Literary Vibes - Edition CXL (26-Apr-2024) - POEMS
Title : Far From The Madding Crowd (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.
Dear Readers,
It is with great pleasure that I present to you the 140th edition of LiteraryVibes, which comes with a lot of beautiful poems and interesting short stories, anecdotes. We are lucky to welcome two new poets who have distinguished themselves with years of writing. Ms. Jyotsna Mohanty is an ardent devotee at Shri Aurobindo Ashram, Pondicherry, and writes excellent poetry steeped in spiritualism and love of life. Dr. Rajamouly Katta from Warangal, Telengana, is an accomplished poet and writer with tons of writing to his credit and is a winner of many awards. We are happy to have them with us. Let us wish them the very best in their literary career.
The election season is on and things are hotting up everywhere. Even weather-wise, it is oppressively hot in many parts of India. Last Sunday Bhubaneswar sizzled at 43 degrees which felt like 46 and people thought they were getting roasted in an oven. One of my friends abandoned her first floor home and went to the ground floor house of the neighbour to escape the scorching heat. Another friend said even if he had put the AC at 18 degrees the inside temperature refused to fall below 26. So much for the mindless, senseless ravaging of nature to satisfy human greed. Unabated construction in urban areas, raping of our forests through large scale cutting of trees, and emission of noxious gases into the atmosphere have destroyed the ecological balance leading to global warming. Our country, like many other developing countries, is paying a heavy penalty for playing with nature, no matter how many trillions the economy is worth.
Personally, we are a bit lucky to escape the heat of India, having come over to the US last week to spend a couple of months with our children and grandchildren. We are visiting them after a long gap of five years, Corona being a dampener for three years in between. Family reunions are always emotional and elevating. They are also occasions to roll back the years and peep into the many events of the past which have brought us to where we are today. As a coincidence I came across two stories on the Internet the day before yesterday which made me feel deeply sentimental. Let me share them with you, dear readers, with the hope that you will love them as much as I did
1. MY FATHER'S HANDPRINTS
Father had grown old and would take support of the wall while walking. As a result the walls had discoloured, wherever he used to touch and his fingerprints got printed on the walls.
My wife detected this and would often complain to me about the dirty looking walls.
One day, he was having a headache, so he massaged some oil onto his head. So, while walking oil stains were formed on the walls.
My wife screamed at me seeing this. And I in turn shouted at my father and spoke to him rudely, advising him not to touch the walls while walking.
He looked hurt. I also felt ashamed of my behaviour, but did not say anything to him.
Father stopped holding the wall while walking. And fell down one day. He became bedridden and left us shortly. I felt guilt in my heart and could never forget his expressions and never forgave myself for his demise shortly thereafter.
After some time, we wanted to get our house painted. When the painters came, my son, who adored his grandfather, did not allow the painters to clean father's fingerprints, and paint those areas.
The painters were very good and innovative. They assured him that they will not remove my father's fingerprints/ handprints, rather would draw a beautiful circle around these marks and create a unique design.
This continued thereafter and those prints became part of our house. Every person visiting our home admired our unique design.
With time, I also grew old.
Now I needed the support of a wall to walk. One day while walking, I remembered my words to my father, and tried to walk without support. My son saw this and immediately came to me and asked me to take support of the walls while walking, expressing concern that I would have fallen without support, I realised that my son was holding me.
My granddaughter immediately came forward and affectionately asked me to put my hand on her shoulder for support. I almost started crying silently. Had I done the same for my father, he would have lived longer.
My granddaughter took me along and made me sit on the sofa.
Then she took out her drawing book to show me.
Her teacher had admired her drawing and given her excellent remarks.
The sketch was of my father's handprint on the walls.
Her comment - “I wish every child loves elders in the same way.”
I came back to my room and started crying profusely, asking forgiveness from my father, who was no more.
We also grow old with time. Let's take care of our elders and teach the same to our children.
***************
2. WHAT WILL MY MOTHER THINK OF THAT?
On December 2, 2012, Spanish athlete Iván Fernández Anaya was competing in a cross-country race in Burlada, Navarre in Spain. He was running second, some distance behind race leader Abel Mutai - bronze medalist in the 3,000-meter steeplechase at the London Olympics. As they entered the finishing line, he saw the Kenyan runner - the certain winner of the race - who didn't know Spanish, mistakenly pull up about 10 meters before the finish, thinking he had already crossed the line.
