dark with candles.
Amid the mist and cicadas of dusk
I sit without pen, papers
and my glasses. The evening weeps
like a sitar. Candles sputter.
Today, I did all that I couldn’t do
when you were around. I wish I could do more:
lay a diadem of moon on our roof,
billowing clouds in the yard.
Tonight, I will remove you to memory
from among the chrysanthemums;
the twinkles in the inky sky
would cloud my marble eyes.
The time is ripe
to hunger for God
rather than for each other, you say.
The thought is lurking
in every nook, gathering
in every vibration
of this room. In shadows
around your eyes.
About your darkening lips.
In sleep’s ebbs
your hands stay awake
in my hands, searching
and untangling knots,
pulling aside the blinds.
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)
Where are you, little one?
I sense your footfalls
in the wind’s rustle
across our bereft courtyard.
Be happy, my child,
wherever you are.
Let my conscience,
that moved heaven and earth
to recover from you the cost
of my few drops of blood,
carry the burden of that cross
a while more, penance for my blunder.
I dream of the day
I may pass the litmus test
to stand neck to neck
with your moral benchmark.
You would be the chosen one, I know,
for the Lord’s Holy Shroud,
even if the history would lay the Lord
differently in His immortal coffin.
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)”
They call me paranoid
and sometimes
a hypochondriac
for I am anxious
and stressed that
one of these days
my shadow will be gone
no longer will it give me company
because soon there will be
no me
that would be shorn of its identity.
My name
my face
my profile
may belong to someone else
who might have cleverly
and stealthily hijacked it
or all that could have been hidden
in a number or in a digital code
and which could have been
deactivated by some
unknown diabolical hands.
My body will be unclaimed
and would perhaps
land up in the anatomy lab
of a medical college
with its vital organs
missing within
and my cadaver
would be the receptacle
of careless scalpel incisions
made by novice hands
and torn into bits and pieces.
Yet my left big toe
would be left intact
to which would be tied
a crumpled and dirty tag
showing a fresh ID number
that could never be
traced back to the real me
and that would follow my remains
to the pit
dug in the hospital garden
and would eventually merge with
whatever is left of me
and perhaps would
make the rose plant bloom
that was hitherto
barren.
And that perhaps
would give me a new face
a new identity…
The death of the dawn
lamented in the breath of the flautist
that dies in the cacophony
of the morning birds
who feel no longer threatened
the dark walls of my bedroom
gaining gold in slow motion
through the ominous
cumulonimbus
of the virulent virus
as I lie on my back
on the lumpy mattress
that I am used to
my eyes wide open staring
at the residues of my dreams dissolving
in the chiaroscuro
of the shadows of the window bars
fanned out on a glamour less ceiling.
The dreams that I chased
once upon a time
the dreams which sometimes eluded me
sometimes goaded me
and played hide and seek with me sometimes
the dreams which pulled me
out of the doldrums
shook me off my reverie
made me run
made me sweat and toil
to climb the hills
and scale the peaks
are almost gone
swallowed by the black hole
of insomnia
and I sweep my vacant gaze
unto the window for a glimpse
of the rising sun
that gives me the slip
and chooses another path
and another time.
I have a long day ahead
and my to do list is still full
even in the confines of my cell
I got to get up
and peel off my images from the mirror
sit in the lotus pose
to reflect and contemplate
and prepare the blueprint
to sweep off my shadows
from the pavement
and to wipe off my footprints
from the wet sands
and all the traces that could
prove my existence
and then fade into
eternal anonymity
and lose myself in the mass
unrecognisable
unidentifiable.
Just another face in the crowd
with or without
the mask that had
grown on me over the weeks
and perhaps there would be no need
to maintain any prescribed gap
for then the finite
would lose its identity in the infinite
and that perhaps would be
the final cosmic osmosis.
(Note: Random thoughts during the Covid lockdown )
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.
A while ago, in the cloth shop
People talked softly, AC hummed,
the chandelier lights blinked- happy
kids on their day out on shore.
Then, the Salesgirl’s fingers ran over
the silken body of the blue sari
which the fan overhead stirred.
Other colours lay nearby like
land, trees and dark, little boats
on the shore of the blue sea.
The patterns of the mosaics changed
as dolphins somersault on floor.
Glass-doors covered with kind lights
let the evening enter the closet
parting the sea in to two, an epiphany.
And you saw the sea everywhere,
submerged mushroom cloud and
the questions that stood like walls.
Covered with dusts from stars we
look alike, whispers Stephen Hawking.
Back home the fingers caress her delicate frame
and she says : it was your Arjuna moment.
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
Do we hurt one unnecessarily?
In the Moral Science class the teacher gives the dictation,
God will not forgive you if deviate from the path of truth...
Why hasn't she added to it,
That not always but at times these two are clashing?
Perfidy. Elders say so, life is a mystery.
Indeed He hasn't considered how very difficult it is to follow Truth than Beauty,
Understandable why Sun and Moon, the burning heat of Truth and shining glow of Beauty, play Hide and Seek.
When mind is full with the Beauty of roses, the thorn of Truth hurts the body.
My God! A whole life can be spent in study of dichotomies !
Truth's cousin is unpleasantness from whom Beauty is permanently estranged,
For reasons objectionable.
Even the Lord of Destruction is half-dead drinking the poison of Truth. So,
Let the Blade of Trishula, come and pierce my heart,
If conscience is proved powerful over sensory organs,
I promise to nurse a bleeding mind, whatever be the cause.
*As per Hindu religion, Lord of Destruction is Lord Shiva whose weapon is Trishula.
Gopal was playing with mitti and that was not only a baby playing with soil,
God in His created world was spending time in leisure,
With that life-giving force.
And when Yashoda ma arrives and the poor child is to open his mouth,
Mother faints with the vision of the Universe and beyond.
If it’s a religious text, each of us accepts Ma or Grandma's interpretation.
Do we think twice before Life forces us to rethink?
With what desperation we move here from room to room, to understand the meaning,
It's the palace of stone, worldwide,
Each wall whispers multiple tales of entrapment,
Meaningless pursuits of souls,
Unrealized dreams.
Imagine the pangs of the mother of a child in prolonged suffering,
Turned violent. At least once the mother reacts; the sad goddess,
Understands, hidden within the fruit must for good health,
The seeds of potential violence, immense aggression,
Negatives which must be rejected if not suppressed.
Or finally,
How goodness further deteriorated, a Fallen being in regrets, perceives
In him are both, Rama and Ravana, the ultimates.
