Literary Vibes - Edition CXXXIX (29-Mar-2024 - POEMS
Title : Kindred Spirits (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
An acclaimed Painter, a published poet, a self-styled green woman passionately planting fruit trees, a published translator, and a former Professor, Lathaprem Sakhya, was born to Tamil parents settled in Kerala. Widely anthologized, she is a regular contributor of poems, short stories and paintings to several e-magazines and print books. Recently published anthologies in which her stories have come out are Ether Ore, Cocoon Stories, and He She It: The Grammar of Marriage. She is a member of the executive board of Aksharasthree the Literary Woman and editor of the e - magazines - Aksharasthree and Science Shore. She is also a vibrant participant in 5 Poetry groups. Aksharasthree - The Literary Woman, Literary Vibes, India Poetry Circle and New Voices and Poetry Chain. Her poetry books are Memory Rain, 2008, Nature At My Doorstep, 2011 and Vernal Strokes, 2015. She has done two translations of novels from Malayalam to English, Kunjathol 2022, (A translation of Shanthini Tom's Kunjathol) and Rabboni 2023 ( a Translation of Rosy Thampy's Malayalam novel Rabboni) and currently she is busy with two more projects.
Title : Blue Valley Of Acceptance (Picture courtesy Ms. Sheena Rath)
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)
Dear Friends,
A hearty welcome to the 139th edition of LiteraryVibes which comes adorned with some beautiful poems and scintillating short stories. We are also lucky to have with us as many as eight new poets and writers, all hugely talented, many of them literary celebrities in their own right. Ms. Magline Jackson from Thoppumpadi in Ernakulam district of Kerala is a highly accomplished writer, poet, critic, cosmetologist and beautician. The young and vibrant poet Ms. Barsa Ray, who lives in London, writes incredibly beautiful poems. Prof. Saroj Kumar Padhi from Bhubaneswar is a well-known bilingual poet in Odisha, whose poetry bears the hallmark of great intensity and depth. Mr. Sivan Methala from Perumbavoor, Kerala, is a brilliant writer whose ornate language matches the fiery spirit he carries within himself. Mr. Kanjilal is a prolific poet and writer from Kolkata whose litany of writings bears testimony to his creative passion. Mr. Ajay Narayanan from Kalamaserry, Mr. Nikhilesh Naduvanur from Calicut, Mr. Anantha Krishnan from Quilon are some of the finest young talents from the exotic environs of Kerala who have done LV proud by contributing to the present edition. Let us welcome all of them to the LV family and wish them the very best in their literary journey.
March is a nice month indeed. The beauty of the fabulous Spring season brings a new rhythm to life. The promise of fragrant days of positive sanguinity makes one believe that despite the drudgery of the mundane life there is a lot to look forward to, and every new day is not an end of the bygone past, but the beginning of a vibrant future. One tends to sit back and reflect on life. I recently came across two wonderful pieces of reflection which I want to share with the readers. They may sound a bit of pontificating, but there is truth in them and truth is the foundation of a meaningful life.
Here are the two anecdotes:
1. "NOTE TO SELF - IN THE LAST QUARTER OF LIFE”
Many of us are in the last quarter of life and I share without politics, religion, race cards. Just some of my somber thoughts:
You know, time has a way of catching you off-guard about how quickly it travels.
It feels like just yesterday that I was young and ready to start adult-life. And in a way it feels like eons ago, and I wonder where the years have gone.
I know I lived them all.
I remember all my hopes and dreams.
I remember the plans I made.
And suddenly, here I am in the last quarter.
How did I get here so fast?
Where have the years gone and where did my youth go?
I can recall looking at older people, thinking how long it will take for me to get where they are. I am still in my youth and have many years ahead. At that time I could not even think of being where I am now. May not be due to age but illness.
And yet, here I am.
My friends are going to retire, they all have grey hair, they move much slower than they did and when I look at them, I see older people. Some are in a better and some in a worse condition than me. But I see the big difference. They are no longer the youthful, carefree, full-of-life friends.
Just like me, age shows. And we are now the older people we used to look at and thought it was still a long way off.
I find that these days, taking a shower takes its toll on my breath and energy levels. And an afternoon nap is not just a treat, it’s become a necessity. And if I don’t, I find myself sleeping in the same chair I started reading or watching a YouTube.
Now I have entered this new season of my life, totally unprepared for the discomfort, aches and pains, loss of energy and strength and ability to do what I could, yet sometimes didn’t. At least I know that, even though I am in the last quarter and I have no idea how long this quarter will be, when my time on earth is over, a new adventure in another world awaits too.
Yes, I do have things I wish I had never done. Yet so thankful for those I did. It is all in a lifetime.
And if you are not in the last quarter yet, I want to remind you that it comes faster than you could anticipate. Do the things you still want to do as soon as possible. Do not procrastinate. Life runs on fast legs.
Do today what you can.
There is no promise that we all can see the seasons of life. Live for today. For now.
Say the words to the ones you love. Often.
Hopefully some will appreciate the things you did for them. And if they don’t, it is also okay.
Life is truly a gift. Just be happy. It is after all our own choice.
And remember that health is a treasure, not wealth, gold and silver, property or bank balance.
You may think that going out is the best, but believe me – coming home is better.
You may forget names and that is okay, because some have already forgotten that they knew you.
The things you cared about previously, you may lose interest in.
If you fall asleep in your favourite chair, stay there.
Growing older is wonderful. It is more or less comfortable. It is loaded with memories that you never grow tired of. It is an absolute treasure.
Look after yourself.
2. MY FATHER TOLD ME - THE THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW BY 35
1.Stay silent. Not everything needs to be said.
2. Silence is better than unnecessary drama.
3. If you find someone smarter than you, work with them, don't compete. Competition is a weakness.
4. The family you create is more important than the family you come from.
5. Your current job doesn't care about you. They only pay you enough to kill your dreams.
6. Free yourself from society's advice, because most of them have no idea what they're doing.
7. Most people drift through life. They have no purpose, no direction, and zero intent. Learn their needs and lead them.
8. It's better to have 1 friend who is:
Happy for you
Supports your wins
Encourages your dreams
Than a bunch of acquaintances who are:
Lazy
Self-centred
Jealous of your success
9. You'll be 10 times happier if you forgive your parents and stop blaming them.
10. No one will ever come to save you. Your life is 100% your responsibility.
11. Your inner circle should be more focused on money, success, and starting a family.
12. You don't need 100 self-help books. All you need is actions and self-discipline.
Believe in your heart and soul that you are capable of big things in your life..""
The only thing that is standing in your way is yourself. Remove Your Glass Ceiling.
I am sure you will find these as interesting and humbling as I did.
Last month, in the 138th edition of LiteraryVibes I had quoted two acutely sensitive love poems of Kaifi Azmi and requested the readers to translate them if possible. One of our long-standing poets Dr. Ajay Upadhyay from Hertfordshire, England has rendered a beautiful translation of the iconic song Jane Kay Dhoonti Rehti Hey....With great pleasure I am reproducing the translation here hoping that the readers will enjoy the depth and finesse of the song in English.
My Lost Love!
Wonder, what
Your eyes keep searching for,
inside me.
Wrecked lies my world,
buried in ashes of desolation.
No embers of passion,
under their heaps, I find;
nor any sparks
of longing, left.
Nothing is spared of the ardour,
not even its memory.
The blaze that
scorched my heart,
consumed everything,
wiping out the last trace
of my love.
Whose image you cherish
so fondly in your bosom,
no longer the real romantic,
you knew.
I am now his mute corpse,
but, still breathing.
Bleak is my future;
all my hopes for merriment, dashed
But, life is relentless;
it will run its course;
If not in laps of laughter,
through tears of torment,
perhaps.
I treasure the ashes, saved,
from funeral pyre
of my love, unreturned.
I guard it safe in
My sanctum,
haunted by fear of
it being disturbed.
Don’t stir it again and again;
that would scatter away,
what is most precious
to me.
Heartless is this land,
where hopes are hollow,
loyalty forbidden and
longing is a sin.
Love, here,
Is no more than a mirage
How I wish,
you could see
brutal reality of this
monstrous marketplace?
Stripped of their souls,
people here become
mere possessions,
only fit for trading as goods
in its slave stalls.
Just think:
How can a slave,
once sold off,
ever dream of being a
master, himself!yyt
Wonder, what
Your eyes keep searching for,
inside me.
Wrecked lies my world……
(From the Film Shola Aur Shabnam, 1961)
Hope you will like the offerings in the present edition of LiteraryVibes. Please forward the following links to your friends and contacts:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/536 (Poems)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/535 (Short Stories, Anecdotes and Travelogues)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/534 (Young Magic)
There are two medical related articles by the famous gynaecologist Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/533
A happy reminder to all of you that 12 excellent short stories published in the Pooja Special of LiteraryVibes in October 2023 can be found at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/507
Hope you remember that all the 139 editions of LiteraryVibes can be accessed at https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Take care, relax and enjoy the beautiful, romantic touch of Spring, till we meet again with the 140th edition of LV on 26th April.
With warm regards,
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Friday, March 29, 2024
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
SHIVA IN CLOUDS
02) Bibhu Padhi
ANOTHER LIFE
03) Hrushikesh mallick.
IMRAANA (Imraanaa, Kevala Tumapain)
04) Prabhanjan K Mishra (Self-translation)
THE SKIN-DEEP FAME (Gourabara Patala Chamatale)
05) Arupananda Panigrahi
MAVERICKS (BAATOI)
06) Bijay Ketan Patnaik
IN MEMORIAM: FATHER (BAAPAA)
07) Kamalakanta Panda
THE SONG OF SILENCE (NISHABD SWARA)
08) Runu Mohanty
THE ADORATION (VANDANAA)
09) Dilip Mohapatra
VOICES UNSPOKEN
REUNION
10) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
THE WRITING MACHINE
11) Saroj K Padhi
WOMAN
OPEN UP DEAR SOUL
12) Nikhilesh Naduvannur
WHEN BELOVED RESIDES BY A LIGHT-YEAR
13) Kanjilal
THE LAST FAITH
THE SLAUGHTER HOUSE
14) Barsa Ray
SPRING EQUINOX
YEAR OF CAPTIVITY, OF JOY
15) Dr. Ajay Narayanan
LAYERS OF ESSENCE
16) Anantha Krishnan V
BURNIN' FREE IN AUTUMN
17) Raju Samal
BEYOND THE CLOUDS
18) Abani Udgata
A WALK IN THE EVENING
19) Dr. Nanda K.Biswal
PANCHGANI, BUT YOU!
20) Jay Jagdev
ANGST
LET`S BURY IT IN OUR OWN HANDS
21) Dr R S Tewari Shikhresh
INSATIABLE THIRST
MERGED INTO ONE
22) Hema Ravi
ONLY YOURS... (Prose Poem)
23) Sudipta Mishra
YOU AND ME
TRAVERSING IN DREAMS
24) Ravi Ranganathan
BETWEEN US
25) Satya Narayan Mohanty
THE ORACLE
26) Sreeja Sree
MIRACLES
27) Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
MY DREAMSCAPE JOURNEY
28) Setaluri Padmavathi
A CHANGED WOMAN
29) Vidhya Anand
BIRTHDAY BINGE
30) Sujata Dash...
A DUSKY EVENING
NAIVE
31) Madhumathi. H
IT'S JUST A HUG?
DEAR CONSTANT...
