Literary Vibes - Edition CXXXVI (29-Dec-2023) - POEMS & REVIEWS
Title : Snow Man (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 Friends,
I have great pleasure in wishing all of you a Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year. May your new year be full of the celebratory spirit that lights up the final week of this receding year. May you find joy and happiness in every little moment of the coming year. May your days be bright and the nights full of sweet dreams. May broad smiles spread the warmth of joy over you when you browse through the different editions of LiteraryVibes.
Here we are with yet another issue of LiteraryVibes, the 136th edition. It comes loaded with some very beautiful poems and enchanting stories. Hope you will enjoy them and forward the links to all your friends and contacts.
We are happy to welcome seven new members to the LV family - Ms. Runa Sriastava, an accomplished poet from Delhi, Mr. M.Annamalai, a veteran engineer-cum-writer from Chennai, Ms. Dolla Dutta Roy, a celebrated poet from Kolkata, Ms. Mayuri Ghorpade, a prolific poet from Mumbai, Mr. S. Anand, a young man from Kerala with great passion for literature and Mr. Shakti Sagar Srivastava. an enthusiastic, bright student from IIT Bhubaneswar. The pick of the week, however, is an extremely talented, cute girl - Aranya Patnaik from Ahmedabad - who has dazzled the Kid's Magic section with her collage of beautiful paintings and two short poems written at the age of four and six. All these new entrants have added a rare lustre to the present edition. Let us wish them tons of success in their professional and literary career.
Christmas always brings the spirit of extraordinary kindness and warmth to heart. It leaves us wondering if it is worth bickering over things, as small as a piece of land to big issues which drive countries to war. Human life is so precious, and it is so miserable to see lives wasted in meaningless fights! Let us hope 2024 will see an end to wars and the unnecessary waste of lives and properties.
Recently I came across a beautiful poem celebrating the spirit of Christmas. It's so joyful that i cannot resist sharing it with you:
The Christmas Coat
An old man fumbled around one day
In a women’s clothing store,
He’d found his wife a Christmas coat
And was headed for the door……
When he bumped into a little boy
That looked like he was lost,
And he said, “Mister, can you help me
Find out how much something costs?
Here it is almost Christmas
And the nights are gettin cold,
Winter time is on us
And my mom don’t have a coat,
"I’ve been workin' for the neighbors
And saving for some time...”
And in his tiny outstretched hand
Was a dollar and a dime.
The man's gaze went from that big-eyed boy
To that pretty Christmas coat,
And he finally cleared away the lump
That had gathered in his throat,
He said, “Son, that’s just what this coat costs;
We’re lucky that we found ‘er”
And he turned around and gave a wink
To the lady at the counter.
She put it in a pretty box
And wrapped it up just so,
And went off in the back and found
A big red Christmas bow,
The boy said, “I thank you for your help, sir
And I kindly thank you, ma’am;
I hope y’all are gonna have a big Christmas
"'Cause now I know I am!”
Well, the old man walked home busted
Except for the dollar and the dime,
Thinkin' he’d just have to buy
The coat another time.
He told his wife that Christmas that year
Wouldn’t be much fun,
And he gently took her in his arms
And told her what he’d done.
She said, “Why, you old softie,
I wouldn’t trade you for a farm,
I’ve got two or three old coats with me
And your love to keep me warm!“
She put that money in a matchbox
And placed it beneath their tree,
And said, “That's the grandest, sweetest gift
You’ve ever given me!”
The years went by, as years will do
When people are in love,
Their marriage was a golden bond
That was forged by God above;
Then one day came some bitter news
That filled his heart with fright
The doctor told the old man’s wife:
She was going to lose her sight!
He said, “There’s an operation we can do
But it puts me on the spot….
'Cause it’s quite a complex procedure
And it’s going to cost a lot!”
The old man said, “Doctor, I’m a failure
I’ve made no preparation……
We just don’t have the money
For that kind of operation!”
The doctor had the strangest look
And he sat there for a while,
And then he slowly nodded
And he broke out in a smile…..
He said “Why, sir, you can’t fool me,
You’re a very wealthy man!
You long ago invested
In the world’s best savings plan!”
I’ll see she gets the best of care
She’s going to be just fine!
And the total cost to you, old friend
Is a dollar and a dime.”
The old man stared in disbelief
Then he recognized that smile…..
The one he’d seen those years ago
On a loving, thoughtful child…..
The doctor said, “What you gave me that day
Was more than just a coat,
You gave me the gift of giving,
And you gave my mother hope!
My mother’d been mistreated
Neglected and abused,
But she gave life just one more chance
And it was all because of you!
Now every year, she takes that coat
And lays it beneath our tree,
It represents to us the things
That Christmas ought to be.
She says that when we leave this world
For a better home someday,
The only things that we’ll take with us
Are the things we gave away!”
(Courtesy: Internet, but my salute to the person who wrote it, wherever he is.)
What a lovely poem, so touching, so heart-warming! I wish it inspires all of us to bring smiles to many needy faces.
A new year marks the end of a year and the beginning of another. In a way it adds one more year to our life. But age is just a number, isn't it? Here is a beautiful piece, collected from internet:
Many people often ask :
“How old are you?”
I tell them - How can I answer this unfair question?
When I play with a little child, I am one year old
When I watch cartoons, I'm seven.
When I dance to the tune of music, I am Sweet Sixteen.
When I laugh with friends I am twenty, at the most thirty..
When I guide my children I am forty.
Yes, when I try to heal someone's wound, I'm sure I’ve crossed six decades of my life span...
And when I chat with butterflies, sparrows or bulbuls, or play with kids in the park, I become their age.
What is there in age? Isn't it just in the mind?
Like the light of the sun and the moon, and the flowing water in the rivers, or the softy blowing breeze, we are all ageless…..
I keep changing every moment, with time and with my experiences.
Days are marching towards night.
No doubt, whenever my sunset arrives, I shall hold on to it and be gone forever !!
Till then it’s not my age that matters.
What matters is how fully have I lived thus far !!
I found this piece quite inspiring. Let me wish for all of us that the new year will bring to us a lot of zest for life and awaken in us the true spirit of giving and sharing. We are going to give a lunch to the inmates of a local orphanage for the new year. You may do your bit in whatever way you may think proper.
Hope you will enjoy the offerings in LV136 and share them with all your friends and contacts through the following links:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/524 (Poems and Book Reviews)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/523 (Short Stories, Anecdotes and Travelogues)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/522 (Young Magic)
There is a medical related article by the prolific gynaecologist Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/520
There is also an interesting article on "Urbanization and Health Problems and Remedies" by Dr. Ashok K. Mahapatra, the eminent Neuro Surgeon at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/521
A happy reminder to all of you that 12 excellent ahort stories published in the Pooja Special of LiteraryVibes can be found at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/507
Hope you remember that all the 135 editions of LiteraryVibes can be accessed at https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Take care. Enjoy the winter with LiteraryVibes in your hand. Keep your spirit warm, waiting for the 137th edition of LiteraryVibes on 26th January, the Republic Day.
With warm regards.
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
WIFE
02) Haraprasad Das
GOD IN THE MOUNTAIN-PASS
03) Dilip Mohapatra
SHADOWS
04) Abani Udgata
HIS MID-SIXTIES
05) Jairam Seshadri
EVERYWOMAN - Part 19
06) Shakti Sagar Srivastav
SALMON SKIES
THE DOGMA
07) Runa Srivastava
LIVING ALONE.