Better to think of the artist creating the tales of Paradise, lost and regained,
Perhaps with the fullest knowledge of God and Devil within him. What else?
Gopal's message is clear. We are to envisage,
Everything is inside us.
*mitti is a word inherited from Prakrit, means soil, earth.
*Ma is a Bengali word for mother.
Who won't agree that Egdon heath is not a space specific existence?
A discovery to my lately developed consciousness; Eustacia, the Fool.
The whole world, known or unknown is Egdon, the other name of Truth,
Beautiful or ugly, godly or demonic, it is The Agony Unavoidable, uncouth.
No, it doesn't sleep with sunset or wakes up with the morning light;
Ever awakened, active, moving, deceptive, an intriguing gambit,
Aiming victimization complete.
A grotesque device, teaching the arts of mindless adjustment and surrender.
Impassioned actions, fruitless or perhaps meaningless,
Till we learn to pray.
Come on unbelievers, pray to the God of Truth
Protect your children from illusions.
The madman hollers, "Keep away, keep away! All is false. All is false!"
*Egdon is a reference to Thomas Hardy's Return of the Native.
*“Hungry Stone" is a short story by Rabindranath Tagore wherefrom, the madman, Meher Ali is quoted.
Dr. Tamali Neogi teaches English at Gushkara College, Gushkara (West Bengal), India. As a creative writer she has published The Woman of Patashpur and edited Postmodern Voices, Volume VIII: An Anthology of Poems. Currently she is engaged in editing a book on Life Writings of women belonging to different continents and An Anthology of Ethical Poetry, An International Academy of Ethics Publication. In an academic career spanning two decades, Dr. Neogi has published short stories in Tales of Our Times and Lapis Lazuli, presented research papers at National and International Seminars, presided over Paper Reading Sessions, and also published book reviews in reputed U.G.C. Care Listed Journals. Her poems are published in several internationally reputed magazines. Her second Anthology of short fiction will hit the stands by the end of this year. tamalineogi13@gmail.com
Part 15 of many such
Jairam Seshadri
She fancies herself an influencer,
A telepathic reader,
An intuitive grasper,
Of gasps and chortles
Unmade or made, but ‘seen’ by her,
Somehow.
And the influencer
Has gathered a following
Who believe in her uterances:
Goshh! Ssssshh! Dont say that!
She wont take that lightly!
No!
He doesn’t care, but he will if you!
True!
The influencer
Has vestiges of intuition.
Sometimes she is dead right!
Most times she drowns
And takes her followers down!
But one admires her
Reach beyond her grasp,
Diving beyond her depth.
Beyond comfort.
She believes in,
And of the supernatural.
Up for grabs,
That rare few believe,
Let alone know.
She has potential.
She can influence so many more!
With impunity! Many more!
If only, though
She would with purity of intent,
A crystal motive, self-effacing,
With ‘nothing-in-it-for-me’,
She would truly be
The Influencer!
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.
The steel is gracefully camouflaged
by her smile as she flits and floats-
her steps beautiful, confident like dance steps, twirls in the rain;
while the whirring cog wheels, in her mind she lists out
the thousand things she will do simultaneously -
Multitasking is her super power!
Her plumes of royalty never fluster,
It is the soft down that she shows the world-
Till other birds feel she has forgotten to fly.
Petty pecking, picking and pricking – the small, the tiny and the Oh! So
trivial balls of fluff and gossip,
creating inessential swirls that disturb her,
as they trill on high heels as they feed!
All the while she dreams of riding the storm, her long feathers
stiff in the breeze!
Her dreamy philosophy has the fragrance of innocence.
She lives her paradise, ignorant of their plot
to subsume her energy into the wayward by lanes,
pushing into corners her regal manner
Oh! Such feebleness, can they even attempt to tease an Eagle?
Do they dream to deal with the extraordinary?
Do they try to touch an Eagle?
Amazed were they at her effortless flight .
“I am meant for the stratosphere,”
she says as rides air currents effortlessly.
‘Keep your tuneless chatter, I hear it not!’
Delicate she looks, but is not fragile.
Shocked were the petty seed-eaters
Wondering at her agility!
So full of vigour, undisturbed by the turmoil?
The Impish Eagle knew she was born to soar higher.
As her heart was filled with a very strong desire.
To take a flight to a higher realm
Reaching the region,
which the petty pecking couldn’t even dream of.
Unfamiliar with the nuts and bolts of relationship,
Sailed he into the sea with the waves of platonic love.
Naiad allowed him to bend forward and take a dip.
Unprepared to tarry, moved a willing horse with a flip.
Unruffled by a cock and bull story,
Trotting towards his destination.
Ready to meet the heart-throb of passionate lover,
Ignoring the hum and haw restricting his strong fascination.
All set to wear his heart on his sleeve,
Muddling through a mug’s game.
Not giving a fig for his position and fame,
Enchained by ecstasy, undisturbed by shame.
Stealing a look into her deep dark eyes,
In short order he held her soft hands.
His swooning love forced him to get down to be an infidel,
And be a part of the happy band.
Like the fallen autumn leaves,
Swirling with the breeze,
Trampled
Under bare feet, racked with pain!
From behind the clouds, like the sun peeking,
You can choose to appear again.
Never feeling the cold wind of shame,
Blowing, calling you out;
I will be the last to cast a blame.
Will success or failure, touch you,
Maybe, question you?
Will you turn coat and slip away
when challenges approach?
Can you be honest to yourself?
Even if your lies tie, others in sweet sounding knots.
Race away!
Try to drive your horses and coach with a frenzy.
Further and farther!
My heart compels me to give you a piece of my mind…
A delicate piece of well-endowed cake,
spilling over with warm and delicate emptions!
then reprimands and exasperation blow a storm
of a tuneless anthem in my head. Stop!
Because my thoughts and my words are too precious to be wasted.
It’s a personal treasure of mine to keep.
My teary eyes have washed away this melancholy
While I…
Clutch the memories which are yours, which are mine.
When I stumble, my hands reach up to grasp your hands,
The past is shifting ground,
My restless soul, has a remedy found.
You run for grist to the mill,
Wandering off in search of thrill.
I won’t hold grudges against you ,
As I don’t give a fig for you.
The sweet nothings, the sweet promises
All empty and baseless!
Why hoard hatred in cruel, cheating stacks?
When you don’t have a clue about the soft feelings
that have turned black!