Fernández Anaya quickly caught up with him, but instead of exploiting Mutai's mistake to speed past and claim an unlikely victory, he stayed behind and, using gestures, guided the Kenyan to the line and let him cross first. He virtually pushed Matai to victory.
When asked about it by a journalist, he coolly replied,
"I did what I had to do. He was the rightful winner. He created a gap that I couldn't have closed if he hadn't made a mistake. As soon as I saw he was stopping, I knew I wasn't going to pass him. I didn't deserve to win the race," said 24-year-old Fernández Anaya, "My dream is that someday we can have a kind of community life where we push and help each other to win."
The journalist insisted "But why did you let the Kenyan win?" Ivan replied, "I didn't let him win, he was going to win. The race was his." The journalist insisted, and again asked, "But you could have won!" Ivan looked at him and replied, "But what would be the merit of my victory? What would be the honor in that medal? What would my Mother think of that?"
Values are passed on from generation to generation.
What values are we teaching our children?
Let us not teach our kids the wrong ways and means to WIN.
Instead, let us pass on the beauty and humanity of a helping hand. Because honesty and ethics are real WINNERS.
........................................
Dear readers, the line that moved me the most in the above two stories was, "What would my Mother think of that?" I wish our politicians some of whom tell lies, our corrupt officials who loot shamelessly and our unscrupulous contractors who rape nature and the forests with equal abandon, ask this question to themselves.- "What would my Mother think of that?" Probably then we would be living in a better country than what we have now.
Hope you will like the offerings in LV140. Please forward the following links to your friends and relatives so that they will also enjoy:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/540 (Poems)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/539 (Short Stories, Anecdotes and Travelogues)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/538 (Young Magic)
There are two medical related articles by the famous gynaecologist Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/537
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 summer with RoohAfza and plenty of lassi (without bhaang of course) till we meet again with the 141st edition of LV on 31st May.
With cool namastey to you all,
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Friday, April 26, 2024
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
THE WILD MAN
02) Bibhu Padhi
SOMEONE IS SINGING
03) Dilip Mohapatra
RAINBOW OF VOICES
04) Abani Udgata
THE PERFUME
05) Dr. Nanda Kishore Biswal
THE BEGINNING
06) Jyotsna Mohanty
TRUE SELF
NOT HERE
WHO ART THOU
07) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
TRUTH AND BEAUTY
MIRACLES OF MUSINGS
BIRDS BEYOND WORDS
THE PAST CLINGS EVER
MY LOVELY DOLL TRODDEN
08) Dr R S Tewari Shikhresh
EQUATING WINTER AND SUMMER..
WHY TO DISCRIMINATE?
09) Hema Ravi
IF IT RAINED TODAY…
10) Snehaprava Das
PLASTIC MAGIC
11) Dr(Col) Rekha Mohanty
A SUBLIME THOUGHT
RADIANT SHADOW
12) Padmini Janardhanan
BREATHING TIME.
13) Jay Jagdev
A MINUTE IN HAND
YOUR LANGUAGE
14) Ravi Ranganathan
CONFLUENCE OF SNOWFLAKES
15) Avantika Singh
UBUNTU
16) Nandini Mitra
THERE'S ALWAYS A HOPE FOR TOMORROW
I'LL RETURN WITH A NEW SONG
17) Sujata Dash
OPEN DOORS OF HEART TO LOVE
HEY WOMAN!
18) Annamalai M
MY POEM
DRESSED CHANGE
NOT EASY TO PUT IT ON TIME
19) Dr. Ajay Narayanan
MY TEACHER, THE MOUNTAIN KINGDOM OF LESOTHO
20) Setaluri Padmavathi
COFFEE - THE BEVERAGE
21) Mayuri R. Ghorpade
SOLITUDE IS A BLISS
22) Bipin Patsani
FIVE BASIC ELEMENTS
23) Bichitra Kumar Behura
SAY IT AGAIN
24) Soumen Roy
SAVE ME
BEING PRESENT
FROZEN
25) Leena Thampi
THE MUSK IS IN UMBILICUS
26) S. Sundar Rajan
EMBRACE
HOUSE PLANTS
SOLITUDE
27) Sudipta Mishra
LIFE
MEMORIES
28) Manjula Asthana Mahanti
WELCOME
29) Ms Gargi Saha
ENDLESS PURSUIT
SPACECRAFT
GAPPED SPACE
30) Namita Paikray
FIRST WORD
31) Prof.Niranjan Barik
MAHANADI , MY NAMASKAR !