32) Dr (Col) Rekha Mohanty
THE CHARM OF DISTANCE
33) Annamalai M
LOST FOREVER
34) Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
SOUND OF SILENCE
35) Bipin Patsani
THE FL AVOUR
THE FEEL GOOD FACTOR
NOT IN HEAVEN
36) Aneek Chatterjee
THIS LAND
37) Pradeep Biswal
LADDER
38) Bhagaban Jayasingh
ILLUSION OF THE SEA
39) Soumen Roy
WRETCHED
OF THE YOUTH
40) Umasree Raghunath
IN THE GOD’S EYES
TEMPTATION
JUST CANT SLEEP
41) Jaydeep Sarangi
MYSTERIES OF HABITS
AN INDIAN POEM
DOOR AT PURI
42) Saranya Francis
LOTUS EYE LOTUS FEET
43) Gargi Saha
WOMAN
MY VILLAGE COTTAGE
PEACE
44) Dola Dutta Roy
I NEVER ASKED FOR ROSES
45) Nandini Mitra
I'LL DWELL IN THE SILENCE OF YOUR HEART
A PEACEFUL FEELING
46) Leena Thampi
TILL ETERNITY
47) Meena Mishra
THE EXAM DAY
SUMMER DAYS
48) Shrikant Mishra
LIFE ETERNAL
49) Professor Niranjan Barik
THE CLOCK!
50) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
ON A VACANT SATURDAY MORNING
Table of Contents :: STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
ACROSS THE RIVER
THE LEFTOVERS
ON THAT WHICH DWELLS NOT IN EVERYMAN
A TELL-TAIL
02) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
THE ICE-AGE
03) Ishwar Pati
RAGING WATERS
04) Magline Jackson
DREAM SCULPTORS
05) Sivan Methala
REAL AND NOT SO REAL
06) Snehaprava Das
THE MISSING BOY
07) Jay Jagdev
WHAT DO YOU DO?
08) Hema Ravi
THE GIFT
09) Sukumaran C.V.
THE EXTRAVAGANCE HARD TO GIVE UP
10) Dr. Sukanti Mohapatra
A SETTING
11) Shruti Sarma
THE QUEEN OF THAT CAVE
12) Sreekumar T V
SWEET SIXTEEN
13) Gokul Mishra
A BANKER'S ORDEAL
14) Ashok Kumar Mishra
BLOOD STAIN
15) Gourang Charan Roul
VISUAL CONNECT WITH SRIMANDIRA ...
16) Bankim Chandra Tola
LAUGHTER
17) Seethaa Sethuraman
MY MAIDEN SOLO TRIP (PART 1): ARRIVING...
18) Sheena Rath
YOU AND ME AND THE DOG NAMED BOO
19) Mayuri R. Ghorpade.
HOLI
20) Satish Pashine
ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE-QUO-VADIS?
21) Usha Surya
AND SHE DIED...
22) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY...
23) Sreechandra Banerjee
WHAT IS PASSOVER?
SIGNIFICANCE OF EASTER
24) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
AFTERNOON RAINS
Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Anura Parida
IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LUSH GREEN
02) Trishna Sahoo
MUSIC: OUR LIFE LINE
POEMS
The air vibrates with rhythmic music
and a touch of the sacred,
mind lapses into a soporific trance
when the Damru* dances a jig;
the billowing smoke
captures the spirit of hemp rolls.
Our lord of annihilation, who
is an epitome of humility, living the life
of a maverick pauper; animals, ghouls
and the dead souls for company;
compassionate to the level of being
trampled over by Kali, his wife.
Third of the Triumvirate of the Hindu Pantheon,
an Aryan god, but secular to
finger tips, bestowing boons of immortality
even on heretics and Asuras, taking pity
if they grovel enough at his feet,
often blamed for his misplaced piety.
A lover of hemp and poppy! Also, could
grieve for wife's death, roaming the earth
with her rotting body on shoulders;
parts falling off, propounding the belief
that anger can be another name
of love, of the terrifying Tandav as well.
I don't know, why the maverick lord
doesn't revolt to be worshipped
as an erect phallus, perched perennially
in a yoni; as if the Lord has gone
on other missions than being fixated
to the project of procreation.
Besides being the most ancient ascetic,
he should hold the Guinness record as
the world's first Aghori*; he camps
in cremation yards, smeared with the soot
from pyres, wearing live snakes and tiger skin,
hair held in a tangled and knotted mass.
What can I offer to such a cute and
quaint earthy lord, who presides over
creation and annihilation, equally,
except a shred of my wayward thought?
A line of lost hieroglyphs
of my untamed spirits?
(Footnote - Aghori means one having a liking for the dead and decay, they are not horrified by corpses, necropolis or necromancers. A necromancer is a person who practises black magic, tantra, or Devil worship.)
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.
The mangoes ripen under
the sharp April sun.
The earth-smell vibrates
in the subtropical summer air.
The roads of Cuttack
are full of morning-walkers.
My woman cooks fish curry, smokes
eggplants, fries my favourite elephant's-foot.
I kiss her thin hands,
she kisses back,
pouring her long hair
over my face,
its scent slowly reaching
the blood in my deeper veins.
I recall the smell of mint leaves,
turn inward and discover
the yellow-gold magnolias of yesterday.
I look at the sky and think of how
I haven’t made love in a long
time, wait for another time.
The day is alive with bright clouds.
My blood whispers old tales
of kings and queens.
I've this unknown desire
to live among girls who came
from another land, a colder climate.
I can't tolerate the warmth
of the Indian sun of the Aprils.
A song, blurred by the years
of a quiet loss, reaches me
through the brief windows.
I wait for my night’s erratic sleep.
Bibhu Padhi took early retirement as a Senior Reader and the Head, Department of English, Dhenkanal College, in 2007. His most recent magazine appearances include The Times Literary Supplement, The London Magazine, The New Humanist, Poetry Ireland Review, The Manhattan Review, The Awakenings Review, Oregon English Journal, and The Dalhousie Review. He lives with his family in Bhubaneswar, Odisha.
TWO POEMS OF SELF-LACERATION BY TWO ODIA POETS:
The poets look at the moral deterioration from their view points. Hrushikesh Mallick looks at it thorough the fate of a woman. Prabhanjan K Mishra looks at it with self-deceiving false glory. But both converge in their efforts for a social awakening, the hidden social message.
IMRAANA (Imraanaa, Kevala Tumapain)
(Translated by prabhanjan K Mishra)
Neither a god, big or small,
nor a prophet, eloquent or silent;
neither a man, nor a woman,
it’s me, a humble word-smith.
The moon plays hide-and-seek
among patches of clouds, “Catch me
if you can…”, a merry-go-round.
But the game reminds me of a pale hand.
Your hand, bloodless, hanging out
of your flower-bedecked coffin.
How does the decoration matter
to your unseeing marble-eyes!
Your subdued Nikanama got
drowned by the roar
of a rampant tiger at large,
a two-legged (wo)man-eater.
What time is it, Imraanna?
Night seems unending,
my pretended sleep
is ajar behind closed eyelids.
Lonely nights chase me, urge me
to wake you up from your casket,
take you for a leisurely walk
along the silent riverbank.
What would we talk about? Everything
is no-no, having lost the relevance.
Don’t cry Imraanaa, the tears would
soak your shroud, sobs crush your chest.
Why did you surrender to death
so quietly, Imraanaa, without a fight?
Wasn’t anyone there by you to help
when the old tiger went berserk?
Couldn’t you put your hands
on a shard of broken glass to stab him?
Use your sharp teeth to pull out
his entrails, a woman’s ultimate tool?
Might be your husband was looking
for salvation at a country liquor bar,
your amma-in-law had gone out
to earn her daily wage.
children busy playing out of earshot.
You knew, it would be a waste of time
to ask for help from a hymn-buff Ishwar
or a Namaz-addict Allah, anyway.
Why did these saviors of humanity,
turn a Nelson’s eye, when the tiger
ravaged your soft bosoms, muddied
the serene stream of your thighs?
The activists shouted slogans,
held candle-marches; the leaders,
visiting to console your family,
slyly groping your minor girls.
Like the weaver bird least bothered
about its nest against the strong wind,
your neighbor Chaitaa, the rickshaw-puller,
visited his routine liquor den after the tragedy.
It is only me, whose head hung
in shame, as you gave up fight
like the ever-tolerant Sita and sought
your peace in the mother earth’s lap.
So, I would invoke you by
the long arms of my pen and poetry,
the law’s arm no more long or strong,
to rise and fight for your peers in pain.
Neither a god, big or small,
nor a prophet, eloquent or silent;
neither a man, nor a woman,
it’s I who invoke you, your humble word-smith.
(END)
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.
THE SKIN-DEEP FAME (Gourabara Patala Chamatale)
Prabhanjan K Mishra (Self-translation)
Tired of clearing cobwebs -
Lies and falsehood rule the roost.
Sleight of hand hoodwinks fair deals
with counterfeit compassion.
The rich and poor,
from men of power to those
humbled by fate and birth,
dance for immortality, vainglory.
Force with humility, a mix.
Sin, tempering it with
impunity and charity. Score
the highest number of goals, playing foul.
Two hoots to monstrous blunders
or irreparable loss to others!
Ingratiating submission of the exploited,
conceals the agenda behind blessings.
Most of the portals lie half-built,
the holy sites strewn with rubbles,
the edifices of glory cracking at hips,
reality makes room for fairy tales.
Showcasing hollow promises,
ruining the Holy Ganga
with cleaning budget, sweeping
into it the pyre-remains and drains.
The waist-belts support our weak spines.
Headgears conceal baldness.
Dentures dazzle over the teeth-loss.
God! When would these vanity fairs stop?
(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.
TWO POEMS
The two poems by two authentic and erudite poets from Odisha writing in Odia. ‘FATHER’ in a man’s life. Father is a symbol of heroism, courage, idealism in most children’s lives. Exceptions that vitiate the plot are rare.
(Translated by Prabhanjan K Mishra)
I feel like having
a word with father;
not sure,
what would I talk about.
Daily, we come face to face
many-times over, pass each other,
without a word, as if,
have nothing to say.
He looks at me, expectation in eyes;
as do my eyes brimming with hope,
nothing comes to my mind.
Does he also feel tongue-tied?
When I come before him,
often my mouth goes dry,
my tongue loses its way,
and spit chokes my throat.
Perhaps, father knows me
better, his shy son. His eyes,
twinkling with affection, hover over me
when I pretend to be asleep.
Father is approaching me,
we may have a word.
None others are around
to make me feel shy, tongue-tied.
Perhaps, we both go about
like strangers, our worlds
being separated, as well as joined
by a cold bridge crying for warmth.
My search for that bridge continues
that would join our worlds of hesitation,
inhibition, inward struggle;
walking long, parallel, tiring distances.
The bridge may also be awaiting
our footfalls, florally decorated
to welcome us, but gathering dust,
crying for the dust of our maverick feet.
Arupananda Panigrahi is a senior Odia poet, his poems mostly rooted in Odisha’s native soil; has four collections to his credit; he writes his poems in a spoken tradition in an idiom unique to his poetry. Sprinkled with mild irony, his poems subtly closet at their cores the message of hope even at the moment of proverbial last straw of despair. (email add – arupanadi.panigrahi@gmail.com)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. Mishra.)
Father’s sweat and blood
oozed into little rivulets;
when he tilled our drought-dry land.