(He turns 24 today)
Meena Mishra
Maybe someday you will travel to places you dream of: to Batam, Benito Juárez and Barcelona
Maybe you will move from one country to another, with such ease and fluidity that our conversations at breakfast time will shift around the clock, playing a cheerful catch
Maybe you will have with you, someone special who I fail to recognize- [oh! It’s Lina, is it? ~ so pretty but so unknown!]
Maybe my head will be so full of questions about her unexpected presence that you will hear all the gears in my mind shift as wonder moves to conjecture!
And you, my dear boy, caught off-guard and awkward, will be groping for words;
despite the meeting being rehearsed in our mind’s eye forever and more, we will both be amazed at the reality of it!
Maybe in that moment of profound bewilderment, when your past collides with your future ~ you find your present
As you struggle to find the words- those blessed ones that expressed your inner most childhood thoughts.
Maybe you will realise that those the words from the past, those choicest words can no longer convey your intimate ideas.
And you stand with your fingers intertwined, giving away your nervousness to someone who has watched with joy and hope, every movement of yours, it dawns on you that you are new!
You, my dear boy, will stumble a bit, grumble a bit but will step into a space of your own…
Like a butterfly, breaks and struggles and carefully sets himself free to find
That the world and its relationships have to be redefined-
your journey has just begun…
Is the steering wheel in your hand? Or does another person still hold the wheel steady?
All I will do is – leave you with your glad smile as you gracefully move forward, I will gather together those wonderful memories in pile.
Our destined goal will be moving apart, each to their beautiful place to be and to become- we will reconcile and trust in Fate.
We shall not protest or regret or worry about what we will miss.
We will gently slip slide into our new roles, letting go, so that a new freshness can blow in like, a spring breeze fragrant, with alluring dreams of tomorrow.
We will both take an oath, not to glance, back but carry with us ,
All memories pleasant, sweet and fruitful; Let’s pack it all triumphantly in our treasure chest and sack.
This chance meeting, an awakening of emotions and thoughts, is but a moment in time –
Yet it sets the pace of the journey.
we will embrace the present, step into the future with compassion and leave the dark shadows of fear and unhappiness as another’s past!
(Right from a mother’s heart)
Meena Mishra
In this circle reeking of viciousness
Neither is there a beginning
Nor an end
For eons I have been running through this
Ages still will I sweat….
Knocking at my door from morn till dusk
Anguish, pain, anger and regret.
No deity grants my wish to forget
This uninvited feeling, an unwanted guest
Have I not tried to escape this?
Is being caged my real wish?
Why am I chasing a mirage?
Why can’t my mind’s vehicle find way to its garage?
Where is my guarded vanity?
Have I lost…my sanity?
An award-winning author, poet, short-story writer, social worker, novelist, educator and a publisher, are some of the words which describe Ms. Meena Mishra to whom The Impish Lass Publishing House owes its existence. Her poems, stories, and book-reviews have been published in many international journals and she is a recipient of several prestigious awards as well. Besides being an active member of Mumbai English Educators’ Team, in accordance to the request of the Education Department of Maharashtra she is also a part of The Review Committee for their new English text book. She has been working as the II International Coordinator for British Council activities for more than 11 years.
Meena Mishra has judged several illustrious and popular literary competitions and festivals notably the Lit fest. of IIT Bombay and the NM college fest., of which she is one of the sponsors now. She is also a regular panelist for various literary and educational platforms like the Asian Literary Society. Her poems are published in several magazines including the prestigious periodical Woman’s Era. They have been translated and published in Spanish magazines as well. She has been a contributing author and poet for more than 200 books. Her books include The Impish Lass, Emociones Infinitas, Within the Cocoon of Love and The Impish Lass Book 2. Her latest book – The Impish Lass Book 2 (TIL Stories and More) has received rave reviews from its readers including the highly distinguished Indian nuclear scientist Padma Vibhushan Dr. R. Chidambaram. It has achieved a remarkable five-star rating on Amazon. Ms. Mishra has received high acclaim from esteemed newspapers like The Times of India and Mid-Day. Her articles have been featured in The Times of India ‘NIE’ and in ‘Brainfeed Higher Education Plus’ a leading educational magazine of the country.
She has been a guest speaker on ‘Sony TV’ for their first episode of ‘Zindagi Ke Crossroads,’ based on the needs of differently abled children. She was invited to express her views on the special episode of ‘AajTak’ featuring the PMC Bank scam victims. Ms. Meena Mishra is the proud recipient of multitudinous awards in 2020-21 for her contribution to the field of education and literature. Some of them are the ‘Vishwa Shikshavid Samman 2020,’ Appreciation Certificate for Support Covid-19 challenges in education by Government of Maharashtra, ‘Regional Academic Authority Mumbai,’ ‘Pathbreaker of the Year Award,’ by Harper Collins, ‘Acharya Chanakya Shikshavid Samman 2020,’ for valuable contribution to empower the society, ‘Nation Builder Award,’ Super 30 Teacher nomination by IB Hub, ‘Most Outstanding Teacher of the Year’ award during World Education Summit in February 2021. She is the winner of the ‘Womennovator Award’ as well as ‘1000 Women of Asia Award,’ given in association with the Indian Ministry of Electronics and Information technology. She has been nominated for the ‘2021 ELTons Outstanding Achievement Award,’ by the British Council. Ms. Mishra is currently a member of the Maharashtra Women’s Indian Chamber of Commerce and Industry (Special Needs). Her poem ‘Smile a Lot’ has been chosen as an unseen poem for the LL student’s workbook by State Council of Educational Research & Training (SCERT), Maharashtra. ‘The Impish Lass’ SSC EDU Warriors,’ is her latest initiative for improving the standard of English in SSC schools across Maharashtra. Her book “The Impish Lass -Book 2,” was published as a research paper in American Research Journal of English and Literature under the title- Meena Mishra’s The Impish Lass Book 2 – A Study of Socio- Cultural Issues in India.
Pitter-Patter…intensely heard
after long days of dust and heat.
Rain-kissed grass and leaves sway in joy,
moist with sobs, my vision is blurred.
Trotting home with cows, the cowherd
leaps over puddles on the street,
spots children dancing without coy.
Adults soon join; child in them stirred.
The cowboy halts; with him, his herd.
The group flashes a smile so sweet
Simple joys for the hoi polloi…
Fog in mind clears, my heart is spurred.