32) Kabyatara Kar - Nobela
BAPA - INFINITE SHELTER
33) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE SLEEPING SHADOW
Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
OUR VERY OWN LOCAL LENIN
02) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
THE WONDERFUL SAGA OF RISHI AGASTYA
03) Snehaprava Das
ANOTHER FAIRY TALE
04) Usha Surya
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT ..
05) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
THE WRITER
06) Magline Jackson
IRON IN THE SOUL
07) Sreekumar T V
CONFESSION
08) Ashok Kumar Mishra
SONAGACHHI
09) Jay Jagdev
HOW ARE YOU, REALLY?
10) Satish Pashine
DOCTOR-DOCTOR!
11) Gourang Charan Roul
A WEEK IN THE LAP OF HIMALAYAS
12) Sukumaran C.V.
LIFE IN THE DIGITAL AGE
13) Shrikant Mishra
A TRIBUTE TO MY FATHER - SHRI B. N. MISHRA..
14) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY : ABOUT AN ICONIC..
15) Sreechandra Banerjee
ONE NATION WITH MANY CELEBRATIONS
16) Meera Raghavendra Rao
ENCOUNTER WITH A GOVERNOR
17) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
FRAGRANCE
Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Anura Parida
RAGMAN
02) Trishna Sahoo
WHEN LIGHT & DARKNESS MEET
03) Shivanshi Das
PAINTING
POEMS
No principles, no discipline
except his honesty, never steady
except standing by his words
like trees in the wild, grateful to soil.
Restless, impatient, filled with a spirit
to go out, carve the world to shape,
lying splintered, orphaned, uncared for,
unhewn stones, swamped mud.
Any food, any drink, hair held in a napkin,
the wind around ankles and a heart
fathomless, hands empty after
giving away all, even the last copper.
Would there be a meal the next day?
Would his bed be quilted or bare floor?
Would he sleep, even have time to doze
in a temple, durgah, church, or a burial yard?
We find in him our living God, he
honing men out of us, born as beasts, devils;
begged for food, no complains, no guilt;
our unassuming Lord of small things.
Squatting on bare floor of his crumbling home
he rolls cotton wicks for his earthen lamps
when not grand-planning for his universe, perhaps,
the unassuming arbiter, the silent saviour.
Not a gold coin, no shining diamond,
rather a small coin much thumbed,
frequent and transient passing from one
to another facilitating comfort, peace.
No bright star, no spiralling nebula, for
what use being lightyears away, he is
the next door friend, a rice plate giving
a square meal, a reed mat for a tired body.
(A tribute to Sai of Shirdi)
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.
A song of love and joy.
I hear it through
the virgin colours of this
early Sunday morning.
The south-wind blows
over the small, seaside town,
over the temple of Lord Jagannath.
I watch it touch the dim altar,
Carry legends of the Lord
to distant lands.
So much life has gone by
since I was brought to this earth,
so much affection and sacrifice!
I still think that the years
of the future will be complete
with love and forgiveness.
I have my fears, though—
the fear of love ending,
the very human fear of closures.
But just now, I think of my
children in their beds, dreaming
of angels, while celestial blessings
fall on me, steadily, even as the night
gently pushes itself towards the day.
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.
Voices stillborn
captive behind
zipped up lips
trying helplessly to
breathe and escape
and implore to be heard
and acted upon
the moral courage
overpowered by
the intimidation of
the Damocles sword
of ‘or else’.
Voices denuded
layer by layer
like a peeled up onion
to reach the core
and to be understood
to decipher the intent
and appreciate
what they really mean
and what they appear to be.
Voices divorced
from their meanings
garbled gibberish
disjointed
and making no sense
converge together
to a cacophonous roar
drowning
the sane utterances around.
Voices mutilated
minced up
on the butcher’s block
muffled and gagged
dying with a whimper
swept aside
and strewn away
without a decent
burial or cremation.
Voices battered
black and blue
voices bleeding
in an incarnadine hue
voices inflamed
red with brutal rage
white singing
during rites of passage
and khorovodes
and voices dark
with their heavy timbre
complementing the white
making it complete.
Bright vivid and crisp
coexist with
the dreary
pale and anaemic
like flowers on a vase
both fresh and
withered…
it’s up to us
what we may choose
to keep and nurture
and what we may
weed out and discard.
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
So often
love speaks
in Jamini Ray-eyes
amid darkness.
A sliver of a smile
becomes a mirror.
Slow rhythm in
the cool breeze
holds our hands
like a childhood friend.
Love assures that
the days will not
end so soon, that
the hungry lips
seeking to swallow
each other are really
not that fragile.