He raised crops,
taming discordant songs
from the green nubile shoots
till they bent with ripe, brown paddy.
The differing from my poetry
on pen and paper, he tuned his
etching the lines with a plough.
The irregular lines
written as poetry by riff-raffs
paled before his soulful furrows.
In childhood, my little feet
were unable to walk
long distances.
I rode his shoulders
to village fairs at Gurujang
and Dhabaleshwar.
I recall those rides,
much more comfortable
than cars rides of today.
In cool moonlit nights
in our inner courtyard,
father lying on his back,
would make me play gugupaanchi*.
I would watch the moon play
with the floating clouds when
lying face-up on his knee-swing.
The Baali Jaatraa*
where he took me
and we rode giant wheels.
When the evenings loomed
over the cow-dust in our village lane,
father would sing devotional songs.
The plaintive sweetness would
fill my soul - ‘How long would you,
my Lord, keep me waiting…?’ I never
would know for what did he wait for.
I would rejoice in his Bhakti songs
while busy in my homework,
the light melody, a booster
to arithmetic and sociology.
As tranquil as my mother’s lullabies,
better than the melody nights
of today’s DJ music. His evening song-soirees
made me a mini-monk out of the spoilt brat.
(Gugupanchi* - adults, lying on their backs, would swing little kids on their bent knees. Bali Jatra* - rural fairs held on dry and sandy river banks and seashores of Odisha, the fairs starting with the day of Kartik Purnima, to commemorate the seafaring trade and traders or Sadhavs of ancient Odisha, sailing Boitas, the large country-crafts.)
Bijay Ketan Patnaik writes Odia poems, Essays on Environment, Birds, Animals, Forestry in general, and travel stories both on forest, eco-tourism sites, wild life sanctuaries as well as on normal sites. Shri Patnaik has published nearly twentifive books, which includes three volumes of Odia poems such as Chhamunka Akhi Luha (1984) Nai pari Jhia(2004) andUdabastu (2013),five books on environment,and rest on forest, birds and animal ,medicinal plants for schoolchildren and general public..
He has also authored two books in English " Forest Voices-An Insider's insight on Forest,Wildlife & Ecology of Orissa " and " Chilika- The Heritage of Odisa".Shri Patnaik has also translated a book In The Forests of Orrisa" written by Late Neelamani Senapati in Odia.
Shri Patnaik was awarded for poetry from many organisations like Jeeban Ranga, Sudhanya and Mahatab Sahitya Sansad , Balasore. For his travellogue ARANYA YATRI" he was awarded most prestigious Odisha Sahitya Academy award, 2009.Since 2013, shri patnaik was working as chief editor of "BIGYAN DIGANTA"-a monthly popular science magazine in Odia published by Odisha Bigyan Academy.
After super annuation from Govt Forest Service in 2009,Shri Patnaik now stays ai Jagamara, Bhubaneswar, He can be contacted by mail bijayketanpatnaik@yahoo.co.in
TWO POEMS ON THE QUEEN OF EMOTIONS “LOVE” BY TWO ODIA POETS: the poems reflect the earthy as well as spiritual aspects of ‘Love”.
THE SONG OF SILENCE (NISHABD SWARA)
(Translated by – Prabhanjan K Mishra)
Muted green
of our banana grove
brings me the quiet beats
of your heart.
Like the shouting of the boatman
brings relieved sighs
to the worried travellers
waiting for crossing a swollen river.
With braille you etch my skin
writing the alphabet of love,
the caressing raindrops
wet-finger the earthy desire,
perfect metaphor for
our private poetry.
Your entry into my life,
a refreshing breeze;
emboldens me against
my sorrows.
Guilts and remorse
bolt by the backdoor.
My heart feels sheltered
in your cloistered love,
you, my sacred basil,
enshrined in my house,
my presiding deity,
I love to be your captive devotee.
Kamalakanta Panda (Kalpanta) is a renowned Odia poet lives and writes from Bhubaneswar, the city of temples, over the last forty years. He is often referred to as Kalpanta (meaning the ‘ultimate’) in Odia literary circles. He is a poet of almost legendary repute in Odisha and if one has not read Kalpata, then, he hasn’t read the quintessence of Odia poetry. He is famous for a quirky decision: he would never collect his poems into books himself. However, one may not find an Odia literary journal, or an anthology not enriched by his poems. His recent passion is to re-discover quaint and musical Odia words, and use them in poetry to enhance its nuances and contours. He is shy and quiet by disposition and believes to serve his muse, the deity-poetry, away from humdrum and razzle-dazzle of poetic forums. (He can be reached at his resident telephone No.06742360394 and his mobile No. 09437390003)
(Translated by Prabhanjan K mishra )
I adore this night.
It may not be the same tomorrow.
I beg you, give me your lips,
let me take an eyeful of you,
feed you my wild berries,
take you into my little cottage
decorated with peacock feathers.
My heart is jubilant like a swan’s
swaying in rhythm on ripples,
water mirroring its pristine image
in myriad fragments.
I adore the trees
along with their
foliage and blooms,
the river that soaks their roots
and the clouds
that wash them green.
The wind by the sea would
be in my adoration, the breakers
they bring ashore would keep
haunting me, my sweet reveries.
I would surrender myself
to this moment, rejoice its bliss.
Tonight, I would adore
my companion with a garland,
he would lead me to light
from the darkness.
Tonight, I would not adore
the gods, not count beads
in their names. it is our night
of adoration, I and you, my mate.
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.
In the quiet recesses
between breaths
dwell the voices unspoken,
echoes of thoughts that flutter
like leaves in a gentle breeze
but unable to take wings
like ashes of desire
simmering under our skin
but unable to leap into flames
like embers of passion
turning into stardust
before they catch fire.
They linger in the shadows
unseen and unheard
only ricocheting
in the heart's chamber
whispers of fervour and fears
yearning to find their release.
They are the silent symphony,
orchestrating the rhythm of life,
a cacophony
of unsung melodies
waiting to be heard
waiting to be known.
In the depths of solitude
they hibernate
uncontaminated
by the noise around
insulated from
the clatter and chatter
but within the reticent ripples
within the reclusive silence
lies the real power
a potency waiting to unfurl.
Perhaps all that it needs:
a bit of courage
a bit of outrage
a bit of audacity
and a bit of impudence…..
A day will come
when you would hear
someone pressing your
doorbell
and you open the door
only to admit yourself in
with open arms
and escort yourself
to your abode.
You would make yourself
comfortable
in your own parlour
and engage in small talk
to break the ice
and may be you
would offer yourself
a cup of hot tea
or perhaps clink your
glass and say cheers
and sit down to
retrieve the numerous
selfies that you
had clicked together
from the Facebook
archives.
You perhaps will get
acquainted with
the stranger
whom you had forgotten
all these years
while you ran from
pillar to post
to prepare yourself
for the voyage ahead
and set your sails
to the unknown shores.
While you raised a family
paid the debts
increased your net worth
and while running
many a races
trampled some
and climbed on some
left some behind
and followed some
on your way to the top.
And now that you
are back on the level
playing grounds
it's high time you
recognise him once again
as you stand in front
of the mirror
and pull him out
of your shadow
and let him and you
embrace each other to
once again become one
till you burn together
and your souls in fusion
sublimate together
and are sucked into
the supreme soul.
Note: A tribute to Nobel Laureate Derek Walcott in response to his 'Love after Love' to commemorate his death Anniversary (17 March)
Dilip Mohapatra, a decorated Navy Veteran is a well acclaimed poet in contemporary English and his poems appear in many literary journals of repute and anthologies worldwide. He has seven poetry collections, one short story collection and two professional books to his credit. He is a regular contributor to Literary Vibes. He the recipient of multiple awards for his literary activities, which include the prestigious Honour Award for complete work under Naji Naaman Literary Awards for 2020. He holds the honorary title of ‘Member of Maison Naaman pour la Culture’. He lives in Pune and his email id is dilipmohapatra@gmail.com
“How come you are so prolific?”
“Who?”
“You.“
“Excuse me, there are two of us here
Which one do you mean?”
“The one who writes.”
“Oh, writing!
I thought prolific in some other things.
One can come up with jokes
Play pranks
Make money”
“No, I meant the stories.”
“That is teamwork”
“We all suspected that.
Man or machine?”
“People.”
“You don’t use ChatGPT?”
“I do, that is my scribe.
Insensitive, inexhaustible
Unpaid, immortal
Virus-free”
“OK, come to the point…”
“Yes, I’ve been bleeding white for years
Even since I was born.”
“So?”
“Those red spots, dry and turn black
If they can make it to a white sheet
You have a piece”
“You are so sanguine!”
“Translation?”
“So much blood to lose.”
“No, I get reblooded.”
“Translation,”
“The stories others bleed
The blood others fictionalize
Go into me and I am fine
I cut myself
Slash myself
Tear myself apart
Bleed profusely
And you know the rest”
“Your teammate?”
“Yes, we mate”
“Oh, great
So, she is your bedmate too”
Not just coauthor”
“In fact, we have another bedmate”
“That is a deviation”
“Yes, the road to heaven”
“Did both of you date her together”
“No, I found cute half
And she pointed out this companion”
“No jealousy there?”
“Yes, I am thoroughly jealous of them
But that is OK”
“How do you manage that?”
“A change in usage”
“Translation please, you are getting on my nerves”
“Intentional.”
“Anyway, explain”
“I used to say
Thou smellest nice
Now I say
Thou smell nice”
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes, I found the direct path to heaven”
“I mean is there a difference between the phrases?”
“I have quit teaching
Find someone who hasn’t”
“I will try that”
“Good luck”
“Same to you”
“By the way, I thought this may be your next poem
But it sounds like flash fiction”
“Yes, but wait till the blood drops dry and turn black”
Sreekumar Ezhuththaani known more as SK, writes in English and Malayalam. He also translates into both languages and works as a facilitator at L' ecole Chempaka International, a school in Trivandrum, Kerala.
A woman is
the sweetest creature on earth,
man's eternal breath;
a blend of soulful love and tears
(sometimes false though),
bold like a bull
but like flower, beautiful;
tough like a dictator
but inside sweet as nectar;
love her, she will love back
all the more,
hate her , she won't turn sore,
ignore her
she won't try to be bore;
she is fire and she is ice
she is sour and she is peace
she can be the door to hell
if at her you yell,
but she is sure door to salvation,
man's lust, love, passion
destruction and devotion.
Open up dear worn out soul
all the misdeeds, sins, guilts,
foul plays and dance of lusty nights
when you were young to hilts;
Open up the Pandora's box
of drunken nights of fanciful love,
hang-ons on grassy beds,
clamor for the girl,
artful, wily and beautiful;
Now that lust is a dying thing
time is sounding the last ring
heal the abraised soul
with love divine , of salvation you sing;
for now light of new life knocks
at the door of your body on the rocks.
Dr. Saroj K. Padhi, an Associate Professor of English in the Govt. of Odisha is at present working at J K B K Govt. College, Cuttack . Born in 1962, he has been writing poems in English and Odia since his school days. He has published several reseach papers, two books of criticism: 1. JAYANTA MAHAPATRA’S RELATIONSHIP : A CRITICAL STUDY 2. ENGLISH ESSAYISTS : A CRITICAL STUDY and got 14 anthologies of poetry in English namely PEARLS OF DEW, SHATTERED I SING , RHYMING RIPPLES, PETALS IN PRAYER, SILENT SIGHT, MOON MOMENTS , A SLICE OF SILENCE , ELUSIVE SPRING, MONSOON MEMORIES and WHERE BUDS REFUSE TO BLOOM, THE ENDLESS FLUTTER ,STARS IN THE COVID SKY, IMPULSE FROM WOODS AND SELECTERD POEMS
He has received several awards including the national ROCK PEBBLES AWARD, 2017.