Hema Ravi is a poet, author, reviewer, editor (Efflorescence), independent researcher and resource person for language development courses... Her writings have been featured in several online and international print journals, notable among them being Metverse Muse, Amaravati Poetic Prism, International Writers Journal (USA), Culture and Quest (ISISAR), Setu Bilingual, INNSAEI journal and Science Shore Magazine. Her write ups and poems have won prizes in competitions.
She is the recipient of the Distinguished Writer International Award for excellence in Literature for securing the ninth place in the 7th Bharat Award, conducted by www.poesisonline.com. In addition, she has been awarded a ‘Certificate of Appreciation’ for her literary contributions by the Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips on the occasion of the 74th Independence Day (2020) and again. conferred with the ‘Order of Shakespeare Medal’ for her writing merit conforming to global standards.(2021). She is the recipient of cash prizes from the Pratilipi group, having secured the fourth place in the Radio Romeo Contest (2021), the sixth place in the Retelling of Fairy Tales (2021), the first prize in the Word Cloud competition (2020) and in the Children’s Day Special Contest (2020). She scripted, edited, and presented radio lessons on the Kalpakkam Community Radio titled 'Everyday English with Hema,' (2020) a series of lessons for learners to hone their language skills. Science Shore Magazine has been featuring her visual audios titled ‘English Errors of Indian Students.’
A brief stint in the Central Government, then as a teacher of English and Hindi for over two decades, Hema Ravi is currently freelancer for IELTS and Communicative English. With students ranging from 4 to 70, Hema is at ease with any age group, pursues her career and passion with great ease and comfort. As the Secretary of the Chennai Poets’ Circle, Chennai, she empowers the young and the not so young to unleash their creative potential efficiently.
BEFORE THE COFFEE GETS COLD...
To knock the doors of my Yesterdays
Enter in hope, change moments, people, years…
That erases all the “if only” sighs of my present
To curiously visit my tomorrows
Design, chisel each day, a whole decade with love
That would make fairy lights glow in my heart...
Oh but I do not know
How life would treat me, when past is a dream
Future, a mirage, an opaque curtain
But NOW, this moment is true
Before the coffee gets cold
Let me plant poetry, water my grateful tears
Grow, evolve, heal through words…
I shall tell those who need to hear
“Before the coffee gets cold
Make a list of all that you love
Relish the aroma of your dreams
Land in love with the NOW
Sip the coffee, looking at the mirror
Say aloud with a smile, “I love you”
Spread your wings. Fly.”
A bilingual poet-writer(Tamil, English), Madhumathi. H is an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry, Photography, Music. Her poems are published in Anthologies of The Poetry Society(India), CPC- Chennai Poetry Circle's EFFLORESCENCE, IPC's(India Poetry Circle) Madras Hues Myriad Views, Amaravati Poetic Prism 2015, and in e-zines UGC approved Muse India, IWJ - International Writers Journal, Positive Vibes - LiteraryVibes, Storizen, Science Shore, OPA – Our Poetry Archives. e-Anthologies Monsoon moods - Muse India, Green Awakenings - On Environment, by Kavya-Adisakrit.
Ignite Poetry, Breathe Poetry, Dream Poetry, Soul shores that have 10 of her poems published, Soul Serenade, Shades of Love-AIFEST, Arising from the dust, Painting Dreams, Shards of unsung Poesies, are some of the Anthologies her poems, and write ups are part of. (2020 to 2022). Besides Poetry, Madhumathi writes on Mental health, to create awareness, break the stigma, believing in the therapeutic, transformational power of words. Contact: madhumathi.poetry@gmail.com :: Blogs: https://madhumathipoetry.wordpress.com :: http://madhumathikavidhaigal.blogspot.com/?m=1
Fern it was that first smiled at my tender touch
That spread within its spores, within its core.
I guess it liked my friendly looks
Its rich foliage adorned a glowing environ
Thickset leaves formed a green symmetry
Unpolluted clouds and clear blue sky
Uplifted my sanity. I merged:
Know not for how long was in this reverie...
Soaring higher with energy in a game
That faithless hearts can hardly fathom...
Life eternal is here, in this eerie little silence
In this compliance, this natural balance
Where peace is within the mortal reach
Where sun is so sportive and air unrestrictive
Where leaves and flowers are not restive
It is ‘not only of ferns dancing in the wind’
That my touch resonates; I feel the vernal pulse
I feel the vibrance in each inner impulse...
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.
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
The regular fish vendor
roams our village lanes,
a married woman, wearing a spot
of Kumkum on forehead, bangles on wrists.
She is nameless to villagers,
except her identity as Kata-ma’
(the mother of Kata), an inviolable tie
binding her motherhood to the fore.
Kata-ma’s cry, “Would you like
a piece of delicious Hilsa?”
slices the silence like an assurance
to our village, to its stolid serenity.
Another vendor, Anadi, follows suit,
not as frequent, selling assortment
of goods - peacock feathers, Kumkum
and other tidbits; a reassurance for our quiet life.
The childhood is cherished, celebrated
in the village’s warm motherly lap;
grows losing the count of time, birds
nest in trees, monsoons visit routinely.
I recall bothering my mother for this and that.
One restful afternoon; she, was cross
with me; pushed me out of her lap,
“Don’t harass me, you lucky son of a bitch.”
If she said it tongue-in-cheek,
it escaped my kiddish notice. Continued,
“Not my son, you little lucky brute,
I found you lying by the river bank
where your bitch of a mother
had dumped you.” My heart broke
to bits to see my village aunts
join her with tch…tch…shaking heads;
I looked out for sympathizers to dispel
my doubt, but our little calf jumped
and ran around with joy to join
the crow, “Yes, son of a bitch, right.”
Gecko on the wall also agreed, “Tick tick.
That’s right, that’s right, you, lucky son of…”
My own Barbie Doll turned her face from me,
even a cicada scurried away into the cesspit.
The words surrounded me, its curse
laying a siege to my loveless air,
like a motherless kid in an alien village
marooned by non-stop rain;
worse than a wood-worm-eaten
discarded bullock-cart
left to rot in a dump
among unwanted odds and ends.
(Mythical Prince Karna, born to unmarried Kunti, abandoned by her, was luckily found and brought up by lowborn Radha and Adhiratha, a charioteer. Though restored to power and pelf as a royal born, by Duryodhana as his vasal king of Anga Desha, but always teased by other royal born princes as Sutputra, the son of a charioteer.)