THERE ARE WALLS, WE MAKE THE DOORS
08) Dola Dutta-Roy
I AM STRONGER THAN YESTERDAY
09) Annamalai M
TRANSIENT
NOT INTO ACCOUNTS
10) Mayuri R. Ghorpade
SOUL SISTER
11) Hema Ravi
CHRISTMAS WISH
12) Hrushikesh Mallick
DAK BUNGALOW - (DAAKBANGLAA)
13) Ravi Ranganathan
CONFESSIONS
14) Setaluri Padmavathi
LUCKY EYES
15) Leena Thampi
DISCOVER YOUR HERITAGE
16) Dr(Col)Rekha Mohanty
JINGLE BELL
17) Sujata Dash
LOOKING FOR ME
18) Avantika Singh
A ROCK FLOWER IS SHE
19) Arpita Priyadarsini
UNENDING DREAMS
20) Bipin Patsani
HOW DOES A LOTUS BLOOM?
WHY DO THINGS FALL APART?
21) Bhagaban Jayasingh
THE UNGRATEFUL
22) Soumen Roy
DREAM OF DESCENT DWELLING
23) Nandini Mitra
THIS IS THE BEGINNING NOT AN END
24) Sreechandra Banerjee
WISHING YOU INFINITE JOY IN THE NEW YEAR
AS THE YEAR COMES TO A CLOSE
25) Sudipta Mishra
UNLOVING LOVE, I FORGIVE FATE
THE SPIRIT OF LOVE
REINCARNATION
LIFE
26) Anjali Sahoo
LIFE TENDS TO BECOME
27) Dr Latha Chandran
THE BEAUTIFUL MOTHERS OF TOMORROW
28) Dr. Bidyut Prabha Gantayat
SET ME FREE
29) Ms Gargi Saha
INTROSPECTION
POSITIVITY
WOMAN
30) Ratan Ghosh
THEATRE
31) Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
ON THE PATH UNTRODDEN
32) Tamali Neogi
PROTEST PERSONIFIED
33) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE LONG NIGHT
BOOK REVIEW
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
“UNBRIDLED”, of Dilip Mohapatra
02) Niranjan Barik's 'Ode to Nature'
Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
RERUNS
DOUBLE TROUBLE
02) Snehaprava Das
THE NEW YEAR GIFT
03) Dilip Mohapatra
THE BOARDING PARTY
04) S. Anand
SIDDHARTHA
05) Ishwar Pati
DEATH BE NOT PROUD
06) LathaPrem Sakhya
INSANE PASSION
07) Hema Ravi
CHRISTMAS - TIME FOR GIFTS
08) Sreekumar T V
TALE OF A TAIL
09) Sujata Dash
YOU TOO BRUTUS
10) Gourang Charan Roul
BUSTING AN INTERNATIONAL DRUGS TRAFFIKING RACKET
11) Sukumaran C.V.
THE NIGHT-WALKS OF YORE
12) Bankim Chandra Tola
CRITICISM
13) Ashok Kumar Mishra
GANDHI MAHATMA’s ODISHA CONNECTION
14) Anasuya Panda
STORY OF THAT FURIOUS NIGHT
15) Seethaa Sethuraman
WRITE-UP
16) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY :
17) Sheena Rath
HUSHKOO
18) Sreechandra Banerjee
RAVANA MEETS SANTA
A LETTER TO MR SANTA CLAUS
19) Satish Pashine
RETIREMENT CHEERS!
20) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
A TRIP DOWN THE HERITAGE LANE
THE SILENT NIGHT AND A TRUNKFUL OF MEMORIES
Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Ms. Aranya Pattnaik
I SEE IT, I SEE IT
TURTLE STEPS
HER PAINTINGS
02) Anura Parida
THE TEA SELLER
03) Trishna Sahoo
THE SUNDAY MORNING
POEMS
(For all the resilient couples)
Let’s play a hand of rummy,
staking whatever is left between us.
You bet your pride, I my ego.
Shuffle and deal the inane cards
in a way that defeats us both,
sinking us to impossible togetherness.
Let us take a stroll,
stop at a hurtling tea-cart,
share a cup, half and half;
but share our stories in full,
not leaving even the insidious
or the ludicrous, the annoying dregs.
Let the memories pause;
we drudge ahead – dodging questions,
many, the answer is but one.
Let’s cry for all we have lost,
laugh off the few wins; rue the slips
that matter, also the immaterial ones.
Let’s make this evening worthwhile,
the day has passed etherized,
a tired dog hanging its hangdog tail.
Let’s die our deaths in our togetherness;
unsung, unheard, a patch of timid mimosa;
let a green shoot rise from our humus.
(From my forthcoming Book ‘THE LONE PILGRIM’)
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.
GOD IN THE MOUNTAIN-PASS (GHAATIRE ISHWARA)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K Mishra)
Rambling discussions
through the night
made us lose
the count of time.
Meanwhile, an unknown hand
had unsheathed a morning
like a shining knife
out of the hill’s waistband.
Yesterday, an unknown hand
had hurled a string of pearls,
in the shape of a constellation of stars,
over our village mustard field.
Our bus was now negotiating
a precarious riverbend.
Once again, uncannily
the selfsame hand
from its hideout,
staying out of sight,
helped us cross safely
the perilous mountain-pass!
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)”
Shadows are ageless
they don't develop wrinkles
nor do they bend down at the waist.
They don't crumble
nor do they need a crutch
to stand erect
and don't ever suffer
the vagaries of time.
They are nameless too
and have no colours
no caste nor creed
neither do they boast
of their pedigree nor breed.
They are happy and content
with their sameness
and for having no label nor any tag.
They are merciless
in their mission
of eclipsing whatever comes
in their way
and killing even
the tiniest spark of light
that might illuminate
the clouds of doubts they cast.
They are spineless
supple and insolent
and stubbornly silent.
They are attached to you
yet so distant and obstinate
and dictate their terms
not willing to leave you alone and
follow you from your womb to tomb.
They rise from the past
like a Phoenix from the embers
and are stuck with you for ever
like your Siamese twin
constantly reminding you of
your very existence
your very vulnerability.
And of your opacity.
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.
His evening sun goes behind
the trail of the returning cattle
down the hills and the forest.
Their steps fill the still air, guarded
by silence, the ruffled dust blown
softly by the gentle breeze stream
towards the creeping shadows.
Let us stop telling stories.
Stories are pebbles strewn
on the bed of the river as
we sit now looking at the sky.
Stories can wait, now that
the breeze shudders in
the rattle of strange steps
on the dry leaves withering
on the banks of the river.
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
She was pampered
She was cuddled
She was, from birth
Plied cream 'n roses
Cushions of comfort
She learned to discern
And value oneself
Demanding, as of right
From hoi polloi
From royalty
From her betrothed
From fealty
From those ridden
Roughshod
For entitlement.
In her own world
Mistress of her domain
Those around her
Let her antics
Continue unabated.
For her dues paid ... Supposedly.
And after all
Shr, the Elder now.
Maple syrupy
An inner wolf-snarl
Ticks off each day
With contained alarm.
For she well knows
Just raising her pitch
Stating alternate truths
And walls believe
The air stills, makes way
For her truths.
One day she will meet
One from shackles freed
From fear and un-beholden
Who budges not
From a sense of right
Only....