A handful of dust
changes its shape
in to an idol.
And morning dews
kiss the feverish lips
of the parched earth.
Faith lingers on and on.
When
a brutal stab of pain
becomes a long story,
Silence wraps around
like an armour against
the wild lashes of storm.
Too often it happens.
From the deck in
a moonlit night
Islands floating afar
look like snaps of memory.
A river dies
right in front of you.
The ashes of its death
stretch to the other end
of the history books.
How strange that I
wake up every time
to smell that perfume
that hugs me closely!
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
Taken aback for
one hadn’t anticipated
inspiration attired in love
at times comes one’s way
like a bit of good fortune
from the most unexpected quarter
as an element to help get over the low spirit
while a restless woodpecker runs up and around the trunks
to tap its powerful bill.
A catalytic agent it is,
to germinate the seed of hope
that lays inert for an inordinate time.
Once up and about, hope
is a leaping streamlet
that comes down from the heights
and disappears like a fugitive
giving sleepless nights to the police
only to resurface elsewhere
to surge ahead with its own pace
and newfound confidence.
Amazing is love’s resilience,
like a banyan tree
growing off the crevice of an abandoned building,
nourished by a few drops of rain
to be full-bodied and trunks further.
Few and far between may be
some moments in life, like new ideas,
when the thought “everything is finished”
overtakes you. That’s when unmindful of
what good you had done
comes back as a blessing
to be bestowed upon.
That becomes the real beginning
to listen to the sound of the waves
within you.
Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal, after teaching English language and literature for more than thirty five years in different colleges of Odisha, retired as an Associate professor. Passionate in reading poetry, intermittently, he has been writing poetry since his college days.1996 to1999 was his most fertile period when his Odia poems were published in almost all Odia dailies as well as in most of the Odia magazines. Also he writes English poems. He has 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 collections of the new poets who write in English.
MAN or Woman
Monarch or Mendicant
is not my real self.
I act in all these roles
in the drama of life.
Name, country, religion
are the dresses I use,
Prestige, Wealth, Fame are
only the ornaments.
When that episode is over
I, soul, am free and boundless.
To carry out the commands
of the Lord, I come,
It is my work and my Dharma.
I took birth in different bodies
according to the demand of Nature.
Aeons after aeons come and go...
Everything changes
with the footsteps of Time.
But the Supreme Truth
is unchangeable and immortal,
I am a spark of that
Light Eternal.
On the high mountains
I sought Thee
and in the depths of the sea.
Before my eyes
A mountain opened:
Into a forest of beauty
Entered I.
Animals and birds.
Green leaves and flowers
With a smile
They all greeted me.
Such the enchantment,
I wanted to stay
But the soft breeze
In my ear whistled,
"No dear, It is not here."
I climbed to the high
Kingdoms of snow
Arms of peace
Around me I felt.
Here will I live, thought I.
But the snow-laden wind
Roared to me,
"No dear, It is not here."
Through the countries I roamed
From temples to masjids and knocked
At every monastery door.
But always the same cry
Echoed back to me,
"No dear. It is not here."
Into the sea then plunged I.
Its treasures of corals and pearls
It offered to me
And all its denizens round me came
And in its rippling voice said the sea,
"No dear, It is not here."
Back to my own home I came,
And sat all alone:
Even my thoughts
Had abandoned me.
A ray of sudden light
I know not from where,
Came into my heart.
I looked within and saw
A room of delight
Its door ajar...
There I saw Thee
Looking at me.
Thy voice, soft and sweet
I heard
"Look, my dear, I am here."
Thy Beauty!
There is nothing with which it can be compared.
Wherever my eyes glance
I only see
An infinitesimal manifestation
Of it.
This radiating peace
Is immaculate and indescribable.
It enchants all that is,
Hearts and infinity.
Thy Love!
It is beyond all expression.
It is the source of all creation.
Dispelling all sorrows,
Scattering all gloom,
It is bliss it brings
To all things.
Thy Grace!
It knows no bounds.
From the minutest speck
To the immensities of Space
Over all it spreads
Its absolute, all-embracing charm
It holds everything
In its embrace.
But who art Thou or what?
Grace! Love! Beauty!
Bliss mingled with moonlight!
Or these are but veils
Of something beyond them...
To grasp Thee
I have no skill...
But when Thou comest,
O Mother Divine,
I feel
Thy Beauty, Thy Grace and Thy Love
Surround me.