Poet Hrushikesh Mallick is solidly entrenched in Odia literature as a language teacher in various colleges and universities, and as a prolific poet and writer with ten books of poems, two books of child-literature, two collections of short stories, five volumes of collected works of his literary essays and critical expositions; besides he has edited an anthology of poems written by post-eighties’ Odia poets of the last century, has translated the iconic Gitanjali of Rabindranath Tagore into Odia; and often keeps writing literary columns in various reputed Odia dailies. He has been honoured with a bevy of literary awards including Odisha Sahitya Akademi, 1988; Biraja Samman, 2002; and Sharala Puraskar, 2016. He writes in a commanding rustic voice, mildly critical, sharply ironic that suits his reflections on the underdogs and dregs of the society.
ONLY FOR YOUR SUBLIME PRESENCE (TAME ACHHA BOLI)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra)
Your sublime absence,
my seasons celebrate its mystique;
I miss you, your quiet company,
a lotus missing its water world.
God, scriptures, and venerations
lose their significance;
I suffer from ‘rift in the lute’
in walks of a solitary life.
Nightmares disappear from my sleep,
my cool is not encroached upon
by rage, lightness of the unbearable,
alluvium going arid without you.
Your muted presence creates an aura,
love doesn’t ferment, but indifference at bay,
ordinary acts look gloriously tinted,
the dark wears a dazzle.
It gives me a surge of joy,
a school child’s pleasure on hearing
the school’s last bell; my love for you
does not singe, rather gets burnished by your fire.
The inert dolls
play in obedience for my joy,
the flowers appear to bloom
for my basket only.
Come back dear, step into my boudoir,
let us adorn the night with stars,
let our love, persistent and demanding,
bring smiles, not sighs of regret.
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.
I’m an enthusiastic and eager gypsy
I cross the green valleys, hills, and seas
Filling a delicious plate is my goal
Satisfying family is my first role!
I dare not dreadful weather or hurdles
I wish not for a lavish life either
Challenging circles, I do travel
I am a continuous bread earner!
As a constant discoverer, I find ways
I travel the orbit where people meet
I wander around unspecified regions,
where I find cordiality between strangers!
I often see the unknown nationalities
Some secret folks seldom follow me
I know not everyone whom I meet
I am a wayfarer who searches for peace!
In this constant journey of life
I come across a diverse unfamiliar mob
Some of them identify me as a friend
And some quote that ‘I am a mentor’!
I can feel the generosity among beings
Am I reachable to every friend I have?
Yes, I do! Technology is a blessing now
Communication is the connecting key!
They reach me online and offline
We made only one strong principle
That we love and know each other
Through the thread of friendship!
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
[Photo collage by seethaa Sethuraman, of their Car, lovingly called “Beige Harmony” (her colour)]
She came into our lives over 12 years back,
She brought along joy and excitement in her(our) tracks.
Her presence was always comforting, beside our home,
She got drenched in the rains and in the sun, she shone.
She revved in our happiness and jumped on the road joyfully,
She mellowed in our sadness and quietly moved in melancholy.
She smelt of sweet citrus fragrance that was fresh and soothing,
She exuded piety while returning from a Siddhi Vinayak temple outing.
She became scary while travelling on a speeding highway,
That made me literally dig-my-heels into the mat and look away.
She seemed corporately purposeful when riding for a client meeting,
And came back brimming with ideas for a market research designing.
She was cool and breezy most of the times,
But unexpectedly, turned hot and sweaty suddenly, dusty and grime.
Maybe, she was upset with her infrequent use,
And, decided to trouble us a bit and sometimes more, losing her fuse.
And then, one day, she rode away quietly without any fuss,
Leaving us in tears and in utter emotional mess.
Our car was a dear friend that we will always miss,
But, we will hold her unending memories dearly, with loving bliss.
Tight hugs and loads of kisses, darling "Beige Harmony",
Thank you for wonderfully riding along with us in our life's journey.
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.
Existence is
Cut like sympathy
A soft cord disconnecting
Us into the world
First cry first smile first word
First fall
No recollection
Yet we lie knees to the head every night
As one complicated curve
Weighing upon earth
Heaving
Today and every day
Like a knotted mass of memories
I like the way
Someone steals
The logic in my dreams
The way I float
The musicians who
Play compositions made just for me
How the many homes
I’ve left come back to life
When I am a kid with a grown up’s
Intelligence and knowledge
Simultaneously
Yet
What is so annoying
Is that I have to pop up
Practical
To the day of dry logic nevertheless
Like a vanished rabbit
Back again in the magician’s hat
Every single time.
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.
I am cursed
To be born a woman.
You disrobed me
Paraded me naked
Assaulted me
Raped me
In broad daylight
I have nothing to say !
My eyes are dry
My vessels too
My lips are tight
I can’t cry
I can’t shout
I can’t ooze blood.
Leave me to pray
Silently tonight.
Oh God
Forgive these brutes
They don’t know
Their sins.
Mr. Pradeep Biswal is a bilingual poet writing both in Odia and English. His poems are widely anthologized. He is also an editor and translator of repute. A retired IAS Officer, Mr. Biswal presently holds the position of Member, Odisha Real Estate Regulatory Authority and stays with his family at Bhubaneswar. Views are Personal
"Dear soul!
all this while
I have not been fair enough
knowing well, you are part of me
I let you bleed within
left you alone
to deal with fretting worries
and unsurmountable suffering
My sincere apologies
for all the travesty of justice
Instead of swaddling you
in layers of insulation,
I exposed your frail frame
to the vagaries of the universe
heaped abuse on you
when you deserved a kind gesture
How could I be so cold and callous,
that I could not see my own flaws?
I know a soul waits to pick a body
but my ego prompted me
to evade such lofty thought
and act otherwise
I have wronged you many times,
have been ruthless and encroaching
forgive me one more time
let me emerge conscientious and wise
accord you your deserving position
since has been relegated to yore
grant one last chance if not more
I plead and implore
before the emphatic full stop
takes its toll."
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.
Incessant rains
Water clogging in every drain
Impossible to step out
Does anyone need help?shout out!!
No sounds of chirping birds
As to their nests they return
Earth carpeted in green foliage
No flowers, No butterflies, No bumble bees...all camouflage
Oh you gloomy weather!!
Unable to bond with one another
Over a brewing cup of tea or coffee,
I want my coffee frothy
With some crunchy caramalised toffee.
Plenty of wet laundry
Every now and then they haunt me
Like thorns on a broken tree.
Pets pawfect with their raincoats
Wish I could take him for walks on a boat
With a cap and safety shoes,please note.