Only for her own faith
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 sky is salmon today
the clouds
vanilla
streaks of blueberry too
such are the days
when i search him
inside me
the four walls
are cream around me
just like my old school shirt
with ink stains of life
and mirth of youth
i locked the door
and became a hobbit
swam through seas
drunk some of them
that is my wisdom tooth
i say
it's a reunion
to be back today
old bilbo seeing
his frodo of yesterday
the skies are salmon today
the dogma
the dog
who rules
in rage of
a hot star
and in serenity
of the moon
blind faith
but faith
maybe the addiction
called humanity
like a bengali
leaving behind
some hunger
for an allegiance
in this cycle
practicality
is a blunt pencil
as the sharpener
is hoax
you think
you'll start it
all black and white
but vermilion
is long painted
there's always
a fine
a very fine river
down this path
where you
splash greatness
or drench in
fears
the guts
are just smilings
of a youth
the guts
are just afraids
of dark
dogma has
been a ganga
to me
dogma has
been a
piss across nile
to me
Shakti Sagar Srivastav is pursuing a master's degree at IIT Bhubaneswar, delves into the intricacies of Earth's climate system, exploring its evolution over time and the intricate interplay between the atmosphere and the ocean. Alongside his scientific pursuits, a profound passion for poetry resonates within him. With over 50 poems to his credit, he nurtures his literary inclinations amidst his academic endeavors. Notably, he contributed as an Assistant Writer to the acclaimed Crime and Mystery Flipkart Video Webseries, "Kaun Who Did It?", which garnered significant popularity, earning an IMDb rating of 7.2 across three seasons that he penned. His literary influences encompass a broad spectrum, with John Steinbeck's "Cannery Row" holding a special place as his favorite novel. Among poets, his admiration extends to the works of Charles Bukowski, Edgar Allan Poe, and Agha Shahid Ali.
The sounds I hear in my old house
Would even startle the scurrying mouse
First a rustle, then a swish
Makes me into the room rush
Seeing nothing untoward
I blame it on my imagination
Nights as I watch the television
I hear the creaking of the door
As if someone with prying hands
Wishes to open and enter within
Even the rattling of the window panes
And loud ticking of table clocks
Has filled my mind with total chaos.
Just as I start to settle down
More bolder than I really am
I hear the frou frou of a silk skirt
And dragging footsteps in flip flops
Coming in from the open terrace
As if a couple restlessly pacing.
How does one sleep in such a situation
When ears, forever perked to catch
Every sound in my quiet old house
And I keep peering into space
Believing an apparition will soon appear
THERE ARE WALLS, WE MAKE THE DOORS
I wore colours of the rainbow
It was my day, it was a new beginning
Never before have I felt this way
The dawn was before me, thenight long gone.
Now was it because I had wept enough
Like the tropical monsoons that refuse to cease
But finally gently falls the rain
The drizzle that happens to awaken new life.
Right then I dropped everything to move forward
Far from the melancholy that was eating into me
I debated, consoled, grew wise
Life happens to us just once.
Either I waste the life given us
Or make the most of opportunities coming my way
I chose the latter, I wished to respect this life given
Welcoming all possibilities that lay before me, making doors.
Runa Srivastava is a post graduate from Calcutta University. She has published two anthologies " Anchored: and "Rescued" and contributed to many national and international journals.She lives in Kolkata with her husband.
I'm stronger today than yesterday.
Believe me,
I can look in the eye of those
who've betrayed me mercilessly.
Slandered me,
And given me a rude dismissal
While I buried my hurt of being alienated
and forgave them
Ceaselessly.
Today,
Not anymore.
I'm stronger than yesterday
when I hear of deaths
in the deserts,
Mothers crying for their children
That never returned;
Of people dying of hunger, or pestilence,
Or even bombshells.
Yes, I look the other way today
To hide the fire in my eyes,
As I know my anger has
no more strength than the smoke
that rises from dying embers.
I'm stronger than yesterday
as I count my pennies
To make my stay secure on earth,
like the lingering shadows
That bend at every turn of the wheel,
encountering momentous
disquietude
with a feeble whimper.
Yes, I'm stronger than yesterday
and I can break into a song
that will echo our wounded anthems
at any given interval,
If ... necessary.
Born in Kolkata, I have had the privilege of being raised in a cosmopolitan environment embracing all cultures and beliefs. Graduating from Calcutta University with Honours in English Literature and then finishing my Master's in the same from Jadavpore University, I took up teaching as a profession.
My teaching experience extended to teaching English in Iran after which I moved to the USA for furthering my studies. Subsequently, I taught English Language at Claremont University in Southern California.Returning to India, I joined the world of Advertising with JWT, a leading Ad Agency in the country. Now that I'm retired, I pursue my passions like painting, writing fiction and poetry and have authored 3 books of fiction on social anomalies and human relationships.
Between
Grassy hedges
Flows the water to plants
Being splash’d by frogs and fish too blithe
As the
Minds that cheer thoughtless of life’s odd
At times of harvest soon where will go all
Where will go all
Those fun ?
Thresher
At its full swing
To separate the grain;
The hush and chaff thrown away alertly
As the
Uncanny pride of the upstart
And evils sprouting bummer
Are not reckoned
At all.
Annamalai M is from Erode in Tamil Nadu. Worked in the state electrical utility . Possesses master degree in English literature . Member of Chennai Poets circle . Had written poems in Tamil and in English. Fond of travel .
Amidst the chaos
I met you.
We never interacted though;
I felt some grace in you.
You were then
An innocent new.
People around interacted
& influenced you.
Their hidden agendas
you never knew.
They made you
a skapegoat
glorifying you.
You too were lost
easily by sugar coated wooes.
You gave your best
in your first assignment.
You were overwhelmed
by the fake importance
you received.
But, that was momentous
you couldn't believe
Only until
You faced that
humiliating scene.
Beware of such
fake friends my dear
who make you fool
using your talent.
Later they were ready
to ditch you soon.
Looking at their vicious plan
just thought of alerting you.
You acted wisely and
were saved from
those unnecessary scloldings.
Since then
we are the soul sisters.
And never forget
that whenever
you are in such
complicated situations
Your soul sister
is always there for you.
Just move ahead
and flaunt your talent
with a graceful gestures.
Mrs. Mayuri R. Ghorpade.is working as an Asst. Teacher in junior college section of Lala Lajpatrai College of Commerce and Economics, Mahalaxmi. Mumbai. Her area of specialization is Language Learning and Teaching. She has been in the field of education since last 13 years. Writing is her passion and she is passionate about growing in the field of linguistics as well as literature in near future. Apart from her passion she loves to listen to music.
After months of window shopping
Gazing at displays - eyes popping!
Christmas Gift.
With perseverance and passion
Baking with love and compassion
Christmas Cake.
Lights, baubles, tinsels and a star
Displaying gifts from near and far
Christmas Tree.
Prayers, Midnight Mass and church bells
That resonate past dales and dells
Christmas Night.
“Holy Kiss!” Let’s usher in peace
And pray that wars and battles cease.
Christmas Wish!!
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
(Translated by Prabhanjan K Mishra)
Chicken feathers and eggshells
thrown from the kitchen window,
dead flowers from vases,
a soiled bra and panties
of abused nights congest and block
a seedling’s green-shoot
from craning out its neck
to take a look
at the free world.
The broken shards
of liquor bottles
shine in the sun, like an irony.
The big room behind hides
skeletons in cupboards.
The old gardener
passes away,
a new incumbent
in his shoes, except that
nothing changes.