Jyotsna Mohanty the poet, is a native of Odisha and after earning Masters in Mathematics from Utkal University, she joined Sri Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry from where her journey took a unique turn. Currently she imparts knowledge in Mathematics & Odia at the Sri Aurobindo International Centre of Education. Besides being a teacher, she is a versatile writer penning stories & Poems in Odia, English, Bengali & Sanskrit languages . She has authored following books “ Bhagavan Sri Aurobindo, Matrucharitamruta, Tume Achha Boli & Phula Kahe Mana Sune “ which showcases her linguistic prowess & passion for literature. Regularly she contributes her literary creations to various Magazines such as Agniroopa, Aspruha, Nabaprakash & Srujan. Moreover, she contributes as a lyricist crafting devotional songs praying Sri Aurobindo & The Mother. Her compositions can be enjoyed on YouTube @ Pabitra Kumar Behera. Through her diverse talents and contributions to Education, Literature & Music, Jyotsna Mohanty exemplifies a multifaceted creative personality.
Poetry is the expression of truth,
To reflect clearly in every word of talk
It’s transparency away from uncouth,
As a sign of wisdom in every walk.
Truth is for justice to echo in the court,
In and out, to see the deserving to get,
All due as a right for everyone’s comfort,
As its soul and heart for the sole target.
In the sunshine of truth, poetry glitters,
Truth wins over untruth and injustice,
Despite delay in justice, for sure it shatters,
All darkness, leading to light not to miss.
Truth is beauty, beauty is gaiety, a fact,
Sculptures look beautiful to be delightful,
Coos sound sonorous in the gladdening act,
All that has charms offer smiles is truthful.
The flower excels all with its pretty features:
In kaleidoscopic hues for sumptuous fests,
Fills the heart of a viewer with all raptures,
Inviting butterflies to suck honey as guests.
Poetry encompasses concepts in variety,
Its essence is so powerful for captivation,
Poetry is truth, truth beauty, beauty gaiety,
The supreme art with ultimate expression.
I wonder how you rise,
I see you seem like ripples in a gleam,
I hear you spring like bubbles in a stream,
All spontaneous like sunrise,
I watch how you fly aloft,
You glide in mind like tides for a mark,
You touch the heart like the notes of a lark,
All soothing like the petal soft.
You glow in kaleidoscopic views,
You glisten like butterflies in delight,
You glitter like fireflies in darkened light,
All gorgeous like morning dues,
You are the treasures of fragrance,
To fascinate me like the scent of flowers
As ripe fruits you have tactile pleasures,
To open taste-buts as the source of freelance.
You are the address for sonority,
Like the notes in the throats of cuckoos
My all senses enjoy them full in glues,
All melodious for exquisite gaiety.
You are birds for your free flight,
You rise like newborn leaves in bowers,
You flow like the fountain to be rivers,
Miraculous musings into poems might.
I am one with birds to fly in freedom,
I love to sing notes, swinging in my nest,
Enjoying lovely sights from my kingdom,
My empire, my paradise, I feel blest,
Sure to rule not to miss bliss at random,
My choice is to jaunt amid green sheen best,
All feel envy while looking at me smile,
As I am a bird, my life, in bird-style.
I shine in the hues of unfaded glow,
I compete with those of pretty flowers,
To the core, I taste all the fruits mellow,
My senses fain swim in brimming showers,
For onlookers, the most wonderful show,
Who can ascend to reach my joy-towers?
All are busy in their petty circles,
Not in quest of their breaking manacles.
Three tributaries merge at the communion,
As the future-present-past to flow in its pace,
Neither over nor low in its relentless race,
Welcoming all-- big and small to its dominion.
Like the beams together as moonlight
Like the rays to unite as sunlight to glow
It traverses ever with no weariness on brow,
It is time invincible in its unparallel might.
The past clings nonstop to the present as history,
The present follows the future like the shade,
Like the flower in bloom in place of the one to fade.
There is nothing past, it’s a known mystery,
Memoirs in memory are fresh to be lurking,
Like the seed to preserve the tree in its tiny stature,
With the sprout at its heart looking into the future,
With its brand and breed, alive and kicking.
There is no fruit of the future, with no flower,
In the present, with no bud of the past in succession
It is the lovely process inevitable in lively progression,
Time in the motion unstoppable conquers all in power.
I love my lovely doll as I did before,
It is my choice as gifted by grandfather,
I play with it with love to the core,
I love my lovely doll as my friend further.
In a pasture, I moved with it, lived with it,
I played with it all kinds of sports in joy.