Sky silver grey
Dark doorways
Pitter patter raindrops splashing and gliding on glass windows
Let the rains wash away my tears
Carry along with them my fears
No glittering stars at night
No sun shining yellow and bright
Waiting for flowers to bloom and dance with life anew
Sky soon will be blue
Touching my soul so true
Full of mirth and new hopes
As I climb every slope.
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)
Battling with an unhealthy body is complicated or battling with a turmoiled mind?
It's easy to get lost in a sea of darkness,
Suicidal thoughts,crossed her mind many times,
But an army of love was parading in front of her,
What would have happened to them if she was gone?
That quivering thought prepared her to walk through hell and back,
And she came out like a warrior
With powerful swords.
The world may be indifferent, insanely ignorant,
Only she knows the demons she fought to meet life eye to eye again,
For she's that promise of endless adventures.
She blazes with a ferocity like none ,
She can only be touched by hands unafraid to burn.
She is not just a flame,she's a bonfire,
Judge her if you can,but remember
Everyone has a story to tell,
Some are written in the books and
Some are confined to hearts.
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.
The forest is mutely mystique,
Dark for half a mile,
A racy ray pushes a teak,
Like a sparkling smile:
Like that, smile though short,
Shelled yet pearly when seen,
Pushes a wall to naught,
That stands tall in between!
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.
I see a lot of words unuttered hanging in the corner of the dining hall!
In them, there may be previous pains of creation and warmth of closeness acquired.
Unfathomable love mingled with indescribable intuitions
Hidden.
When the ink pen prepares to arrange the words, they slipped and seem to be vanished.
Trying to catch hold may be a futile attempt as they have learned habit of hide and seek well!
Poetry allure and allow to go along with it, to a distant vicinity.
Darkness spread there is
not a reality, but, it itself compels to make darkness and
makes us remaining under it.
******
Take the candle first and then continue the talk...
Words will come with humanist verdict....
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.
Standing on the shore,
Staring beyond the yore,
Stood she , tall and dull,
Waiting for the float.
Water,water everywhere,
Blue shades painted fair;
Foams in creamy white,
As linen washed bright.
Her lips and skin parched
In scorching sun as it burned.
Heaps of haystack,
Bundles of wood in stock,
Dirty bunk of clothes,
Were tied in locks.
A bridge on this edge,
Connecting her folks home,
Her wish was, Alas!
Many struggles apart,
None served in past.
Long journey turbulent,
Was with the boat at last.
Dreams she had wanted,
To walk above the waters,
Proudly on the ramp,
Like a winning champ.
A glimpse of the weary yacht,
Swept the winds across;
Swiftly, she picked her chores,
Hard pressed to hold in her bosom.
A dawn wouldn't it be?
When logs locked in ties,
In long rows bond tight.
To make both ends meet,
Bringing families to greet,
All they needed was a bridge,
Roping the twin villages abridge.
Vidhya Anand is an enterprising woman with a successful career in Training and development for almost two decades, she has been providing quality training in communication skills and other soft skill programs in leading IT and non-IT companies. She has conducted career guidance programs to young college students in chiselling their future towards their goals in profession
Her forte in style and accentuation, has catered to be a talented voice and accent neutralization expert during cross cultural training sessions. She has been an influential speaker and anchor in social and welfare workshops on special needs children and their wellbeing. She has been a passionate writer penning down poems and articles for magazines too. Her role as a persevering mother of an autistic boy has all along been driving him towards progress and positivity in his life. Words and expressions are rooted in her personal anecdotes and narratives, fresh from her own perspective.
Shine like a star
Smile like a moon
My world surrounds you,
O' dear Sister
In the lullabies of night and
weary afternoon.
You are my healing potion
Pills of crazy imagination
Travelling into the deepest emotions
You always smile at me listening to my annoying questions.
Together we spend hours after hour Laughing with one another
Swinging tales of joy and sorrow
Smiling together; life becomes yarrow.
Song on a lyrical guitar
You seem to be a beautiful flower
Your eyes speak so much
With sweetness of the sweet nectar.
Simplicity is your ornament
Kind is your heart
But never leave me alone
Fallen apart.
Be my paint brush with colours of joy
And I will be your canvas with happiness to enjoy
Painting memories that will never fade Rejoicing every moments,
decades after decade.
TO SISTER BAISHAKHI
Soumen Roy
Smiling face
With lots of grace
Joy of my heart
Blooming with happiness in every corners of earth .
O,'Sister you are a blessing on earth
Sublime persona,a beautiful craft
You always take a stand for every good reason
You are not only my pride but a glory in entire creation.
You are my heaven;a song love laden
An affectionate tale of love far beyond imagination
The never ending flow in caring notion
Sweetest of all divine in creation .
Due of affection with love
and concern
Sensible book and so
many to learn
You gave me so much and expect
nothing in return
Reason of my smile with
lots of fun .
You are my sunshine
You are my moon
You are the drizzling
smile
A song of delight in
every monsoon.
With metaphors of spring you
adore every season
Love you the way you are,you're everyones
beloved person
Together we rest in
each other
I feel so blessed to have you,
oh dear Sister
TO MY SISTER SUZANNE
Soumen Roy
Shine of sun
Song of my heart
You got the sweetest smile, O'Sister
Decor of my vase.
Colours of rainbow
Joy of my heart
You are my chocolate Cadbury
Sweetest of the desserts.
You are my pride
Together we laughed and cried
Ocean of love and care
Nobody is as beautiful as my loving Sister.
Together we are friends forever
I am the wings and you are my feather
How do I fly alone?
A river without water!!
I feel so blessed to have you, oh dear Sister
Always keep smiling
Remember, I do breathe within
Decor of every season
May it be a summer or adorable spring.
Soumen Roy is a professional writer, best selling author and a tri-lingual poet. He has been vasty anthologized. His novel and poetry books have been part of International Kolkata Book Fair as well as Newtown book fair. He is the receiptent of Laureate Award 2022 along with many others. His poetry has been a part of international poetry festival 2017 and Panaroma international Literature festival 2023. He has published in different newspapers, magazines and web portals. He has been part of a web series named Showstopperzz, a cinema for a cause. He loves photography, painting and music.
No taste on earth is universal.
No value whatsoever is acceptable to all.
When there is some sweet nothing,
They call it lovely, and if unintelligible,
The interest becomes scholarly.