The time
does not tick here
unless seasons break the monotony:
the blooms, blossoms and flowers –
Jasmines in winter
Gulmohar in summer.
The power that be
washes hands
of the smell of blood,
muffle ears against shrieks of pain.
As a Tagara tree
explodes with white brilliance,
so does a girl
arrives in the big room:
changing into a new sari
discarding her old worn frock.
By the daybreak
the lantern’s flame sputters,
tired of the nightlong
deflowering orgy.
Woodworms go rampant
even in daylight,
devouring bamboo rafters,
the façade of protection;
the lukewarm promises
are not worth a fig leaf.
As always,
the timid-most deer
falls prey to the predator,
the big room, a jungle.
A sahib preens
before the mirror
with dentures and
a wig to hoodwink
the poor young girl, and
pamper his own shrunken manhood.
But no one dares
to call off his bluff:
caricaturing youth!
The guard would turn
in pretended sleep, face
to the other side, and snore.
Ascetics and beggars alike
return empty handed
from this Daakbanglaa gate.
Who except the walls of the big room
in this sin-house would
respond to these alms-seekers,
by crumbling from guilt.
The little girl’s dreams
of a delightful Diwali
disappear as do
the sloganeering after the election.
The little angel would return home,
if at all, her innocence killed.
Her blood-soaked petticoat
would be howling in pain
thrown into a muck-heap
behind the bungalow.
Mute witnesses –
a Dhatura bush, a gutter.
But the Daakbanglaa counts the sins,
the time’s ultimate reckoner.
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.
In his garden
There is grass
There is dew too
But he cannot create dew drops!
In his skies
There is sunshine
There is rain too
But he cannot create a rainbow!
In his Ocean
There are waves
There are shores too
But he cannot create a pathway!
In his life
There is happiness
There is sadness too
But he cannot create Contentment!...
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.
How lucky your eyes, dear!
You ever fill them with info
Ah! Books are a treat for you
Fiction, romance, or comics
Your eyes cherish everything!
E-books, articles, or any news
They never escape from sight
Mesmerizing videos on one side
The beauty of nature on the other
They close and open to a globe!
Curious to speak as they read
Abundant feelings, they show
I can see your soul in them
You can’t show a lie in them
Happy or sad, they speak straight!
The most beautiful sense organs
cherish this universe, each inch
They speak the heart’s language
They have no malice or greed
I know you from the eyes, I read!
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
Reminiscing the past, I strolled into my ancestral home opening the heavy metal door.
With a creaky sound it lead me to the central courtyard opened to the blue sky,
Next to the brick wall two sparrows flew into the majestic room .
There was a rumination of regret and silence, as I walked through the way my ancestors walked.
A fragile pot of flesh and bone, wrapped in milk skin tone,
deep within her interior laid a glass heart rarely cared.
Swordless and smitten stood tall on the wall this old painting of her's.
Who was this beautiful soul?
I could not take my eyes off the unique architectural art ,
There were mirrors and antiques all around,
A brass handcrafted pitcher
Laden dry was waiting for a drop of water .
The monochrome melancholy of their life was over.
I wished those walls and pillars could speak ancient tales ,
May be the princess had ambitions and suppressed sorrows thrusted upon by the male chauvinists,
Diamond tears fell like stones, spoke volumes;
Burnished copper, polished jewels.
Preserved in the vintage treasure closets reflected their altruistic nature.
A feather touch of silk spun pillow whispered softly sorrows consoled.
Rusty feelings engraved on the iron bars moaned,
how it felt to be in a cage wingless and bound.
Like a sunflower searches for the sun in the darkest of nights, she kept hoping for light.
She was cocooned from the real world,while her heart had already metamorphosed into a butterfly.
Did anyone ever ask her what her dreams and ambitions were?
Gone were those buried under the soil at the graveyard lamenting without a return.
I went ahead paying my final respect and planted seeds of colourful flowers so that she reincarnates and blooms in her next life.
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 four books to her credit -"Rhythms of a Heart", "Autumn Blaze" , An Allusion To Time' and Embers to Flames. 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,Relationship and life coach,specialised in child psychology.She is also a dancer and actor. She is currently working on her fifth book which is a collection of short stories.
Let’s all come together
To pray and praise the Lord
a solemn silent prayer
to the Supreme,
To let us live
with grace and harmony….1
Holy incarcernations
descend and leave
spreading their divine light,
To make us laugh
sing ,dance
and shine bright….2
The pain and sufferings
part of everyone’s life,
The Merry Christmas
and New year arrives
in style every year
bring new fervour
in every nook and corner
To let us bury our strife….3
Give and take of
goodwill and goodies
Like Santa does
with a broad smile
and big heart,
To obliterate
darkness and hate
To welcome the new
with love
and a promise
of new fresh start….4
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.
Looking for me
in the nooks and corners of time
Is both my homage to fleeting moments
and favorite pastime
nostalgia is embedded so deep inside me
that it never lets me eschew
its presence in life
I am a bundle of memories of
my salad days and twilight
each nugget of gone by while
is precious to me
It has shaped up my thinking process,
honed perspective
tangibles have shifted stance
from their perching
some for worse some for better moorings
breathing deep, taking solace in yearnings
I realise - change is the only constant
among all things
throwing voice across
vast valleys at awed distance
taming compelling whining,
quelling inner incoherence
I embrace the fact that-
the world is full of refined allusions
and time has a fuller perspective
for every nuance
as I try to pursue pleasure
with a brave smile of nonchalance.
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 rock flower is she,
Delicate, resilient, and sprite
Blooming in the face of adversity,
On the harsh, grey might
That rise steeply in grandiosity,
And command attention in the harsh light
For their masculine beauty.
In the dry, grey landscape,
Not an ounce of nourishment gains she from the frigidity.
No fertile ground for her form slight,
Watered affectionately.
And yet, strongly she clings to life in delight,
Growing on those very rocks of adversity.
In delicate hues flowers she,
Lavenders, lilacs, pinks, pastels, whites,
That draw your breath unexpectedly.
Amidst the moss green thicket bright,
She springs to life in rich diversity,
On those very rocks that dominate the landscape at first sight.
And acknowledge not her fragile beauty.
Avantika Vijay Singh is a writer, editor, poet, researcher, and photographer. She is the author of two solo poetry books i.e., Flowing… in the river of life and Dancing Motes of Starlight (her debut ebook). She is the winner of the Nissim International Award Runners Up 2023. She enjoys writing humour too for her blog “Ordinary People, Extraordinary Lives” in the Times of India.
Dying is a continuous process
A process of you getting rotten
With each passing second
With each passing memory
That you've left midway
To die an unprocessed death
Before death actually arrives
And declares you dead
The reason why life feels
More theoretical than practical
Is because of the way it has
Mourned over my presence
than mourning over my death
With new reasons being added to the list everytime
I've gulped down the fear
Of your arrival being an outrageous affair of consistency
And me waiting for that one look
To make myself feel home
And let my words gulp down
Exactly the way I've gulped down
The unfinished lines of my poetries
I could've waited a million years
Before you could've actually arrived
To make my dreams
Merge with the thoughts of you being my cynosure
But damn! These nightmares
You say
That depression has never been an escape
And how overthinking
Has always ruled over
Yet you expect me to act sane
Over the thoughts of you
Slowly slipping away from my hand
With me doing nothing
But watching you walk all the way down
expecting you to turn around
And look at me the way I've looked at you
For the very first time
It's strange
That how with every memory
You've bookmarked
The times that you've actually fell for me
And how with each passing memory
I've loosened a star
from my archives of dreams
now all I'm left with
Are lost stars with dead memories
Arpita Priyadarsini, a Post Graduate of Department of Statistics in Utkal University, has keen interest in literature. She loves reading fiction and poetry. She started writing poems few years back and has been published by an international publication house twice. Her Instagram handle is @elly__.writes, which is solely dedicated to her love for poetry.