Especially the hide-and-seek, the sport hit
My life was like a bird’s, it was like a toy.
In my play with it, cow-heard came a day,
My lovely doll was under their feet,
All cows trod it, grazing in that way,
I rushed to it, my friend, for dear treat.
I found its pretty nose disfigured in shape,
Its fine body crushed to the fullest,
It got dirtied mainly its saree in drape,
It got misshaped to look the dullest.
I could glimpse its beauty and its stature,
Still undercurrent in the hidden flow
My love for it intact to fill me with rapture,
The trodden doll glitters in no diminished glow.
My doll’s love for me, my love for my doll
Its past beauty clings even now in my heart
It echoes the truth of spring to dawn in fall,
Beauty remains though trodden in art.
Dr. Rajamouly Katta, M.A., M. Phil., Ph. D., Professor of English by profession and poet, short story writer, novelist, writer, critic and translator by predilection, has to his credit 64 books of all genres and 344 poems, short stories, articles and translations published in journals and anthologies of high repute. He has so far written 3456 poems collected in 18 anthologies, 200 short stories in 9 anthologies, nine novels 18 skits. Creative Craft of Dr. Rajamouly Katta: Sensibilities and Realities is a collection of articles on his works. As a poet, he has won THIRD Place FIVE times in Poetry Contest in India conducted by Metverse Muse rajamoulykatta@gmail.com\
Love need not be conveyed through words or verbatim blur ,
It echoes within without
budging and bothering of slur .
Purity of concern ,motive and in-built submission
Leads one to someone with palpitation in new version.
The arc of aura erects a tower of two hearts together ,
And two bodies respond sounding with one soul and charter .
There remains neither fear nor wavering in the periphery ,
And no grudge or grumbling finds room for any query.
Life and love are then merged like milk and sugar ,
Paving the path of journey, equating winter and summer .
Why to make discrimination
To give room for retaliation?
Gender is the gift of God,
Who holds the world's rod.
Why to fight and falter
To worsen the matter,
When a female is born?
Dualism breeds scorn.
We do often make a rift
Between and create a drift,
Making her future dumb and dark,
Hurdling the itinerary of life to embark.
Brother is pampered so much
That the sister remains as
such
So weak, tender and undue delicate
That parents also baffle to inculcate.
Such upbringing conspires a big ditch,
No matter whether she is poor or rich.
When they both are grown up and go around,
To face lot of toil and turmoil,they are bound.
Every step of hers calls for justification,
But for man's insensible demarcation.
How shameful! When they treat her a commodity,
Though sounding very wild, yet it is a bare reality.
A big query! Who holds the
responsibility
Of such a gender biased depravity?
Approach and attitude to life and liberty
Of parents and so called
leaders of society.
Let us give equality to both son and daughter,
So as to pave the path of new era,and better
The days to come and eliminate the discrimination
To prevail peace, love and liberty, sans retaliation.
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.
(Picture Courtesy: N. Ravi)
Ajji’s prayer at bedtime: ‘Hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow.
If it rains, I can’t attend the kirtan at the Krishna temple.
The bhajan and the bhojan are just heavenly.’
‘How nice if it rains today, tomorrow, and for the rest of
the week…. we won’t have PT, instead we can sit in the
AV room, watching films,’ said Petu, munching fries.
‘What if it rained today? It won’t, the Met. Dept.
isn’t right many a time. We’ll have our picnic
as planned…’ Alka uttered loudly.
‘If it rained today, I will not be able to sow the seeds…’
the poor farmer said with a sigh as he watched
the gathering clouds with apprehension.
‘What would you do if it rained today?’
The specialist squealed: ‘How delightful! Acute water
shortage for months! I’ll bathe for hours in the rain!’
‘Come rain or shine, miles to go! Cooking, washing,
caregiving, organizing, planning for today, tomorrow’ -
Homemakers work hard to save for the ‘rainy day,’
knowing well that ‘every cloud has a silver lining.’
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
SIX O' CLOCK IN THE MORNING
Bhubaneswar in late April
Against a leaden sky
The beaming conjuror is all set
in a flaming robe to wave its wand,
Down below the stage
A compelled mass of spectators
crouch in an arid audorium,
breathing heat and dust, and despair,
A short wave of the wand
and shapes and structures
melt and flow like sticky,colourd rivulet
Across plastic streets;
The spectators watch
In wide horrified eyes
Their plastic smiles glued to their
black, drying lips, as the self-lauding conjurer waves its blazing wand
To free the drops of life
Trapped in the bottles of plastic
And lo the magic!