WHEN BELOVED RESIDES BY A LIGHT-YEAR
Another galaxy, another planet.
Frequency of love bridges two spheres.
Like an alarm set before slumber
Her love wakes him at any time.
What a silver speech!
Like a painter she unfurled her world,
With each brush stroke fantacy bloomed.
What lacks there?, he asked.
We lack territorial boundary, So nationality, citizenship and war seem a fable.
No wall sprouted in neighbourhood.
Our hearth cooks love.
Nobody peeps or steals, so home never closes its eyelids.
Here love is not forbidden
So as the moral policing.
Pure impure discrimination is not there,
So pubescent girl and meat eaters are not impure.
Here horoscope doesn't determine destiny,
So as marriage.
God is yet to born, so religions and terrorism
Don't scoop our brain.
As we lack the above said there is no other and dislike.
What do you have on earth, she asked.
Earth is rich with what you lack in your sphere.
Honey, the wantings in your world allure me.
Now lets let our love to cuddle, he said.
They impregnate the zilch space of light-years with love.
Im Nikhilesh Naduvannur. I was born at Naduvannur, a village at Calicut in Kerala. Im a teacher of English by profession. I work in Indus English Medium School at Calicut.I penned screenplay for two Malayalam short films.I write poems in English and Malayalam. Besides I write short stories occasionally. I do translation work too. Recently I translated 20 poems in Manipur issue based anthology of poems entitled "Stain of Agony " in which the veteran Malayalam poet Sachithanandansir was a part. One of my translations got published in the sunday edition of African News Paper. I love to explore new territories in the world of literature.
The three stumps of wood — the floating hope of
humankind on a rising sea.
Above, the vultures hover awaiting to feed on the
Carcass of human pride
The mangroves tremble, the fir and spruce
exchanging condolence
though entwined by fate to lead
each other to obliteration
My poem ‘A Noah’s Ark’
a refuge for he who offers his prostrated
obeisance to the left out green
***
The lost faith in the “world personified”
Or the Last faith in the Vedic prayer which sermons
to take shelter in the “Daru”
A thought torn and split apart
As like one who clings to the horizon either
immersed into darkness or fished out to light
As like someone deciding
Either to run into the popping crease
and defend the stumps
Or to run away and be stumped out
Eventually, the apprehensive mirror reflects
Either to recover what is lost
or to have believe in what would last.
To believe in thy white — thou phenomenal
Universe To have faith in thy black — thou the
Emptiness
To rely on thy red — thou garlanded
Passion
Wearing a brown of green, beholding
creativity — I preserve my
eagerness in your blue
Show me, guide me, make me
a primitive tribal to worship thou with trust
Lead me my wood thee “Saviour
of the fallen souls”
We too resolve to preserve thy eternity
and remove the loom what haunts the men
The Nero of the newfangled world
the father to Nino
who has been groomed to be
the Frankenstein
now discovers his descendant
to lead a mutiny against the
progenitor himself
The walls of Apollo crumble
the divine tragic justice befalls
on the mortals who were too
ambitious to be the Titans
Poseidon rising...
With no Leonidas left to desist
Nino at the Gates of Hell.
Only idolising the wood so indestructible
can one attain supremacy
Only comprehending the rotation of the discus
emphasising the change of time can
one help the mind
to cleave apart from matter
He who has no material hands and
feet but transcendental senses
He who stands on oblivion
He whose round eyes enlighten the
Stygian pitch dark
He who animates the deep rooting,
The climbing of airy stairs to embrace the sunlight
The spreading of boughs to offer shade
The bestowing of the boon of fruit
and flowers — all by thyself.
Inspires Mankind to be selfless
So that the wood may “pahandi”
to leave its rootfall everywhere
***
The white silvery salt of the
crawling desert,
now exhales the heat
Hunger and thirst hand in hand,
crawl below the sandy dunes to
be carried everywhere
Holocaust in the womb of greed
awaits the ice to melt
And famine whispers,
Land, land everywhere, with no
Green to see
Like the pagodas of Herod, the
temples will collapse with faith
being fake,
The church will be ruined,
with no confessions to make
and the mosque will have no one
to say “for God’s sake’’
All these happen when we live
just to take...
***
Every time I ascend the twenty-two
stairs, singing the song of the
holy hermit,
I rediscover the divine — how man
mingles with nature
and awaits the Day
when cataclysm will reunite
all the religions in the
citadel of wood
To taste the forgotten fruit of spiritual
Food,
which will be born out from thou
O’ stumps of wood.
My Lord that day this poet
will repose peacefully underneath
the holy shroud of your hood.
***
Destiny’s destiny in Man’s hand
The past slipping into the Seaman’s Land
The future will sprout from the
barren sand.
They will flee from the lands of fire,
They will march in fear from where
burns the pyre,
will be led by Moses of their time
will follow the far away ringing
of chime
To Babylon where the woods are
still dark and deep.
A gleeful haven for the innocent
sheep
To the land of midnight sun and lark
where the colours breakfast by nibbling
the dark.
Men queue at the brim of green for recluse
to return the wild the “stumps of wood”
A safe haven for sure and not
to lose
The final restoration of the last faith — an offspring of
My mood…
Beneath the gruesome canopy of night
From which drizzles darkness, shade by shade.
Stands the tower of silence
Around whose outer ring slumbers flesh
Awaiting the bald heads who could
dig into their diet of carrion
Regurgitate and take off.
***
Underneath the frozen moon,
Around which circles the mist
Gazes the ceremonial blue stones
And rise the fumes in rings from the
incense placed
From afar whispers the hymns
sung by the Mongols.
***
Neath the clouds which frown
at the earth
Angels who alter evil at night.
Banter and chat the “Rogyapas”
Help the soul to move on from the
uncertain plane, between life and death.
Whereas the hawks feed on“Tsampa”
And the yaks walk away to freedom...
***
One must remember
“In life cover your private parts,
In death your face
As in the next world everything
will be unveiled”....
***
Just below the shield of darkness
Slant a craggy cliff
Coronated with varied boscage
Shielding the fire
which sprouts from a pyre.
Down the craggy hill,
Lies a cavern yawning incessantly
with its jaws open
Awaiting and greeting those who
have an appetite for flesh and blood.
While following the ants’ trail, Creep
the perpetrators.
The only difference is places changed,
roles reversed,
As yesterday’s victim today’s executioner
The preys of the past, play the decider.
From the stalactites tied upside down
Hang corpses of men who have undergone cadaveric spasm,
As they were hammered, trimmed, chiseled and daggered
and converted into perfect edibles,
Men who have groaned before death,
But now distended put to silence
like what the star had been before life.
Livor mortis
Rigor mortis
Doesn’t matter,
Skin slippage
Maggot, methane
Would be a platter.
Blood drips on, floods the floor
The poo filled intestine dragged with
force lie, scattered down by the door.
A satire sounds macabre indeed
For the vertebrate scavengers
Another day to feed.
Though the soil is stained, grim and cold
Everyone has food and everything
is sold.
On stony racks lie dipped in ethanol
Some fresh human babies,
Whereas few with pock marks,
skin ripped, chopped heads with
mouths sipping out fluids
stand to be devoured.
The foul smell of hydrogen sulfide hovers over
the plutonian world
with Bugs laying their eggs on the human nest,
Indeed a perfect specimen of mental
conjuring of moldering cadavers
what hunger has lured.
Leather belts
tanned wallets
is all that matter
Liver and kidney
Wigs and jackets
the demi Lord lies scatter
Now the social animals sacrificed
to appease the Testament
But what is justice, is that the
verdict has changed.
Now the rites of Taurobolium
well performed to gratify Avesta,
though the perforated platform
is the same, but the Minotaur
is clenched.
Now the books of Moses though
followed word to word
Though Exodus and Genesis
Guide the way,
But it is Man who is pegged to the guillotine
and Justice has its day.
***
The Appendix
***
Caught in a coop, me and many
awaiting our turn
Grinded in fear, besmeared with faeces
Trembling to get blended in a churn.
Hopping helter — skelter, won’t save us
Sticking together, won’t help the mass.
Someone there yells his last cry
floundering in agony, no prayer but
only sigh.
The Legend of Maori, come out to be true
With our flesh on beam balance
with no one to sue
While the walls of the cavern
Painted with hue
Echoes for no mercy
As avenge is due…
‘’FEAST OF SACRIFICE” ;
Is yet to be trialed
‘’CORRIDA DE TOROS’’;
Answer the petitions filed
GADHIMAI and YULIN
Brothers in hand
The world will be a better place
Once you are banned’.
Kanjilal has a heart and soul like us full of emotions – he laughs in pain, and weeps in anger yet fulfills his routine responsibilities to get going. His beliefs are framed around the notion of ‘constantly’ committing good to negate the evil deed, which is portrayed through his composed poetry.
In 2015, he penned his first book titled Fateless 13 (publisher: partridge) , an accumulation of thirteen poems that demonstrate every aspect of life, beginning from birth to death. After more than six years, in 2022, he authored the book 11 Oracles, published by White Falcon Publishing which comprises a five-part series of poems. In addition, he is a director and senior lecturer at Educare The Institute (E.T.I) Kolkata, one of the prestigious academic institute that has guided over 15000 students .
In 2009, he received recognition for contributions in literature and education sector from Rajasthan Patrika and was awarded the best poet award in the kolkata literary Carnival 2024.
A pair of knees, shins, feet, angle-poise on driftwood,
toenails gaze at a crescent
of basking cars facing a palm-fringed bar.
Waves wait for the Moon to rise
in conductor’s coattails. Stagehand gulls sweep crumbs
off the boards, the wind slants its bow on the swell.
Cliff tunnels the wings where trucks boom thunder
bass from speakers, bottles clash treble
empty of their drink, sing an octave higher.
Yellow taxis stage-manage on the tarmac scythe,
flashing eyes at the salt-caked locks
and spiky bark suits the palms have rocked up in.
Knees ready for their Act One call.
The audience restless, rumbles.
Full Moon ascends, raised baton,
the line to the sea pulls taut. Hook in throat,
waves climb fifty, sixty feet; crescendo.
The breakers reach fists, smash up the show.
The ribs of its vault cracked open, unlocked to the blue,
green growing nave, the golf course a cathedral
— ranks dispersed, now a sacred, open space.
Sunday morning, two deer drum hooves on the fairway,
a heartbeat I hear through the soles of my feet.
Their ears prick, noses catch my scent
invading this haven. They remember a time before my kind
built monuments to worship a heaven elsewhere,
leap from the temporary frieze, disappear
through woods, their safe-holds for millennia,
leave me with a vision: let trees be the only towers I see.
Silver birches torch another dim morning,
their flicker flames lighting one last week before leaf fall
and instead of a canopy, they'll bear wreaths of birdsong.
The wicks of their trunks notch the sky,
counting how long I'm barred from my appetites;
Lent's eaten nearly a year.
I, prodigal, who emptied this land of wolf howl, bear claw
am born again, receive communion, realise
if I'm bound, they run and fly.
The choristers of branches descend — warble, trill, chirr,
write me new hymns, catechisms of joy.