When a poet is in anguish and agony
expressing his displeasure at home
and disapproval of things around,
people in the neighborhood make fun of him
little knowing the seriousness of the process,
his restlessness, his creative reticence,
this business of breeding and brooding
and the meaning and purpose of the pang
when something is in the making.
People respond to a finished product
according to their sense and sensibility.
But they don’t care to know how much pain
and strain lay buried in its making.
Little do they understand how words fight,
that for a good work of art
pleasure and pain are equally important,
since suffering makes the making intense
and out of the mud comes up a bud to unfold slowly into
a blooming lotus.
Why do things fall apart
if you are right, if I am right?
Why do things fall apart
if we think we all are alright?
May be we are too sure to care for others
uncertain though we are in our handling of affairs,
some hidden fear working its way there.
Scared of our inadequacies,
we try to forget the anxiety and fear in us
by doubting the seriousness in others.
These fault found easy targets
become the habit bound hide outs
for our not so perfect individual self.
For us professionals and public men
it is not enough to be what we are
in the glittering golden realm.
Heights being prone to exposure and estimation,
the way we let people think and know we’re
is also a very important part of the game.
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.
Today, after a gap of many days,
I realised that the man whom I thought
to be my own is not mine.
Just because I thought him to be my own
I had propped up a ladder against the wall
burned out all the pretensions
between heart and heart
put my head on the guillotine, laughing.
As because I thought him my own
I sent a boat to the man when he was
drowning in the river in spate
but I never realised that
he would turn the boat into a sword.
I never knew why the new moon
darkness would roar like a tigress
It's bloody roar will scare away the moon
the pale moonlight will ask for a shelter
From a safe distance.
I could not know why the time
has not taken note of our tryst
why has he cut into pieces my heart
with a double-edged sword
when the lily of my misfortune
had not moved an inch.
Today, after a gap of many days,
I have realised why that the man whom
I thought to be my own is not mine.
Yet, the moment I think he is my own
someone comes hurrying like a street urchin
and with a sinister smile asks for
Forgiveness.
Dr. Bhagaban Jayasingh, an eminent bilingual writer, has published 9 collections of poetry in Odia and 8 in English and English translation. Black Eagle Books has brought out The Dapples of Darkness, a collection of his poetry and Footprints of Fire, a translation of seventy-four contemporary Odia poets. Dr Jayasingh has also published Door to Despair, a critical work on modernism in Odia poetry. He edited an anthology titled 7950 Parabarti Odia Poetry for Sahitya Akademi. Sahitya Akademi has also published Sitakant Mahapatra: A Reader in 2021, selected and edited by him.
Dr Jayasingh has received a flurry of literary awards, including Vishub "Jhankar", Bhanuiji Rao Kavita Puraskar, besides Utkal Sahitya Samaj Samman and Odisha Sahitya Akademi award for his book Ferranti Ghar in 2016.
Dreaming of the decent dwelling
I left the suffocation behind the luxurious building
I loved the tour in-between the so called filthy slums
Discovered my hidden smile giggling in lumps
Which I chased so long went that too wrong
Behind transparent glasses my felling went grey and tuned a grumpy song
Money can't buy happiness in between velvety carpet and shiny marbles
If so merry was supposed to be the name of riches
Played with the child in the slimy mud
Melts the dense aristocracy in- between dust
Caged myself between so many rules
Suffered my childish heart behind the bar of prejudice
Today I could cry my dreams in decent dwelling
Balancing the smile on the lap of dusty evening
Dreaming the decent dwelling, I have learned to smile in my shell
The glow I felt from the huts to the skirting house ceiling
Smiled to the smile of simplest knock in prevailing
Purpose of life is love, love to self and everything in surrounding
Dwelling the meaning of life all in smiling
I love those slums smiling ,igniting
the art of living.
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.
THIS IS THE BEGINNING NOT AN END
Life passes by,
Leaves its shadow behind,
It's time to bid farewell to the old year,
Relax ,breathe and unwind.
Can I pause a little?
Think a bit?
It's never too late to start over,
The drection l travelled so far
May be, was a wrong one,
There's still time to turn around.
Where I've been and
Where I'll be going is just an equation,
The start of a new year can bring in
A breath of fresh air.
I'll look within and around,
Save my strength,
Repair and rebound,
Possibilities merged with uncertainties,
Resolutions edged with disappointments,
Victories and defeats,
Happiness and heartbreaks,
All camouflaged,
An amazing surround sound.
I'll remember the past
As I reach out to future,
Reflect on what's gone and
Embrace what's coming with joy and laughter.
The jingle bells have started to ring,
Sleighs are ready to march through the snow,
I'm waiting for you to bring in joy,
Setting fire to the winter rain,
As I stand in your arms,
You kiss my lips,
We'll cheer together this Chris
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.
WISHING YOU INFINITE JOY IN THE NEW YEAR
Oh! my Seagull dear,
You fly from infinity to infinity!
So, bring us Infinite Joy,
In this year and always,
we want brighter days,
That would last till eternity!
And with this seagull, let us be blessed with infinite joy,
here we go seeking infinite joy…..
Amidst the limits lies the Limitless,
A profoundness that may be Ageless,
And, beyond the Limits that are Countless.
Year after year, a new year is ushered in,
In Infinite time, all would become lean!
Bountiful Space and Time are never mean!
Bound in Finite hours, minutes, and seconds,
Mystery of the boundless Infinity beckons,
To seek fulfilment, not for the Finite to reckon!
Finite time pass-by seeking Infinite happiness,
Retreating ignorance unfolding consciousness,
Bliss of Infinity wrapping eternity in joyfulness.
Limits of fear of the Unknown rising from abyss,
Lost in the abstruse Known resplendent in bliss,
Driving away darkness to kindle infinite peace!
As the year
comes to a close,
from my garden
I bring you a rose,
refreshing and bright,
A blissful sight-
to brighten your lives.
May all buds of hope,
in the coming year
as petals of your lives unfold,
and as each petal
of 366 days unfolds
May happiness
in every way be told!
Hoping all evil goes
and the year 2024
be loaded with fun!
Prosperity and health-
always be your wealth.
May mirth
and merriment shower
in every nook
of your lives’ bowers.
Greetings to you all,
in the coming days
may you always stand tall,
and have a great great ball.
Sreechandra Banerjee is a Chemical Engineer who has worked for many years on prestigious projects. She is also a writer and musician and has published a book titled “Tapestry of Stories” (Publisher “Writers’ Workshop). Many of her short stories, articles, travelogues, poems, etc. have been published by various newspapers and journals like Northern India Patrika (Allahabad), Times of India, etc. Sulekha.com has published one of her short stories (one of the awardees for the month of November 2007 of Sulekha-Penguin Blogprint Alliance Award) in the book: ‘Unwind: A Whirlwind of Writings’.
There are also technical publications (national and international) to her credit, some of which have fetched awards and were included in collector’s editions.