They vanish into the thick air
Before the eager lips,
SIX O' CLOCK IN THE EVENING
Bhubaneswar in late April
The show over, the conjurer prepares to depart with a promise for another one the next day, and
as a last piece of magic flicks the wand just once as it steps down the stage
and a sudden, misbegotten moon flicks a plastic smile
On the plastic houses in plastic jungles,
The spectators still sit crouched
Dazed after too much of magic,
Wrapped in the plastic cool of the moon
They weave their plastic dreams;
Dr.Snehaprava Das, former Associate Professor of English, is an acclaimed translator of Odisha. She has translated a number of Odia texts, both classic and contemporary into English. Among the early writings she had rendered in English, worth mentioning are FakirMohan Senapati's novel Prayaschitta (The Penance) and his long poem Utkala Bhramanam, which is believed to be a.poetic journey through Odisha's cultural space(A Tour through Odisha). As a translator Dr.Das is inclined to explore the different possibilities the act of translating involves, while rendering texts of Odia in to English.Besides being a translator Dr.Das is also a poet and a story teller and has five anthologies of English poems to her credit. Her recently published title Night of the Snake (a collection of English stories) where she has shifted her focus from the broader spectrum of social realities to the inner conscious of the protagonist, has been well received by the readers. Her poems display her effort to transport the individual suffering to a heightened plane of the universal.
Dr. Snehaprava Das has received the Prabashi Bhasha Sahitya Sammana award The Intellect (New Delhi), The Jivanananda Das Translation award (The Antonym, Kolkata), and The FakirMohan Sahitya parishad award(Odisha) for her translation.
What if night does not end,
Night forgets the rhythm,
Moon and clouds play
hide and seek,
Stars in dark
keep on twinkling..
I will keep my eyes closed,
I will sleep
under the
vast canopy
of sky,
My dreams unlimited
will invade all nooks and corners
of world surreptitiously,
I will have a chance
to ride over it stealthily…
I will be on a yacht
Wild wind will push me
slowly over the rushing river
hither and thither
in all directions,
Deep in
dark blue water
I will
dive down,
Will explore the depths
Will touch bottom of ocean,
Will fly like an eagle
soaring high, Flapping my wings very far
to disappear behind
the horizon,
Finally I will come back home…
Darkness has been
deep and blinding,
Night is darkest before dawn,
Just like things
get worse
before they
get better,
Cracks on
skin of night
will appear,
Bold night will wince
as sharp rays
will pierce,
Darkness will disappear…
I am waiting with
my eyes
wide open,
Stillness of night
has sprinkled
a splash
of calming lotion,
My body and mind is numb,
I am pinching myself to check
if I can move on…
My wandering dreams have eclipsed,
I am awake,
I will be energised,
Rising Sun
is peeping
to follow
the twilight,
Night is not infinite….
In the past
I was your shadow,
Opaque and quiet,
Passionate and loving,
Walked on new path of life
where you lead me,
Now it is reversed.
You are a shadow
brilliant and awesome,
You follow me all the time,
Whether I am
awake or sleeping,
You want to see
my wellbeing ..1
I was under a
false impression,
You have gone
for a sojourn,
Never could accept
that you went very far
to a point of no return,
Away from the orbit
of earth in to the vast space,
Freed from attraction
of gravitation,
Neither have I address
Nor can I talk to you any more,
I discovered one day
You were always very near,
My benevolent shadow !
I can see you
with me everywhere.. 2
You took good care of all
with an obligation to perform,
You now keep on encouraging
to carry forward alone,
fearlessly to move on,
I have also widened my vision,
Wise and confident
to take decision on my own,
Your umbrella of blessings
is always there
over my head
You are my
shadow of protection…3
I will smile instead of
shedding tears in vein,
I will relive
all the moments
of happiness and pain,
I am reassured and full of zest,
Am energised to drive myself,
Nothing really matters to me
as long as you don’t
leave me alone,
My effulgent shadow !
You are immortal for me
We are in a peaceful zone….4
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.
No seeking, nor asking
No wondering, nor wandering
Not reaching nor responding
Just breathing, being.
In this state of mind
No.questions and no answers
Hiatus from satsung
Seek your indulgence.
Me, A small part of the whole
Can't quite stay fragmented for long
Soon to.imtegrate with the whole
The lost sheep.shall return.
Padmini Janardhanan is an accredited rehabilitation psychologist, educational consultant, a corporate consultant for Learning and Development, and a counsellor, for career, personal and family disquiets.