Barsa's short stories have been published in Mslexia, Weighted Words (Peepal Tree Press), Present Tense (Dahlia Press), and Fly On The Wall Press. Her poetry publications include Indian Literature, Filigree (Peepal Tree Press), Magma, and Skearzines. She has been listed in Fish, TLC Pen Factor, Northern Writers' Award, The Book Edit, Asian Writer First Novel competition. She has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Leeds, UK. She lives in Leeds.
Staying charged,
for felling
like a lumberjack
on your soul,
Oh, the giant tree.
Yet I surrendered
and stood like a statue
on the ground,
Head hanging down.
Far away
the silent phantom
murmuring...
Buddha in the dark,
whose neck is slashed
and flowing
Hot stream of blood!
Hey, Budha
Oh, Universal citizen
shed your skin
and
Hide your nakedness
with fresh banyan leaf,
and be awake!
"Ma, ma," cried the breeze.
Does it mean,
‘Oh, No‘?
I am Ajay Narayanan, born and raised in Kalamassery, in Ernakulam district, Kerala. I come with about 35 years of teaching experience abroad. While pursuing my career, I was afforded an opportunity to engage in research in the field of education. After my retirement from work during the Covid era, I started exploring Malayalam literature. In a way, it was a journey of self-realization. So far, I have published three books in Malayalam, edited a couple of anthologies of poems and short stories including a book in English.
Published books - Parabola - Anthology of poems, in 2022. Avadhootham - Stories, in 2023. Thekkedathamma v/s Ramakavi - Stories, co authored by Darshana, in 2023.
I found my writing activities self revealing, fulfilling and empowering. I thoroughly enjoy these initiatives. The founding stones of my achievements were laid by my late parents Sree Narayanan and Sreemathi Sundaram. My wife, Umadevi and our only child Dr. Bhavana (Ireland) supported me in the process of becoming a writer. I believe that I am still learning.
Oh this life
burnin' like a candle.
Slowly burnin' away
till it can no more
So fragile
that the wind could snuff it out
struggling to light up the way
as if the darkness swallow's it up
Oh my heart
light and empty
still weighed down by somethin'
hopin' to break free
So lonely
yet not alone
stumbling in the autumn
Waiting on the spring.
I am Anantha Krishnan V, hailing from Quilon, Kerala, as of now I'm 18 years of age, having completed my highschool education and am currently preparing for entrance exams for college. I have a passion for writing poems in my free time. This is the first time I'm submitting on a public platform and hopefully get some constructive feedback.
I
When the day dawns
time begins
when the next day dawns
time begins
such moments
when nothing happens
time begins
only other things continue to end
2
Time is a rive
without banks
yet
it does not
get flooded anywhere
its depth
depends
on how much we sink
Raju Samal is an international award winning poet. He writes both in Oriya and English. He is M.A.in English Literature from Ravenshaw College. He has five volumes of poetry in Oriya and four volumes in English. He is a visiting Faculty to Mumbai University. He retired as General Manager from The New India assurance Company . Mob.no.9029970144 ,email rajusamal007@yahoo.co.in
The sky.
A line of flapping wings
speeds to horizon across
the sullen face .
The city lights
sputter in to motion,
limbs are uncrossed.
The stroll ambles in to
the lazy evening.
known, unknown
faces float in foggy
chatter of dry words
in retreating winter.
And you strain to listen
through the drone of mosquitoes.
A lone cat in dreamy eyes
stares at the departing light
in the eyes of an old man.
A sack-full of years weighs
on his shoulders, years that lost
alphabets long ago.
After the bloodied rites of the evening
on the streets, calm emptiness
of the wind stepping inside dark overall.
A lonely lonely town overseen by
a broken moon.
Tomorrow will never come.
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
Its relaxed ambience haunted me
like a passion-
the tall rocks, the mountains encircling it,
the deep and not so deep wood-
their colours and their forms were
an appetite.
But your presence and the aroma
of love,
like salt water, making one more thirsty
when taken,
whetted my appetite for more.
Oh! how we felt we were
God’s blue-eyed and
all the riches and luxuries showered on us
would tire us out.
Our words were echoed in
the fragrance of the flowers.
As the birds in the trees heard us,
their cacophony began to come down and turned
into euphony in approval.
There was blissful happiness
in your beatific smile,
as if nature’s signature.
In the midst of whispering sweet nothings
as you said, “I will always be there for you”,
the world turned bright for me.
I am a lover, never betraying
nature’s heart and its trees,
never also losing the forest for the trees;
loving a woman in more ways than one,
but never thinking for many.
Ephemeral is the world and beauty
evanescent; the only lasting beauty
is the beauty of heart.
Let’s take heart then,
our love will recycle like human soul
and return in another way.
Dr. Nanda K Biswal is passionate in reading poetry & intermittently have been writing poetry since his college days.1996 to1999 was the most fertile period for him when my Odia poems were published in almost all Odia dailies as well as in most of the Odia magazines. Also he write English poems and have authored 'The Fictional Transfiguration of History in the Novels of Salman Rushdie, Amitav Ghosh and Rohinton Mistry '. Besides, He has edited ' Prananath Patnaik: A purveyor of Egalitarianism'. Currently, He is engaged in writing reviews of the poetry books of the new poets who write in English.
The ‘You owe me’ list does not contain,
the hundreds of things you didn’t maintain.
My angst stems not from the things you never did,
but from the fact that you never admitted that you never did.
LET`S BURY IT IN OUR OWN HANDS
Let it be buried, unknown, unsung like an unwanted child,
In the darkness of the night, before we change our mind.
With no entries made in the registry, and the keeper looking away,
we will be lucky if no one comes our way.
With the breaking of the rays, we can smile sans fear,
Not recognize that patch of clay which the keeper would have cared.
It would then just be a number,
a date we will not remember.
We would go about living our perfect lives,
With the sound of tiny footsteps following us forever.
Jay Jagdev is an entrepreneur, academic and author. He is a popular blogger and an essayist. His foray into poetry is new. His essays are regularly published in Odishabytes and his poems on life and relationships have been featured in KabitaLive.
He is known for his work on sustainable development and policy implementation. As the President of the Udaygiri Foundation, he works to preserve and develop native language, literature, and heritage by improving its usage and consumption. More can be known about him on www.jpjagdev.com
The more money,the more power and the higher position ,
Is there any end to these
or even any kind of transition?
This endless hunger breeds a voracious wild animal,
That eats one's peace and
also oft gets a revival .
Life needs even many more things but in relative terms ,
Maddening makes one fall into mud of wallowing germs.
The insatiable thirst draws one into the ocean ,
That is bottomless,complex
psyche of Trojan.
Life is destined in terms of days and nights ,
As no fraction can be added despite all flights.
Let 's make it useful and
meaningful as well ,
Free from frivolous falls,dellima and enthrall.
MERGED INTO ONE
Dr R S Tewari Shikhresh
When two cores are merged into one ,
It needn't be conveyed to anyone
About the travail they have undergone
To make their dream a paragon.
Being one with and getting
awakened ,
Kindles a fire and fidelity to be strengthened
The hush of breeze on dew drops ,
Conspire with the sun , yielding crops .
Then life turns into a musical strains,
Subsiding undue mundane constrains.
Peace and comfort breed
blissful energy ,
Apathy and ailments turn
into synergy.
Here lies the metaphysical quest
Of togetherness that leads to the crest
Of truth ,beauty and divinity
On this plane of complexity .
Dr R. S.Tewari 'Shikhresh' is a retired Assistant Director(O.L.)from Govt of India ,awarded by Honourable President of India,Honourable Governor of Uttarakhand and U.P.,Honourable State Home Minister (Govt of India) for commendable work in Official Language of the country is an M.A.( English Literature ,Hindi Lit. Philosophy ),PG Dip.(Translation and Journalism )and Ph.D.in Philosophy of Religion ,
Dr Tewari to his credit has 23 books of English verses,Hindi verses,books on Official Language and English Grammar.He has delivered more than five hundred lectures in various workshops on various topics.He has written more than a dozen of reviews of books in Hindi and English. Having started his career as an English teacher ,Dr Tewari worked as a Translation Officer, Hindi Pradhyapak and Assistant Director (Official Language) in Income -tax Dept.He has also served as a Consultant, Officilal Language and Communication in a training Centre of the ministry of MSME.
He has also worked in the Departments of Philosophy and Journalism in Agra University as a visiting faculty for a short span. Presently, he is a Visiting Faculty in the distance cell of D E I Deemed University, Dayalbagh ,Agra (UP),India.
“You would not stand on the top of a burning building
hoping that Batman might swoop down and rescue you…”
If you do, it’s your choice, only yours...
In the cool comfortable air-conditioned room,
if you are perspiring, it’s your personal predicament;
only yours....
At the busy traffic intersection, if you choose
to honk persistently with annoyance,
please do! Irritation and Impatience
yours, exclusively yours…
If you thought fishes in the oceans can swim wherever and
birds have not a care flying across the bright blue skies,
choose to be them..
To do or not to do is yours, by choice,
exclusively yours...
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
Miles apart we reside
But it's the string of memory
That digs your presence in me
A smile appears after years of remorse
Though I have buried you for never melting in your honeyed words
It's so strange, you see
Your absence is enough to break me into pieces
Like molten lava , all memories flow into my blood
Causing an unusual , stirring sensation inside my body
It awakes my drowsy feelings from the sea of misery
I have erased you many times my dear
Wiped your thoughts that had lulled me again and again
Rubbed my heart where bruises had lived for years
Debarred my eyes from being intimate with the moonlit night
For the moon keeps me awake the entire night
Spent sleepless nights for years
As nights tempt me to dream of bygones
Still your messages spiralling up in the serpaintein lanes of memories
By quoting in the lone sky- " Earth and sky can never meet like you and me" ...
Welling emotions cannot hold my breath
I wish I could grasp the moments of yore
With so many dreams, I cajole the bygone memories,
But " Dreams take flight, a symphony of longing, till love finds its way"
After so many fake trials I again fall in love with you
I know it's a mirage where no more I could rescue
But it's the web of unknown desires
For slipping into the slithery land of hunger
Longing to find solace in your warm embrace
I decode the rules of the same theories again
Dreams don't sync with real memories
Still, the silly eyes desire to dive into the empire of fantasies
With the echoes of whispering night birdies
Let the heart meet with its final destiny
May the love find its way
Two souls converge in the dark alley
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.
Between us
There is always something
To recollect, to assess
To remember
Such is our thought process.
Between us
There is always something
To give, take and think.
To share,
Such is our natural sync.
Betwee us
There is always something
To fine tune, understand.
To relate,
Such is our natural bond.
Between us
There is always something
To rejuvenate memory,
To fall back,
Such is the innate empathy.
Between us
There is always something
To decipher our ways,
To decode our creations.
Such is the 'No expectations'
Between us!
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.
I
With a saintlike face and ghost like soul
Ghoulish thoughts and macabre turns,
Eyes cold like quiet running water
Underneath, Snakes playfully slither.
II
How many myths be created
To make the humans demon?
How much of history to be defaced
For truth to subborned?
Lies fly with abandon
Truth comes only limping after,
Cruelly buried under ideology
While history was forgotten in a whim.
Myths the shift from hand to hand,
Eye to eye
And they become resplendent as Gods.
III
Stories catapulted into orbit
Only go round and round.
The Oracle invents science
When none existed,
Spins yarns of tales and narrative.