An ill-organized ornate obscurity is seen
As something new and original
To be circulated in a quality circle,
Much to the joy of some celebrities
Who anxiously wait to lavish recognition
On whom they think to be
Such a new poet with a distinct voice,
Deserving all honour and space of choice.
A small act
Of love
And good will,
However thin
It maybe
Like a fuse,
Bridges
The gap
And is
Of much use.
Peace cannot be snatched away or won
By making others unhappy and scared;
It is cultivated in the mind and shared.
The more we hate and cause pain,
The poorer we become and burn.
So let us not be carried away
By intolerance and the brute force
To trigger off terror and vengeance.
The language of terror, ill will prompts,
Doesn’t make a people great or prosperous.
Bigotry begets ill will, ill-feeling.
What do we offer people by such distance
And at what price, if we deny them grace,
If we deny them peace and justice?
Hungry millions don’t need much deviation,
Nor can they be fed on bombs or guns.
All that they want is rain and grain,
And the smile of their children
On the good earth’s green,
Where in delight they can be seen.
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.
EMBROIDERY, THE PERFECT PROFESSION!
I took poetry as a passion ,but making it look like a profession ,
You took care of embroidery,
A wall of food security so that we don’t wail!
You planned the clothes for the baby
Before he or she was born,
And decorated them to the fullest joy and satisfaction of yours,
To match the baby’s smile with that of yours,
With the same rhythm and rapture !
I was a fugitive in pursuit of so-called scientific knowledge ,
Research or a search for the Truth,
Unlike Budha the Great to find answers to all the evils and ills,
The so-called root causes and permanent solutions,
But finding answers to mundane things
Answers to issues of here and now,
High and low politics were subsumed under that,
But you enjoyed the pain and pleasure of creation,
Nurtured it with heart's full , face to face,
With cares and caresses
I finally found all my findings were in vain,
The answers were there with you in your own world
The laboratory you were engaged in,
You worked well and wished well of all,
And consecrated yourself to the tasks at hand,
So you did the right experiment in research in home laboratory,
Did an applied research too all the time ,
You were the first to know and execute the happiness index!
Your profession and my profession were worlds apart
You lived in your world of happiness and content
I lived in a world of agony and anxiety
I , a wanderer, tried to understand the world,
Had a vanity of scholarship
Now I recollect your embroidery
To decorate the child, your meticulous handiwork
And finally, both looking in awe and wonder
Both seeing and enjoying the two great worlds!
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.
AUGUST MORNING WHISPERS IN MY EARS
August morning whispers your name
In my ears,
I wake up with a smile,
The fragrance of a new day touches me deep
Your soft presence in the honey soaked morning
Feels my breath.
Happy sun peeps into my room
I open my windows
To the world outside,
Is that you calling me across the fields of gladiolus?
My sky spills colour into the crystal waters of the lake,
Reflection of candy-floss clouds tickles my senses,
Nature hides nothing,
There's no secret,
Heaven and earth merged without any awkwardness,
They are lost in each other's embrace.
I blow my pain, my sufferings in the air,
This new day comes with the tag, "a new beginning,"
I surrender
To the music that only my ears can hear,
Darkness can't suffocate me,
Can't choke my voice ever,
All that is old and stereotypical can be dropped in a washing machine
They come out clean and as good as new,
I welcome my August morning into my courtyard,
Your name still echos across the valley,
After a tired day
The sun slowly hides behind the hills
I stay patient for it
To come back tomorrow again
And give me a new start, a new beginning.
Nandini Mitra is a poet based in Kolkata. A post- graduate in English Literature from Jadavpur University. 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. 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 life and the diversities of nature. Her poems have featured in various national and international anthologies.
Cavorting with clouds
I surge past winds and gales
on the wings of poesy
for a glimpse of your visage secluded in the sun drenched land,
fly fast in the highway of sky.
Your face glistens,
eyes dazzle like diamonds,
lost dreams caress your limbs languidly,
you struggle to banish their contours from your presence
or permanently defer.
Tiny butterflies hover,
let them sing their songs and vanish,
joyous hearts watch them for a while,
linger,
carnival or disaster are but
shadows of mind.
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.
My mini Van Gogh
Did we meet on a starry, starry night?
Or a bright day light
I don’t remember too well
Years passed in a jiffy
And I’m here left without your physical presence
I always call you as my child
Naughty and unruly
Clinging to the mother
Throwing tantrums
I know you too well
That I could read the silence
A rare sight though!
Your endless outpouring words
I listen patiently
To ease you from your pains
You needed no solution
Just a listening ear!
Colours acted as potions
Soothing your system
Hues acting as a pain balm
Alleviating agonies
The new normal treasure
Is the mobile
Will anyone trust others
Fingerprint
In their mobiles!!!
Yours had Mine!
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”.
BOATS WAITING AT SUNRISE
Prof.Dr.Sidhartha Das
In ecstatic beauty of morning, sun smiles on the horizon,
Blue hue of the sea looks up to welcome.
The sand at a distance, waits for the boatman,
Rope is perplexed, why my boat is in the sand ?
The boats made of wood were trees one day,
They also used to love the dawn of May.
Where's is the rush to float on and far ?
Want to relish the beauty of the golden rays.
We grew tall and hefty to be chopped by you,
Sliced us to planks for your benefit true.
Oh human beings, we don't lament for our state,
Born to serve without anguish or rage.
Enjoy the splendid picture that nature has gifted,
Life will go on as long as earth rotates.
Prof. Dr. Sidhartha Das is a renowned Medicine Specialist and Diabetologist of Odisha. He retired as Principal of the SCB Medical College, Cuttack. He is a recipient of many awards including Life Times Contribution Award (2014), Madras Diabetes Research Foundation, Life Time Achievement Award (2019), Research Trust of Diabetes India, Distinguished Services Award (2019), Research Society for Study of Diabetes in India. He has been, among other things, the Chairman of the Association of Physicians in India, Odisha Branch (2011) and Vice President, Diabetes India, and a Medical Expert for the Odisha Human Roghts Commission (2010-19). He lives in Cuttack and is passionate about literature, reading and writing poems and anecdotal stories.
The voice came as a whisper,
Travelling a long way
Over a vast expanse of time
Across the wide valleys,
The sprawling meadows.
And the unknown deserts.
Touching the snowy mountains
And the blue tranquil seas.
The rippling lakes
And the wild forests.
Laden with dew drops
From the soft, green grass,
And the shining ringlets,
gathered from white mists.
The humming air added a music to it
The floating clouds a serene touch
The rustling leaves a gentle tremble
The swaying flowers a bright smile.