I hate to say it, my sweetheart
But imprisoned by the magic of the past
I have to spill here, your every secret
Deep down inside my broken heart
I don't know how to distance you from myself
As unloving you will tear my chest
You are the one who lighted my desolate state
Like a lifeless body, I survived
With the gust of an unseen breeze, I regained
Like the drizzle of the heavenly shower, I began to exist
But suddenly you disappeared
Like a shadow, you teased my helpless state
Whom do I blame?
Is it my fate or thy deceptive traits?
Inside my shattered soul, I tried to move on
I do complain about this unknown pain
Let me select my horrible fate to forgive an unloved demon!
With the rustling of leaves
With the surge of wind
With the soothing dance of blades of grass
I suddenly realized that me
I want to break loose my secret passion
I want to devour in the realm of the unknown region
I want to scream and let the whole world know
That is how much I am madly in love with thou
And let me celebrate this treasure
Of pure love in harmony with nature
Let me hear the rhythm of my solitude
An awareness of my soul
To be with cherished feelings of a deeper magnitude !!!
I am survived in this mortal world
Now, I long for my departure
Severely damaged by the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth
Nay, I don't know about my afterlife
Every day I miss my loved ones
They leave me without any reason
I scream and yell at their deathbed
Someone consoles me to wait
How long will I wait?
Exhausted with the monotony of life
In their graveyards,
I moan and groan
After some days, I travel to the same place
To feel their essence
To touch the bush
That carries the message:
feel the eternal sense
spread the mysterious knowledge
unravel the preachings of magnificent sages
reflect and think about the presence of Saints
Close thy eyes
Think of the old masters
The forgotten heroes
And carry out their lofty verses to change the world
Sudipta Mishra
So fragile is our existence,
Haunting memories keep revisiting our nights!!!
Just like a dreamy sequence of events
We interpret such vague images
In the absurd life, we often imagine and forget!
It's so meaningless, you see!
By leaving the essence of every second, we procrastinate
Unconsciously, we weave so many thoughts
Nothing is fixed here
Everything is changeable
Living in utter confusion, we only sustain
It's constantly decaying
In such a melting point of life, we can't hold the time...
Sudipta Mishra is a multi-faceted artist and dancer excelling in various fields of art and culture. She has co-authored more than a hundred books. Her book, 'The Essence of Life', is credited with Amazon's bestseller. Her next creation, 'The Songs of My Heart' is scaling newer heights of glory. Her poems are a beautiful amalgamation of imagery and metaphors. She has garnered numerous accolades from international organizations like the famous Rabindranath Tagore Memorial, Mahadevi Verma Sahitya Siromani Award, an Honorary Doctorate, and so on. She regularly pens articles in newspapers as a strong female voice against gender discrimination, global warming, domestic violence against women, pandemics, and the ongoing war. She is pursuing a Ph.D. degree in English. Her fourth book, Everything I Never Told You is a collection of a hundred soulful poems. Currently, she is residing in Puri.
Life tends to become
Unbelievably lifeless,
When
You have to hang over
Somewhere
Your heart never corresponds to,
Your soul never coincides with,
And
Where
Your mind cracks itself open
Each moment,
To locate
Rings of vulnerability
And
Circles of forlornness,
From its center to its farthest circumference!
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.
THE BEAUTIFUL MOTHERS OF TOMORROW
(Based on a recent report about a lucrative multistate racket involving illegal selective abortion of female fetuses in South India)
My tiny heart aches heavily in despair
Warm in my mother’s womb, in vain I care
Pumping the torrential depths of sorrow
I know I am destined to cease tomorrow
All I want is a simple chance to be me
An artist, a thinker or a scientist to be
To lift up the world with creative spirit
To the brilliance of my future, there is no limit
But alas none of those outcomes will ever be
Just because I am destined a female to be
The enormous burden of raising me indeed
Is felt by many as too much to not heed
All I want is a simple chance to be me
To emerge and to blossom the future in me
I cry silently; will there ever in this country be
Even a faint chance for a girl to be free?
Free from the evils of dowry and shame
Free from the shackles of money and fame
Free for our children to be true to their forms
To think and live to transform today’s norms?
Oh cruel world, how could you so
Unconscionably, without an iota of sorrow
Intentionally destroy us, the innocent
Beautiful mothers of tomorrow?
Dr. Latha Chandran is currently the Executive Dean and the Bernard J Fogel Founding Chair of the Department of Medical Education at the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine where she is implementing a brand new nextGenMD curriculum. She also supervises all graduate and continuing medical education programs as well as all the biomedical masters and PhD programs at the University. Dr Chandran serves as the Director of the Academy of Medical Education Scholars at the Miller School of Medicine focusing on educational scholarship.
Dr. Chandran received her medical degree from Trivandrum Medical College in India, her MPH from Johns Hopkins University and her MBA from University of Miami. She served in various capacities at Renaissance School of Medicine for several years including chief residency, Division Chief, Interim Department Chair and various roles in the Office of the Dean, most recently as the Vice Dean for Academic and Faculty Affairs and the Miriam and David Donoho Distinguished Teaching Professor. A tenured educator scholar who has received numerous teaching awards at Stony Brook, she has served as the founding co- director of a highly successful award winning three-year national faculty development program focused on Educational Scholarship called the Educational Scholars Program for junior pediatric educators.
Nationally she has served as the President of the Academic Pediatric Association, as the Treasurer and Vice Chair of the National Board of Medical Examiners and as a Curriculum and LCME consultant to other medical schools. She is happily married to an engineer/businessman and has two grown sons and a daughter in law.
Don’t you cry
When I die
Let me, set to
The immense sky
Don’t you erect any
Memorial or mausoleum
In my memory
Engraving of my date of
Birth and demise
On the marble panel thee
Don’t you incarcerate me
Under two yards of earth
Don’t block my celestial way
Set me free... I pray!
I have emerged from loud
The enormous void
The abysmal depth of the
Cosmos is my destination
The fragile sand castles
Of momentary dazzled life
On the pretentious
Shore of death
I crave not
I am the pilgrim of light
And the priest of ascension
Don’t you cry, when I die
Over my deciduous memory
Just set me free!
You and me... our origin is same
The great black hole our destiny
Don’t you ever try
To encapsulate the
Gasping hiatus, and
Why do you lament?
Inconsolable child!
Unyielding over a broken toy?!
When our destinies wobble
At the estuary of the grand black hole
Don’t cross my way...
Calling upon my posteriority
In lieu of my mundane intimacy
Just let me free!
Don’t you paralyze me
In the confines of the crematory
Don’t trap me, in the
Attributed dark caves of my destiny
I am in severe pain, inflected on me
A battlefield strewn with
Bloodied cadavers
Victims of vanity,
Of ego and arrogance
Of pretence and flam
Can’t I bear... no more
Set me free...my prayer!
Whilst, blood flew in my arteries
In perfect beat with my heart,
My innards were on fire
I have witnessed
The bloody exhibitions of deadly disasters
Horrific hostility and gruesome barbaric act
I have seen, the impassive
Countenance of a mother’s
Metallic face and a father’s
Heart dead hard...
I have seen many a masked men
Marching past the highway
Blemished and besmirched
I have seen all delusion
Of ephemeral indulgence
Please let me free
From the reversion ebby!!
On the sacrificial alter
I bled again and again
My pulsating arteries
My resonating heart beat
Granted me my welcomed death
Don’t you cry when I die
On my fallen memory
Just, let me free...
Set me free!