We quiver on the edge of real answer,
When they regale beyond the closed door of myths
Dr. Satya Mohanty, a former officer of the Indian Administrative Service , was the Union Education Secretary as well as Secretary General of the National Human Rights Commission before superannuation. He has also held several senior positions in the Government of Andhra Pradesh, a state in the Indian Union. HE has authored a book of essay in Odia, The Mirror Does not Lie and a book of poems in English( Dancing on the Edge). He is a columnist writing regularly on economic and socio- political issues, Mohanty was an Edward S, Mason Fellow in Harvard University and a SPURS visiting scholar in Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, USA. He has been an Adjunct Professor of Economics in two universities and is a leading public communicator. His second volume of poetry will come out soon, He lives in Delh
(Translated by Sreekumar Ezhuththaani)
On starry nights, up in the sky
Two winged creatures do fly high
Filled with love's sweet call,
Born to love, giving it their all.
Just like stars twinkling up high,
Spreading love's light as they fill the sky.
Remember, those who forget to love from the soul,
Miss out on the greatest joy, the ultimate goal.
Boundaries we build, dividing us,
Religion, and caste, create walls between us.
But our minds know no fear, they soar high and free,
Breaking down barriers for all to see
How long will their world spin, you might ask
Love's endurance is no simple task.
Through time and space, it will always endure,
Love's victory, forever pure.
Mrs. Sreeja Sree from Kattuppara, a village in Malappuram, Kerala, India, is a multi-talented mother. She writes, composes, sings, illustrates, and makes her living as a dance teacher at her own dance school, after teaching herself classical dance forms like Bharatanatyam which is almost impossible to learn on one's own.
I am little hypnagogic
at middle of the night.
The sky is bright,
the stars seem drowsy
flickering and hazy,
the sea is in slumber
busy snoring
while the waves waltz
in divine rhythm.
Still in sleep,
the silhouette of my frame
remains quiet,
I get up and
start walking
with no soul in sight,
thoughtlessly,
I proceed,
sleepwalking,
on the quiet beach.
The cold breeze
comes from behind,
little naughty
and enthusiastic,
whistles few thoughts
into my ears
so that I keep myself busy
with self-talking.
I find,
I am not alone
as whole of the universe
Descends
engaging me
in the spectacle of nature.
Difficult to ascertain the locus,
unable to measure time,
I feel little warmer
as the sun rises
opening up my eyes
ending my dreamscape journey.
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
In the caliginous cosmos
When words were borders
And customs became principles,
she moved at a snail’s pace,
as innocent as a lamb!
Inequality prevailed on one side,
Scarcity of opportunities on the other
Within the limits of society
And traditions that chained her,
She lived as blind as a bat!
The woman ever played a dual role
The home was her major ground
The organization was the latter field
Inferiority complex, and inequality
Made her a chivalrous warrior!
Radios brightened her brain
Televisions tackled her stress
Gadgets enhanced her caliber
Machines modified her skill,
I see a changed woman now!
Mesmerizing confidence in her speech
Innate talents at her workplace
Balancing the mind in multiple places
Overall mental progress and thoughts
Label her an empowered woman today!
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
I, deep in my slumber, lost in the wild,
Fervent in my dreams no more around,
A flash of light does emerge in my mind,
Yes, buzz in my mobile, there it goes…….
Day with toothsies suddenly white,
Coffee, emerging heavenly with smile,
Showers fragrant with fresh bloom,
Decked in chic attire, revealing joy,
Crusty bread too, burnt yet crisp,
Never tempts to throw waste.
Free loads of wishes and messages,
Queen I am, in my fantasy carriage.
Some shed your aging, some shred your agony.
Some amaze it all through love deep.
Gheroed in gifts and gratitude,
Today, is the day, humane, I salute.
Hours wheeling past bitter memories,
Today is perfect only wrapped in surprise.
Here it comes, ye, starry night,
Waiting to close the curtains tight.
Isn’t this exciting for me to write!!
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.
A dusky evening sizzles
by the fireplace
steeped in warmth of snuggles
and colossal joy
relaxing ambience exalts
prospects of endearment
as throbbing pizzazz courses through
tenuous embraces
acquaintances and pals arrive
bridling excuses lame and contrived
a few out and out honest
some slathered with pretense
but the quaint mix makes a whole
as night catches on and deepens
plush comforts of hearth and home
tell a tale of hygge, yield a warm glow
nostalgic whiles bunched to
the aging frame tingle faded
and erased memories
groom us to listen to
the compelling voice of life in living
pouring drinks and their heart out
they indulge in banters and quips
recalling days gone by with probity
In the gentle grasp of bonhomie
secrets find a berth and giggles do round
as babbles imbue loads of toasty feelings.
Was it infatuation
or true love?
I ask myself
while summing up
the precise pinch
leaves me sullen faced and dolor
sorrow has become
a telling motif
in the ambience of my life
I am hedged of late
by the company of
snivels and sighs
life rattles along
amid aural chaos
but I wean each day
teeter on the brinks of fragmentation
I hate you but miss you
at the same time
as on when sweet nothings of yore
haunt my starry nights
Intrigued layers of separation
is too deep to fathom
I wish you draped your arm
around my shoulder
embalmed cawing feelings of hurt
Alas! This was not to be
as you were miles away from verity
scourged me like a seasoned usurper
and I was too naive to fathom
your ways and means.
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.
Oh but I feel my pain, aches, instantly crumble
My fears evaporate
Loneliness leaves my soul, waving a forever goodbye
In your warmth, my quivering tears find a fireplace
You say, "Am there, I understand" without words...
For
Your hug, is not just your arms around me
It's my home, when you hold me.
Will i becoming "BORING' to you
With the same rants on pain, challenges
Of how tired i am, or
How i trudge each day, or long for healing?!
Will you find me overwhelming
A walking talking carrier of aches, and complaints
Will you find me sullen, while my wounds are raw?!...
"NO" said the mirror.
"I love you. I will never leave you."
Be your own anchor, your own sunshine
You have YOU.
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
When you look up
standing on a ladder
perched on ground
seemingly reached high
up to the sky,
The end looks very distant.
In the ladder of life,
Age forty is distant
when twenty,
Sixty is distant
when thirty,
And at forty also
Eighty seems very distant….
It gives a good feeling
of reassurance that
we are still young,
lots of time
to chase our dreams
one after another
Would scale milestones,
Won’t let the age
come on our way
would go very strong…
We don’t realise
how fast we grow,
It seems like a blink
we hit forty,sixty or
more than eighty,
we adapt the changes
in and around and flow….
we keep on running
to score more and more
even if time signals
us out to disappear….
We remain persistent,
The elusive and unseen
last step of ladder
might be somewhere near
But still seem very distant…..
Col( Dr) Rekha Mohanty is an alumni of SCB Medical College, Cuttack, Odisha and she has spent most of her professional life in military hospitals in peace and field locations and on high altitude areas.She has participated in Operation Vijay (Kargil war)in 1999 and was selected for UN missions in Africa for her sincere involvement in crisis management of natural calamities in side the country and abroad where India is asked to do so in capacity of head QRT in Delhi for emergency medical supplies.She had also participated in military desert operation
’ Op Parakram’ in Rajasthan border area.After relinquishing Army Medical Corps in 2009,she worked in Ex Servicemen Polyclinic in Delhi NCR and presently is working in a private multi-speciality hospital there to keep herself engaged.
Her hobby is writing poetry in English and Odia.She was writing for college journals and local magazines as a student in school.
Being a frequent traveler around the world,she writes travelogues.The writing habit was influenced by her father who was a Police Officer and used to write daily diary in English language he had mastered from school days in old time.Her mother was writing crisp devotional poems in Odia language and was an avid reader of Odia and Bengali books.Later her children and husband also encouraged.
Dr Rekha keeps herself occupied in free times for activities like painting, baking and playing card games the contract bridge.
She is a genuine pet lover and offers her services to animal welfare organisations and involves in rescue of injured stray dogs.Being always with pets at home since early childhood ,she gives treatment to other dogs in society when asked for in absence of a vet.She delivers talks on child and women health issues to educate the ladies in army and civil.
After sad demise of her husband Dr( Brig)B B Mohanty in February 2023,she devoted more time to writing and published her first poetry book’Resilient Leaf’in August 2023.Since then there is no stopping and she is going to publish her second book of poetry soon.
She enjoys reading E magazine LV , newspaper current affairs ,writing poetry and watching selected movies whenever she gets time.She keeps travelling places of interest in between for a change which is a passion as a girl since days roaming with parents and siblings .Her motto is to be happy by giving the best to self and to the society.She is lucky to have a supportive family.
I played far excellent game
Khaja knows this better
I sang Suseela’s songs so sweet
Gopal stood exclaiming that
I lauded streams and waterfalls most
Rajendran shed shower on me for that
I wrote love(ly) poems on affection
Which took special note by sister Nilofer
I dressed well with handsome-consciousness
Kanagu delved on this with paise
My handwriting was petite with cute symmetry
Jayaram was much fond of it
I kept books and notes so spick and neat
That Sounder was at it with encomium
I had exhibited fitting manners towards kith and kin
Chitra’s mom admired with plaudits
I had a good physique with karate skill etc.,
Which was ever spoken with kudos by Mohan
I respected and was stooping to elders
My teachers and parents of pals commended on that
There were all from ten to some years on
But
The game, songs, water- bodies,
Fresh books, verse and poems
Are all well there;
Yet the hand written scripts wobbling,
Physique faltering, dresses withering and wrinkling
But the respectfulness has no recede
However,
Chitra’s mother, teachers, Mohan, Jai,
Kanagaraj, Sounder, Nilo,
Raj, Gopal, khaja— have all
Left me , in my this age of seventy plus
Wherein , Alas I don’t, I long for
Such
Apreciation and celebration!
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 .
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
Listen to the sound of silence.
The birds twittering on the trees.
Listen to the sound of solitude.
Happiness without any fees.
Listen to the sound of silence.
The glow of the new sun all around.
Listen to the sound of inner symphony.
In love let’s all abound.
Listen to the sound of silence.
The voice and music of solitude.
Listen to the story of your soul.
Immerse yourself in your inner being,
enjoy the mental interlude.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick is a scientist, a national scholar transformed into a globally loved, award-winning poet. Her poems have been translated into 40 world languages and she has published 9 books. A globe trotter she loves calling herself a global citizen. Not only does she write poems but she promotes peace poetry, multilingual poetry, global poetry and passionately promotes indigenous poetry. Paramita believes that by promoting indigenous languages, she can bring some endangered languages into the main stream. In 2019, she got the Gold Rose from MS Production, Buenos Aires, Argentina for promotion of Literature and Culture. Apart from many awards like the Sahityan Samman in 2018, Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore award in 2019, Poetess of Elegance 2019 and many more she was one of the recipients of the prestigious Panorama International Literature award from Greece in 2022. Paramita is the President and Initiator of the Mumbai Chapter of the Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library (IPPL) and also the Cultural Convenor and Literary Coordinator (West India) of the International Society for Intercultural Studies and Research (ISISAR).
A common mind
Broods on common things
Of humble origin,
The common problems faced
In the familiar world of wants
Which it inhabits,
Destined often to inherit
Responsibilities and deception,
But no fortune.
To think of the unique, uncommon
In the glittering world of fashion,
One has either to stick to shows
Or tend to forget his woes
So as to savour a different image
Decked with colour and camouflage.