As the footsteps receded slowly
And darkness descended in stony silence
The voice sat on me like an old beloved
Singing a soothing rhyme,
a sweet song from the past,
A shadow dancing to a happy rhythm.
And I got ready to leave in peace,
Walking hand in hand with the voice.
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 . Four collections of his short stories in English have been published under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali, A Train to Kolkata, Anjie, Pat and India's Poor, The Fourth Monkey. 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
BOOK REVIEW
Book Description
————————————
"Resilient Leaf" is not just an embodiment of a bond that human shares with the nature but is a solemn tribute to the botanical world. This book brings out the quintessential wisdom, the personified speaking tree, whose resilient leaf imprints a bold statement. It inspires to be a giver; making life minimalistic, simple, yet powerful.
Thus, life spreads its own unique fragrance of emotions. Nature is simply amplified as its beauty elaborately unfolds. Also, the human feelings have been brought out by writer as felt. Fearlessness enables stability to sustain in adverse circumstances. In nature, we often notice this when a pair of tender green leaves seem to grow from nowhere. A seed embedded in a precarious place, finds a niche to germinate even though covered by a surface of hard concrete.
Negativity finds a way to transform to positivity with wisdom, hope and love. A leaf when falls down mingles with the earth ultimately to be part of a rich compost. The indomitable human values inspire generations after generations to enrich our lives on earth and make it a better place to live in.
Bellow are glimpses of 4 of 67 poems of the book
A Puzzled Thought
*********************
I long to go to the wild
in my imagination
where you sit on the bank of the river side every evening where the wild flowers bloom, Up and above in the sky
the thin floating cloud plays hide and seek with the beaming moon....1
I am cheerful but restless
I long to see your smiling face I shall look over and over again till I find you,
I love to be lost
on the circuitous path until I find me with you....2
Foot Prints of a Brave Heart
****************************
You were in pain but bore
a faint line of smile on your face, I quietly concealed my tears and buried pain
in my heart.....1
I douched the stirring flames of sadness and sorrow inside me by liquid drops flowing from a mass of half frozen tear, That melted day and night by anguish of fire......2
Many a times
I rather did not look at you taking off my eyes away,
Lest you could feel mine
and your smile
will go away......3
Power of Vision
****************
I can feel the pulse of whole universe, when I gaze at a star in a clear night sky....1.
I can see the wonder of underwater beauties, when I lift a single shell onto my palm
at the white golden beach
of the sea....2
I can smell the sweet odour of the dust of those lived in past on our loving earth, while I hold few grains of sand
in my closed fist....3
I am complete,
when I peep into my soul in silence and see
the Divine light....4
Tides and Ripples
********************
Tides keep on rising high in the sea, The forces from far sea push them towards the shore to dash and break, The ongoing play of energy building and dissipating is natural,
we behold the beauty
of what we see...1
The high tides become low
and we can see ripples, Which mingles into
oneness of vast water body
that is made up of
tiny drops of
water molecules .......2
Rekha Mohanty is an alumni of SCB Medical College.She worked in Himachal Pradesh State Govt as a medical Officer and in unit of Para military Assam Rifles before joining Army Medical Corps.She worked in various Peace locations all over India and Field formations in High Altitudes.She was awarded service medal for her participation in Op Vijay in Kargil.She is post graduate in Hospital Management and has done commendable job in inventory management of busy 1030 bedded Army Base Hospital ,Delhi Cantonment for six years and offered Sena Medal and selected for UN Mission in Africa.After the service in uniform she worked in Ex Service Men Polyclinic in Delhi NCR till 2021.She writes short stories and poems both in English and Odia as a hobby and mostly on nature.Being a frequent traveler,she writes on places.She helps in educating on health matters in a NGO that works for women upliftment.As an animal lover she is involved in rehabilitation of injured stray dogs.
She lives mostly outside the state and visits Bhubaneswar very often after retirement.She likes to read non political articles of interest.She does honorary service for poor patients.
Author - Snehaprava Das
Snehaprava Das is a poet and translator of repute. Night of the Snake is her debut attempt in fiction writing. It proves her seriousness as a writer and the deftness in handling the characters and the themes. She is lucid in her language and vivid in her descriptions. The stories are woven around multiple subjects depicting the contemporary time in different dimensions. In her own words , a story could usher us into a world inhabited by real people of flesh and blood who breathe, laugh and cry, are genuine and fake, good and evil. We often meet these characters, living a life fraught with an amalgamation of shambolic emotions with whom we can connect, even identify ourselves. These lines set the tone of her genre of writing. She has endeavoured to study ‘the manifold aspects of human behaviour that appear normal in normal circumstances but can change inexplicably under pressure exercised either by the society or the people around us or by an inconceivably intriguing inner conscious.’ She has consciously chosen ‘characters who are pathetic victims of social injustice, poverty, superstition and a malignant destiny’. The canvas of her writing is therefore is carved out of her immediate surroundings and speaks of those she knows intimately.
The title story of the collection Night of the Snake revolves around the compulsions of poverty where a father paved way for the snakebite of his youngest daughter for the sake of getting government compensation and live better. It’s quite heart rendering to see the man sacrificing his love for the child for the compensation amount. The story A Fairy Tale is based on a girl rendered orphan in a cyclonic storm and the trauma she had to face afterwards in her life. The story Live Painting is about the fascination of the young girl yearning for a boat ride in a moonlit night and finally when her husband take her for a ride the boat had some snag in the sea to her horror and she fervently prayed to return to the shore and her fancied boat ride proved a horrible nightmare for her. Another story titled Shadow Circle speaks of the agony of a woman having few dark patches on her face who’s ignored by the family members leading her to a psychological disorder and finally a tragic death.
Most of the stories depict the crude realities of life on the face of a deceptive destiny. Man is treated as an innocent victim of the desires and destitution and there’s hardly any escape route except death. The writer has crafted the stories in their poignancy and captured the innate feelings of the characters in a very matured manner. Her magic touch has made each character close to the heart of the readers and they keep on haunting the mind for a while. That’s the secret of her success as a storyteller. Looking forward to seeing more and more of such stories presented to her readers in the future.
Mr. Pradeep Biswal is a bilingual poet writing both in Odia and English. His poems are widely anthologized. He is also an editor and translator of repute. A retired IAS Officer, Mr. Biswal presently holds the position of Member, Odisha Real Estate Regulatory Authority and stays with his family at Bhubaneswar. Views are Personal
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