Professor Dr Bidyutprabha Gantayat is a well known and acclaimed writer, poet and translator of odia literature. She belongs to Odisha, lives in Bhubaneswar. A retired professor in chemistry by profesion. She writes in Odia, Hindi and English and translates to and fro in four languages namely Odia Hindi English and Bengali.
She also pens childrens literature. She has published 18 books on all the above category of literature to her credit. Among her significant literary work the translation of Gyanpeeth awardee Mohadevi Verna's poems, short stories and essays form Hindi to Odia and published books. Since 2014 she regularly publishes The Japanese format of English poetry ( haiku poetry ) in different poetry groups of social media worldwide. Published and earned accolades.
She has also been honoured and felicitated by different litrary organizations of the state.
From where am I?
Who am I?
Existing in the nets of uncertainties
Dwindling between hope and despair
Learning to be a human
Not by body only
But human by actions, attitudes , essence
Let humanity encompass all
Live and let live,no fear of falls
Positive thoughts, bring positive words
Positive words, bring positive feelings
Let positivity shine in the darkest negativity
And efface the pessimism that dances through
The seasons of life.
It is an honour to give birth
To a child
The status elevates of a woman
From a wife to a mother
Mom to a grandmother
Grandmother to a great grandmother
Infinite stages of life
Holds valour, esteem, dignity
Can we fulfil them diligently?
Ms Gargi Saha is a creative writer. She has published two poem books namely, 'The Muse in My Salad Days 'and 'Letters to Him '. Recently been awarded the Rabindranath Tagore Memorial Award and the Independence Day Award for poetry. Presently she edits several scientific research papers.
Theatre
Is still open
In the belt of tea cup
Though it’s filled up to the brim
But its flavor is flying away from half fed streams
Sweats sweating from the lean and thin skin
But black unfed fingers working for hours untrimmed
By the death of day’s sun
A deep sigh wanes!
In a bowl of country wine
The vapors of warm blood
Boiling head and heart
Under the bamboo made huts
Spreading across Tarai and Duars
But!
The Theatre never stops
Curtain never falls
Its game is still open on the stage for all
Where the government and its buffoons play key roles
Hide and seek game is going on
Before the audience who too are sick like cancer affected bones
The black lean and thin skin
Slowly declining
By the day’s end
In a glass full of Hariya, Mahuya and myth
To have a free breath
To have a free breath
Sleeping in a muddy floor like convicts
Sleeping in a muddy floor like convicts
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.
Not a word spoken
On the path untrodden,
Eyes didn’t lock
As we passed through the rocks,
Hand in hand
Under the scorching sun
Walked across the hot sands,
Unaware
How far we have come
And what is the road ahead
To overcome.
Never felt to ask
To check
If we were on the right track
Busy in the mundane task
Just kept pushing
step by step
As time unfolded
Bringing in new challenges
Testing the resolve
To undergo changes.
Don’t remember
Ever feeling alone
With caring hands on shoulders
The warmth of love
Always in the air,
The fleeting hearts in talk
In the language unknown to us,
How can one express
What it feels
In the cozy embraces
When the hearts are choked
During the time of sorrow and pain
And tears of joy
Roll down like desert rains.
Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura, is an Engineer from BITS, Pilani and has done his MBA and PhD in Marketing. He writes both in Odia and English. He has published three books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” , “The Mystic is in Love” and “The Mystic’s Mysterious World of Love” and a non-fiction “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. He has also published three books on collection of Odia Poems titled “ Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” and “Nirab Pathika”. Dr Behura welcomes feedback @ bkbehura@gmail.com. One can visit him at bichitrabehura.org
PROTEST PERSONIFIED
Tamali Neogi
The disyllabic word has major reserves of power, strength and spirit
Gandhi or Mandela, Martin Luther or Desmond Tutu,
Yes, really challenging it is to be one among many,
Who tolerate and wither in dumb silence, even if you call weakness a crime.
Guru Tegbahadur or Christ, when wise men protest, they don't perform any miracle but withstand.
Finally rebellious against deceit, Macbeth, though free, doesn't flee away.
Silent declarations; one emerges heroic in suffering, not in escape and that's natural.
Anima or Pandora, curiosity is also a sort of dissent; you are punished therefore,
Though unjustified, at times logical remonstrance may cause one's downfall.
Clytemnestra, Medea or Antigone, chroniclers could no way suppress you,
Nevertheless, Electra's protest traumatises one and all.
Though protest is necessary, perhaps patience is a virtue rewarded by gods.
If grievance means only unpleasantness, is it best to wait for divine justice or not?
Oof! How to overcome this dilemma!
If for the sake of self-respect, one must revolt without being vengeful,
That is perhaps the most human and humane thing to do.
Therefore, overpowered by age, dependent men and women,
Let the heavenly spirit beckon on you
So that your whole body, as resurrected souls, may rise up, against tyranny of your blood
And punish ingratitude and disobedience as God.
Here the unicellular organism has the mechanism to sustain.
Therefore, the feeble, the frail and the infirm, remember
If you raise your voice a little, He will see the rest,
And soon you will be a reservoir of power, strength and spirit; protest personified.
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
Across the sky ran
streaks of white lights,
aching, whining,
warning of an impending Apocalypse.
It lasted the whole night, the long night
None had seen lights like that,
never in their life time,
no one knew what to make of them.
The wise men said
the world was coming to an end,
Scientists broke their head
to fathom which elements had collided.
The festivities stopped,
Movie halls shut down,
Shops closed their shutters,
weary revellers rushed home.
But the night stretched on and on
till panicked people ran unto the streets,
blaming each other for all the ills
and fighting fierce battles.
Battles were fought over religion,
over what language one spoke,
which gods one worshipped
and want food one ate.
People forgot the rapes of the girls
the mayhems that took innocent lives
the knives that dripped with blood
and the falsehood that was spread.
Blood flowed on innocent streets.
Buses were burnt, stones pelted,
Dust and smoke filled the air,
as did cries of the anguished.
BUT THE SUN NEVER ROSE TO END THE LONG NIGHT
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 REVIEWS
REVIEWED: the Seventh Poetry Collection, “UNBRIDLED”, of Dilip Mohapatra –
‘Unbridled’ is really a work without bridles, not limiting the collection’s territory in any span of subjects or sentiments. A big and highly articulated cart of poetry as if tethered to a race-stallion running about with its macho gallop to take under its feet all the uncharted and unmapped physical sites and nuanced feelings, tangible as well as intangible. The poems-persona is a man of the world meandering in a dreamy landscape of emotions like the quirky characters of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’, nothing is fully real, nothing is fully a dream. He expresses himself with a poetic outreach for all that comes within his manly grip, unabashedly patronising a male bastion.
Surprisingly, the poems belong out and out to the male world and there is no place for feminine sentiments, no interest to delve into a female psyche, her desires, her identity, her fears, or her empowerment. An interesting insight would be to say – isn’t it better to indulge in a subject you know intimately, but not to indulge where even angels fear to tread, leaving the feminine-sphere to its own devices and enigma, its mystiques, without a masculine gatecrash, that may look like a skin deep involvement.
The poem persona celebrates, laments, criticises self, others, and even the divine; his creation is spiritual and sensual in equal measures. He is a father and a son, a husband and a lover, a devotee and a heretic, all rolled in one philosophically oriented romantic poetry-recipe. Before God he crumbles as a supplicant, before his lover he goes down on knees naked and erotic, and for his nation he stands up as a patriotic soldier ready to shed his blood.