But the common man, not so cunning
Like a chameleon, is alien
To the luxury of dancing in the rain.
Losing much of his time
In his toil for Dal and Roti,
He sweats in the heat and dust
So much usual in the Indian Summer
That regulates his imagination.
Exhibitionism like elitist poetry
Is summer snow in a high-tech city.
If a gift of goodies and hollow promises
Can remove the pain of living,
No one what so ever
Will remain unhappy in this world.
That you are feeling good
And they are feeling good,
Don’t justify that all is well
And I must feel good as well.
People take so much care of their own feelings
That they don’t have time to bother
About the feelings of others,
Not even of a brother.
Feeling or not feeling good is personal.
Occasional showers don’t determine
The feel good factor.
Success here can’t heal ‘the wound elsewhere’.
The fear of the grim finality
Of falling back to the barbaric,
And the callousness of the amused,
Kills eventually all integrity.
Not in heaven,
Nor in shrines on earth,
God loves to be there
In our heart.
A war in the name of God
Only widens the distance;
What joins us with Him
Is our love and goodness.
What good is there in the world
If there is no rhythm in life,
And what is horned around
Is just the projection of lies?
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.
Please come once, before you
depart this ‘shoddy’ land.
Sunshine is abundant here;
breezes, cold or warm, don’t
hesitate to kiss
trees and rivers here.
Here, jungles are deep and
mysterious, like us, inhabitants.
Here paddy fields have vowed
to spread green to the sky.
and every cottage is
a melodious song.
Stand in front of the jungle
to sense mystery; talk to the
river for unending fables.
You may favour these again,
like our lost childhood.
Aneek Chatterjee is a poet and academic from Kolkata, India. He has published more than five hundred poems in reputed literary magazines and poetry anthologies across the globe. He authored 16 books including four poetry collections titled, “Seaside Myopia” (Cyberwit, 2018), “Unborn Poems and Yellow Prison” (Cyberwit, 2019), “Of Ashes and Persiflage” (Hawakal, 2020) and “Archive Avenue” (Cyberwit, 2022). He also co-edited the “Poetry Conclave Year Book 2022” (Authors Press, 2022). A nominee for the prestigious Pushcart Prize, Dr. Chatterjee received the “Alfredo Pasilono Memorial Panorama International Literary Award 2023”. He was a Fulbright Visiting faculty at the University of Virginia, USA and a recipient of the ICCR Chair (Govt. of India) to teach abroad. His poetry has been archived at Yale University. He can be reached at: akchatjee@gmail.com
I have been standing
Here for ages
They used me
To go up
But never returned
Till date
I am waiting for them
To come back.
They might have used
Many others
Like me
To rise in life
As they know well
The art of moving ahead
With other’s help
Conveniently.
A ladder has no heart
No emotions
No regrets
They are aware of it.
They are blind
In their obsession
To rise and rise
And they never think
That one day
They have to descend
And look for
Another ladder.
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
ILLUSION OF THE SEA
Bhagaban Jayasingh
Today I stand on the sea beach,
though I cannot see her waves,
touch her dark green body,
even feel her sighs drifting;
the city keeps on rising
with its roars melting away in the wind.
The sea's illusion stretches all around
as she dazzles the horizon
with the drum-beats of her waves
the wind blows dancing on the waves's swings,
or sparkles the casuarinas
like the tears of a girl under the tree.
The pale moonlight trickles
through the wings of mist
when loneliness feels familiar like illusion
the sea disappears for being
tired and indifferent in
the lost communion of
a meditating saint who is yet to leave
the chaos of his soul.
I do not understand why the sea
plays hide-and-seek with my love and desire
and never appears except as an illusion
I go on asking everyone around
'Have you seen the sea? '
No answer greets the ears.
Today, seated on the beach
with a handful of sand
I am looking at the sea roaring
under the canopy of dark blue clouds,
though I am not able to see her
among the sand and seagulls
Then why should I come here
why should I, like a fool, love to be
caught in the net of maya?
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.
For a long period, I have not been able to write the way I used to
A feeling of helplessness keeps nibbling, and the soul dies somewhere
And I remain awake.
Over panes of the window, where the moon peeps a while,
Now sings the forlorn new moon.
It seems the fanfare is over the lonesome, broad streets
Yet waiting to quench my thirst from the oasis of fountains
Flowing over the ivory sheets
Where weariness of despair wears off
The palanquin of youth lurched in my swings
So many swayed by that buzz
Shining with furor
A gleam of yore, thrilling in joy
Of the whimsical overlook She bends on her knee. Grinning with charm Fascinated entice
How could one be away from those deep blue eyes? Bursting into a smile enchants
Sailing on cloud number nine Unfurls a tale of longing
A holy wedlock sailing in between eyes
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.
In God's eyes where galaxies dance,
A cosmic ballet of a divine romance.
Stars shimmer with celestial grace,
Painting the canvas of infinite space.
Mountains rise in majestic might,
Valleys cradle the whispers of night.
Rivers weave tales of ancient lore,
Nature's hymn rhythm forevermore.
In God's eyes the ocean's embrace,
A boundless love of a watery grace.
Waves sing songs of eternal tides,
As time unfolds in rhythmic strides.
Every soul shine with a spark divine,
In God's eyes, we intertwine.
Love's language spoken in the skies,
A sacred truth opened in God's eyes.
In shadows cast
by desire's flame,
Temptation whispers,
calling my name.
A dance with sin,
a fleeting trance,
Seductive urges,
a risky advance.
In the heart's battle,
a silent war,
Temptation lures, f
orevermore.
JUST CANT SLEEP
Umasree Raghunath
In the silent realm where night takes hold,
Rest eludes me, as thoughts unfold.
Insomnia's grip, a relentless bane,
Moonlit hours, a sleepless terrain.
Tossing and turning in the quiet dark,
Restless mind, an elusive spark.
Sleep's sanctuary, just out of reach,
In the hush of night, my mind's breach.
Counting stars, a futile scheme,
In the quietude, I chase a dream.
Umasree Raghunath is a Senior IT Professional/ Author/ Blogger/ Poet/ Lawyer/ Diversity & Inclusion Social Activist/ Motivational Speaker, Past President - Inner Wheel Club of Madras South, Vice-President-eWIT . Umasree has close to 400 poems across various themes, subjects, situations and emotions and been writing since she was 13 years old. She is the Author of the Book- Simply Being Sidds and also has a live blog in her own name.
I have visited and desired for
the old thoughts over and over again
and come at the same time each night’s dark
in dream to the same acre of fresh grass growing
beside my darling rivulet of life.
I travelled with the same landscape every day,
the habits shifting into unfaithful mysteries
in the same acts of piercing longings.
In my dream the same city looks different
through the yogic morning light, I prayed
and I have formed an endless sense waiting for all
my sensory parts leaking irresistibly violent weakness in me.
The same habit is lived out everyday, noisy
In a living voice from the past
messages are tall shadows of rivers.
Life goes on like before people
standing, sitting, chanting
walking and preparing for the prayer meets
beside an ancient river of faith.
Sages chant for peace, order
flowing in a vessel of light.
Home for all who have no
homes to go, no links to live.
Only prayers exist old temples--
are a window, hope of a river flowing
carrying the heart of a nation
living and longing, faithfully
holding the world tight…
All holdings fall apart as we move into the hungry mouth
Of history, enviable dark corridors we walked in the past
Kings and beggars have one bed to go, one large door to sleep and
Forgetting all glories and groans earned with the mud.
Crows of Puri are saviours of the myth
All prayers to the gate of the temple
Where Jaganatha resides, lotus blooms
Wooden idols are secret signals for living.
All things flow fast in the journey of memories of words.
An enviable darkness leads the way to the seeds calling:
Come straight here, no stopping
Come here, sweet children.
Jaydeep Sarangi is a bilingual poet, a poetry activist/critic with ten collections and several anthologies and critical books on/of poetry, latest being Memories of Words (2023) and Mapping the Mind, Minding the Map(Sahitya Akademi,2023). He isof Principal, New Alipore College, Kolkata. He is the President, Guild of Indian English Writers, Editors and Critics (GIEWEC). State Level Mentor for NAAC, Dept of Higher Edn., Govt of West Bengal,Website: https://jaydeepsarangi.in/. Address: Principal, New Alipore College, Block L, New Alipore, Kolkata-700053, WB. E mail: jaydeepsarangi1@gmail.com
In Srirangam's embrace, where legends breathe,
Amidst the chants, where devotees seethe,
Stands the sanctum of serene grace,
With Lotus Eyes and Lotus Feet,
Lotus eyes that hold the universe's gleam,
Reflecting divinity in the eternal stream,
In the sanctum's depths, they silently speak,
Of cosmic secrets, mystic and unique.
Lotus feet lead a muse to poets of lore,
Each step a tale, forevermore,
With each touch, they bless and heal,
In Srirangam's realm, verses blissfully kneel.
Oh, Ranganatha of Srirangam divine,
In every devotee's heart, you resplendently shine,
Your temple, a haven, where souls find peace,
Guiding us through life's trials, sorrows cease.
Childhood memories, like fragrant flowers bloom,
In temple corridors, where stories loom,
Chitti and Chithappa's tales unfold,
Of deities revered, their glories untold.
Each sannidhi, a world of its own,
With histories ancient, like seeds once sown,
We listen in awe, our hearts complete,
In Rangan’s embrace, mesmerized by his Lotus Eyes, Lotus Feet.
Eons after I bow at thy altar, with reverence deep,
A flickering dream of the one in an all-knowing sleep,
In Srirangam's temple, where yugas melt and meet,
Forever in obeisance to the Lotus Eyes, Lotus Feet.
Chitti - Maternal Aunt
Chithappa - Uncle
Sannidhi - Abode
Rangan - Endearing term to address Sent Ranganatha of Srirangam
Yugas - Eons/ages
Saranya Francis is a multilingual poet, English lecturer, life skills trainer, faculty facilitator and artist. She has to her credit three published anthologies of poetry titled Being Purple, Ambedo and Sonder. She Edited Antargata (2020), Co-edited Confluence I and II, she curates the monthly poetry open mic of Bangalore Poetry Circle. She is the recipient of Star Ambassador of World Poetry at the World Poetry Conference (2019), Bharat Award for Literature (2018) and other such accolades. Saranya Francis is currently an Assistant Professor of English at ST PAULS COLLEGE, Bengaluru and a Part-Time PhD scholar at Amrita Vishwa Vidyapeetham, Chennai.
O woman thy name is beauty
Beauty of the body and the soul
She soars to heights of fancy
Her imagination roams the world delightfully
O woman, sometimes as beautiful as a peacock
Sometimes sweet as a nightingale
Sometimes graceful as a swan
Sometimes you symbolize love of love birds
One woman, yet plays infinite roles
Somewhere ruler, somewhere slave
Somewhere friend, somewhere foe
Sometimes bright, sometimes dull
Women like team work as the sea gulls
Women adapt to the transforming climate of the world
They are so efficient, strong, bold
O woman you bring peace, harmony, happiness in your homes
Women are pretty, diligent, praiseworthy
They build and save their homes silently.
Away from the hustle, bustle of city life
And maddening crowd of humans
Here stands my village cottage
Amidst the surrounding trees, leaves, flowers
God made the country and man made the town
Man made the town, but the industries have turned them artificial, selfish only to frown.