Let’s return to the poet, what is he, how are his essences and sensitivity? He has the gift of an observer who captures the nuances of a flowing humanity and reflects them in his words. He sings them and gives them his signature, as his own songs, mostly in first-person-singular, ‘I’, for effect. I am sure, he uses ‘I’ for the narrator for making us, the readers, feel intense and intimate about the feelings. A technique most successful poets adopt to confuse the reader if they are not confessional poetic notes, if the poet is not talking about himself or herself. But, does a poet really live the nine lives of the proverbial cat? I don’t buy that theory, I don’t belief in confessional poetry? Dilip Mohapatra appears no exception. In most poems he orients them on himself, even when dealing with the unsayable and the unpalatable.
A poems’ inner strength and quotable lines bring to a reader the poet’s poetic craftsmanship, and I am no different a reader than others, and I also sought out the real poet out of this work containing seventy-five poems. I looked for enthralling lines, riveting senses and sensibilities. From the vast plurality of my finding, I would choose only a few for detailed discussion here, that speak of the poet’s hidden essences. I stress, only a few, because, I am to keep in mind the comfort of readers reading this review on the pages of an e-literary-magazine. Further, reading a review is no timepass, but a serious involvement.
‘Dots and Dashes’ and ‘Ellipsis’, the two excellent poems from this collection, I would like to yoke them together, though the first one touches life’s distilled philosophical edges, and the second is an out and out love poem. The common threads, that weaves into them a pattern, are the areas left unsaid but with so loud silences that they are more eloquent than the spoken words. Also, a tell-tale message that life is more worthwhile if lived robustly even in the midst of little imperfections, slips, weak moments, being non-elitist during intimacy, and even if conventionally small sins and slips are committed, ignoring them as a part of our frailty.
Let me quote a few lovely lines, ‘but a little bit of sin / a little bit of imperfection / a little bit of mischief / as also a little bit of dust in your eyes / in a sanitized room /…..those uncertainties / and discontinuities that / make it a worthwhile existence / defined by those / ubiquitous yet unseen / dots and dashes ( from ‘Dots and Dashes’). ‘When I cup your face in my hands / and look into those doleful eyes / …/ I see more in them than / what you may see…. between the hellos and goodbyes / the moments do linger / between your lips and mine (from ‘Ellipsis’)
Three poems, ‘Epiphany’, ‘Excavation’, and ‘Open Wounds’ hold the reader in thrall by their depth and involvement on common grounds. They dwell at length on earthy flesh of self, and of the lover but also, go to their ethereal sensations and intense sensuality; then find their amalgamation in mother earth’s cornucopia and ambrosia. The poet sings - ‘How long will I / hide and remain scared / to defrost my frozen feet……/ …when my bereaved / shadow would lament for /my body’s warmth (from ‘Epiphany’). ‘leaving behind / oozy furrows / to unravel below the ruins / the bones of / your desire …..the fossil of your sighs / ….petrified passions (from ‘Excavation’) ‘the breasts of the Earth / sucked dry hang miserably / and loosely…. (from ‘Open Wounds’).
The two poems that impress me most from my personal liking list – ‘Strains of Symphonies’ and ‘Echoes of Silence’. The poems are about an inner peace. A poet may write with Rasas and Ragas spanning over a world of musical poetry that keep his poetic heart resonated, but finally he returns to the songs of the silences. He sings - ‘A time will come / when perhaps you would / sing a swan song in reverse / not for the world to hear / but only for yourself: / a perfect symphony / the song of silence (from ‘Strains of Symphonies’).
The poet in the ‘Echoes of Silence’ speaks of varied silent nuances: the soft silence, the satiny silence, the svelte silence, the seductive silence, slender silence, and he finds the silences are like a contagion, but of a divine infection, that ricochet between the poet and the supreme being, giving him ‘..an endless solitude / a timeless bliss’.
The title poem ‘Unbridled’ is a combination of dreams, hopes, and fears, about leaving the living domain into the control of virtual reality created by non-living artificial intelligence. The ‘AI’ may be a tool to patch up the missing links by finding words, rhythms, symbols and references that are likely to be missed by a human intellect, slipping out of his mind, but the tool may turn into a master if humans unwittingly give in and give up their charges, spaces and decision-making nobs to ‘AI’, and recede into inconsequential corners, complacently happy. The todays controller may be tomorrow’s monster.
Like - governance left to privatization may give better efficiency but at the risk of poor consumers bled dry to fill the coffers of the private players in the charge. Also, like - todays’ youngsters resorting to a calculator to know 100 – 60 is equal to 40. The proverbial camel would enter the tent by piecemeal and throw out the owner finally.
The recent worldwide pandemic killer affected writers, poets, artists and philosopher to their cores. They learnt calamity can be a great leveller, a teacher, a sort of entrepreneur to usher in new inventions, and new trends. This poet is no exception and he has a bunch of poems that sing of the grief, the loneliness, the imposed-confinement and the new sense of balancing the love of the loved ones, and their interpersonal relationship, and kinship with the peers in a dangerous time.
Though Dilip Mohapatra is already a well-known voice in Indo-English poetry, yet this collection ‘UNBRIDLED’ will add another important feather in his cap and is a mirror that reflects him with a larger-than-life image. (END)
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.
About the Book
A collection of thirty-nine poems that explore the joys and challenges of living in the contemporary period in a fast-changing world, from the beauty of nature to the impact of technology and war. Whether you are looking for inspiration, insight, or simply enjoyment, you will find something to relate to in this book of poems that touches the mind and the heart.
“Prof. Niranjan Barik's poems are grounded on earth, catching everything that meets the eye - places, people, events. Nature plays in his hands as a tool for exploring human sentiments, messages gush forth from his writings with the spontaneity of a wild stream. From national to international, from the earth to the sky, from mountains to the ocean, he paints his feelings on a large canvas. A wholesome treat for the reader!”
- Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi , (IAS-Rtd, was a Secretary to the federal Government and a Judge of a Central Tribunal in India. A poet and a story writer of national and international acclaim, has published nine books in Odia and four in English. Currently he is the Editor of the monthly eMagazine LiteraryVibes )
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- Some eclectic pieces, have called upon many aspects of living, from choked voices to gentle challenges and smooches of discreet political piccadilos. Who will remember Rousseau when in the writer's own words, the night before the dawn is the densest!
- Devdas Chhotray, (is a distinguished poet-laureate, a lyricist, a columnist and a writer having a cult status in the literary circle of India. A former officer in the Indian Administrative Service, he held many high positions at the central government and in the states of Bihar, West Bengal and Odisha. Also, the first Vice-Chancellor of the Ravenshaw University, Odisha, he is adored everywhere for being a doyen of Odia literature and culture.)
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"Niranjan's words are able to effectively marry our most pressing global challenges in our world with a local sensibility. He takes us on a journey that is vibrant and joyful, while infusing the right doses of humor and humanity. This collection offered me a fresh look at the core of who we are and strive to be, and after reading, to quote the author, "the dil does not ask for more."
- Prof.Digambar Mishra,( Formerly Professor & Chair Department Political Science, Miles College, Birmingham, Alabama , USA.; an eminent writer, political commentator & Civil Rights Activist in the US.)
(At the launching of the book on 14th December - from left to right - Mrutyunjay Sarangi, Devdas Chhotray, Rabi Narayan Senapti, Gourahari Das, Dash Benhur, and the poet Niranjan Barik)
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