The village air is pristine, filtered, non polluted
It is from the germs, diseases, viruses disinfected
Let me in the reveries of nature be lost
Let me taste the warmth and the frost
The cock's clarion will wake me in the morn
The lengthening shadows will indicate that it is dawn
From the village cottage I see, the lush green fields
The smiling flowers and the daffodils
The rustle of the leaves, the lowing of the cows
Teaches me to be humble, before the elderly to bow
I stay here in the soothing silence of rural solitude
Hospitality and charity is the villagers warm attitude
Blessed are those who enjoy life in a village cottage
Machines and industries have made man a mechanical, noble savage.
Give me peace
I am utterly shattered
A little peace can mend lives
I crave not for name, fame, wealth, power
But a little peace
Can mend broken homes, helpless beings
Crawling, stumbling, staggering
On the staircase of life.
Ms Gargi Saha is a creative writer. She has published two poem books namely, 'The Muse in My Salad Days, 'and'Letters to Him ', She has received the Rabindranath Tagore Memorial Award and the Independence Day Award for poetry. Presently she edits several scientific research papers.
I never asked for Roses.
Nor perfumes.
My hands only ache to hold your face,
drenched in the early morning sun.
I long to hear the music
in your voice,
like the tremors
in the flapping wings of a humming bird.
Time lingers,
when you bury your
breaths
in the curve of my nape.
And I just wish the fragrance of your being,
would fill me
like the mist embraces the
hills and the woods --
gently,
but surely.
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.
I'LL DWELL IN THE SILENCE OF YOUR HEART
When I won't be around,
The breeze will caress your hair,
The stream will chatter with you all the way
On its journey to the sea,
Mountains won't stand as dumb spectators
And stare at you vacantly,
Sea will swell and devour the shore,
Waves will teach you lessons of life,
They'll knock you down,
Push you back to where you started,
Once you crawl out stronger,
You'll learn to fight through without me.
When I won't be around you,
Sense the touch of my smile,
My absence in your life is an eternal echo
Across your path of existence,
I'll dwell in the silence of your heart,
Create my own little space,
My absence will remain alive
In my hidden presence,
While I'll encompass you with my love,
You'll feel my absence and
Will make you search for the pieces
Of me in every corner of your life.
Looking beyond the darkness of my mind,
Let the world light up with my smile,
Won't let the moments slip through my fingers,
I'll live life one day at a time.
Can you hear the music of the universe,?
I can, it melts my heart,
Pulls me out into the open fields,
Reminds me, each day is a fresh start.
The valley looks absolutely green,
Kisses the mountains at a distance,
I can feel the the gentle breeze ,
I need the love in your embrace.
The stream gurgled over the rocks,
There's something about it, a peaceful feeling,
I close my eyes,
I imagine you right here by my side.
Nandini Mitra is a poet based in Kolkata. A post- graduate in English Literature from Jadavpur University. She is in the profession of teaching for last twenty -five years. She has published her first book of poetry,The Road To Tranquility, recently. Has worked as a freelance journalist for a prestigious Bengali magazine published from Kolkata. She is passionate about Music and is a trained classical singer. However, writing poetry has become an integral part of Nandini’s journey of life since 2011. She believes in the religion of humanity, compassion and love. She has a rich sense of metaphors and imageries and enthusiastic about weaving poetry relating to the realities of lives and the diversities of nature. Her poems have featured in various national and international anthologies.
I might leave you and go one day,
But you will hear me in the words of our favourite song,
You will find me in the paintings unfinished,
The words i scribbled in my Diary,
And in the crumpled up papers where i wrote it all wrong,
I lay there in between the pages of your book
as a peacock feather,there you look,
In the fragrance of jasmine left on the pillows,
Pieces of bangles you broke with your hugs,
Memories we shared draped in six yards laid,
With the gifts i showered whispering my name.
Jingling anklets will dance in your mind
And you'd long to feel my wet tangled mane,
Giving you that winking smile.
I will taunt you with the naughty question again..."Do you love me"?
Just to remind you, that my soul can't be tamed...and i will be the same.
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.
THE EXAM DAY: AT HOME
Meena Mishra
The alarm's loud chime, woke me from my sleep,
Springing out of bed, into the day's sweep.
Rushing through chores, with a racing heart,
Revision awaited, a crucial part.
Summoned celestial help, to ease my mind,
Inner demons quieted, nerves to unwind.
Skipping breakfast, dived into the mission,
Reeling through chapters, a challenging vocation.
Familiar pages, yet doubts did loom,
Revision revealing, gaps of the room.
Have I truly grasped, what the lessons spun?
Or will the exam reveal, what's left undone?
THE EXAM DAY: AT SCHOOL
On arriving at school, friends greeted in glee,
Yet focused on prep, no time for spree.
Nerves twinging , as others flaunt their know,
Last-minute cramming, was never my flow.
Confidence in peers, who seem well-prepared,
Ready to conquer, questions not spared.
In this exam amphitheatre, minds put to the test,
Will knowledge prevail, or anxieties arrest?
In summer's cuddle, the sky ablaze with orange hues,
Flowers sway in rhythm, painting gardens anew.
Rose, Lily, Sunflower, Zinnia in bloom,
Their fragrances dance, dispelling all gloom.
Watermelon, Lychee, Mango, Jackfruit in array,
Market bustles with buyers, joy in every way.
Fitness freaks find solace in drinks refreshing and cool,
Coconut water, Ice tea, Mango smoothie, a delightful fuel.
Summer's love shimmers, in every corner it gleams,
A season of dreams, of laughter, and exciting screams.
Picnics in the park, under the shade of trees,
Children's merriment echoes, carried by the breeze.
Beaches summon, waves lapping at the shore,
Sandcastles rise, a testament to fun galore.
Sun-kissed skin, salty air, seagulls in flight,
Summer's magic casts its spell, a pure delight.
Evenings bring warmth, under starlit skies,
Glow worms twinkle, like tiny fireflies.
Barbecues sizzle, stories shared 'round the fire,
Summer nights, filled with joy, never to tire.
Crickets chirp their lullaby, as night falls deep,
Dreams take flight, in the arms of sleep.
Summer, oh sweet summer, your charm never ends,
A season of love, cherished by all friends.
(Founder & CEO - The Impish Lass Publishing House)
MEENA MISHRA is an out of -the box-thinker, inspiring hundreds of students, teachers and working professionals across the world, turn into published writers and poets.
She is an award-winning author, poet, short-story writer, social worker, novelist, editor, an educator and a publisher. The Impish Lass Publishing House is her brainchild. Her poems, stories and book-reviews have been published in many international journals and magazines. She is the recipient of several prestigious awards. She is an active member of Mumbai English Educators’ Team and was invited by the Education Department of Maharashtra to be a part of The Review Committee for the new English text book. She has been working as the International Coordinator for British Council activities for more than 10 years. She has been invited as a judge for several literary competitions and lit fests including the Lit fest of IIT Bombay and NM college fest. Her poems are published in many magazines, including the prestigious periodical Woman’s Era. She has been a contributing author and poet for more than 100 books. Her books include- The Impish Lass, Emociones Infinitas , Within The Cocoon of Love and The Impish Lass Book 2.
Her contribution to the field of education and writing has received acclamation from the esteemed newspapers like Times of India and Mid Day. Her articles are published in Times of India’s NIE and a suburban newspaper and leading educational magazine of the country- Brainfeed Higher Education Plus.
She is on the mission of publishing the articles of students and educators of various schools across the globe under her unique project, ‘The Young Bards’. Her autobiographical novella, The Impish Lass, has been converted into a web-series and can be subscribed on YouTube.
Under the banner of her publishing house ( The Impish Lass Publishing House- Mumbai ) she has successfully published more than 100 books in 3 year’s duration apart from The Young Bards- book various editions for students and teachers .More than 500 writers across the globe have received an opportunity of becoming published writers and poets under this banner. Recently published books ‘Cascades- Treasure Trove of Short Stories had 104 educators across the country getting published .She was invited to share her views by Sony TV for their first episode of, Zindagi Ke Crossroads, based on needs of special children. She was recently invited by the “AajTak” news channel to express her views on the special episode on the PMC Bank scam victims.
She had written an exclusive poem which was read and appreciated by the living legend of Bollywood- Amitabh Bachchan. She has been the recipient of Wordsmith Award- 2019 for her short story , “Pindaruch,” from the Asian Literary Society. She has received many awards in 2020 for her contribution to the field of education and literature. She has received ‘ Most Outstanding Teacher of the Year Award,’ during World Education Summit in Feb-2021. Her poems have been translated and published in Spanish magazine. Her latest book – The Impish Lass- Part 2 ( TIL Stories and More) has received raving reviews from the readers including the greatest Indian Nuclear Scientist Dr. R. Chidambaram. It has received 5 stars rating on Amazon .
As a publisher she believes that EACH SOUL THAT WRITES HAS THE RIGHT TO GET PUBLISHED.
A voyage in the ocean of the universe,
Passes through a myriad of experiences,
And heads towards the unknown to make it known.
Between the countless number of entries & exits,
Lots of events & lots of roles,
Lots of pleasure & lots of pain,
To strengthen the being to reach its goal!!!
The goal enthralls as it evades change,
Makes everything absolute and perennial,
A horizontal line in the graph of time.
Every life is significant by itself,
To fit into the cosmic design of the Whole,
And finally merge with the Whole, which is the goal!!!
Srikant Mishra is an Engineer by profession. He has graduated from NIT, Rourkela and studied “Advanced Strategic management” in IIM, Calcutta. He is passionate about English literature and has involved himself in literary work since late 90s. One of his poetry “Life Eternal” has been published in Aurovile magazine in Pondicherry in the year 1999. Another poetry “Autumn” has been appreciated by few poetic forums in the United States. Recently he has started writing short stories that depicts real life experiences. Apart from literature, Mr Mishra loves yoga, monsoon outing and occasional singing.
The Clock
The natural one
Not man made
Its sound makes men,
women, and children
Come to the open
See the rising Sun
The stylish Cock, nay Clock
Walks majestic
Runs a mini marathon
Friend with the little ones
Merry go round they run
Cats, dogs, and hens
Parrots too descend to join .
One fine morning
Sun comes on the horizon
Without the sound of the Clock
The Cock is gone
In the darkness of the night
When the glasses joined
In the nearby dak bungalow
To mark some celebration
Making children bewildered in the morning
Asking questions again and again
How do they know that
The clock here is gone
To bring a clock-tower
In not far off a Town!
(Professor Niranjan Barik ,formerly Professor and Head, Department of Political Science at Ravenshaw University also served as a Professor of Pol.Sc and Principal , Khallikote Autonomous College, Berhampur, Odisha. A Fulbright Scholar-in-Residence at Miles College, Birmingham, AL, USA in 2007-08 , Prof Barik evinces interest in reading and writing short stories and poems in Odia and English. His poetry book , “Freedom from Bondage: An Ode to Nature” was recently released at Bhubaneswar.)
ON A VACANT SATURDAY MORNING
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
I wish I knew
where you left
those gentle whispers
and the sweet breaths
that touched me
like a tender leaf
and disappeared.
I have been looking
for them in all the corners
of my heart,
my poor heart
that got emptied
when you left.
I don't know why it feels
as if you are standing
at the end of the street
where the sun rays
meet the silken flowers
in the green garden.
I see you talking
to the little buds
to grow up soon
so that all of you
will return home
holding hands, smiling,
as if all insipid todays
have turned into
joyful tomorrows.
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.
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