Has been focussing on special education for children with learning difficulties on a one on one basis and as a school consultant for over 4 decades. The main thrust is on assessing the potential of the child and work out strategies and IEPs (Individual Educational Plans) and facilitating the implementation of the same to close the potential-performance gap while counselling the parents and the child to be reality oriented.
Has been using several techniques and strategies as suitable for the child concerned including, CBT, Hypnotherapy, client oriented counselling, and developing and deploying appropriate audio-visual / e-learning materials. Has recently added Mantra yoga to her repository of skills.
She strongly believes that literature shapes and influences all aspects of personality development and hence uses poetry, songs, wise quotations and stories extensively in counselling and training. She has published a few books including a compilation of slokas for children, less known avathars of Vishnu, The what and why of behaviour, and a Tamizh book 'Vaazhvuvallampera' (towards a fulfilling life) and other material for training purposes.
Few years length of unspoken words,
A mountain of emotions to be shared.
A chasm of angst to be bridged,
But only a minute in hand.
I speak the language you taught me,
Believe the words that you meant.
Been years since I heard yours,
Don’t know to you if they mean the same.
Silence has meanings,
Come before I make my own.
I would not be speaking this language,
Had you not taught me your own.
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
I stretch out my cold hand outside my window
Smile, as Snow flakes land all over the stretched skin
Small white wonders are rejoicing in a free fall.
Feeling excited, I gingerly I come out of the house
And see a white carpet, a stretch of absolute snow
In front of me, fully ensconced as in a magical trance.
It was the coolest natural snowfall I have ever seen.
We both melted; Me faster than that white wonder!
I must have heard its suave, subtle wandering whispers
Or else why should it instinctively draw me out of the house
Thick and quiet, this enchanting snowfall around me
And the eerie silence inviting my gentle walk over it.
Coming from a hot country, this is my first snow experience
Of such an iced confluence; As my eyes devour the scene
I keep tripping in ethereal ecstasy at this fairy tale charm
And my inner self widens more and more with the sync.
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.
It was the year 2020
When the dreaded virus made an entry.
The most fearsome time in history
How we fell to the pandemic, a real mystery.
Schools shut, trains shut, shops shut
Files gathering dust.
Isolation the only solution
Building walls between people the new resolution.
And yet,
Came forward
The best of humanity,
Irrespective of their immunity.
They showed compassion
Distributing free ration...
To those who lacked daily subsistence.
Giving every assistance
...to those who contracted the virus
And could not care for themselves in this crisis.
They showed interconnectedness of spirit
Serving others without limit.
Running free oxygen banks
For people of all ranks.
In hospitals, they treated people
Even while falling to the virus lethal.
Yes, there were shortages
As due to blackmarketing there were outages
But they worked ceaselessly
Helping strangers to stem the tide of death miraculously.
Masking up, they broke the distance...
And assisted human existence.
While teaching went online
There were those who lived below the line
And lacked the means of going online
There were those who taught offline
Ensuring that literacy did not die
Even if it took a backseat when survival itself was in short supply.
As I remember the harrowed times
I realise...
I am because of you
And you are because of us.
Someone cared, someone respected
Someone showed compassion
Someone took the first step
Someone followed making it the norm
Someone broke the normal
And made a new normal.
We all are because of each other...
And to me, that's Ubuntu.
Avantika Vijay Singh is a writer, editor, poet, researcher, and photographer. She is the author of two solo poetry books i.e., Flowing… in the river of life and Dancing Motes of Starlight (her debut ebook). She is the winner of the Nissim International Award Runners Up 2023. She enjoys writing humour too for her blog “Ordinary People, Extraordinary Lives” in the Times of India.
THERE'S ALWAYS A HOPE FOR TOMORROW
Little things I want to share now,
So much I want to say now,
So much I want to love now,
So much I want to trust this hour now ,
I don't know if I'll see you tomorrow again,
Let me make up for the lost time
And love you in the morning,
In the afternoon and in the evening,
I don't know if I'll see you tomorrow again,
If I'll get to whisper the sweet nothings in your ears
For one more time.
The heart cries,
The soul yearns for more,
Become the colour of my blood
As we walk down the aisle together,
Who knows which moment will be the last?
Time is ruthless, can change the pace,
The inevitable is the unexpected always,
An unexpressed feeling
Is like a story left untold ,
What if I don't get to meet you tomorrow,
I don't want to carry the burden of yesterday,
New faces move away,
New faces get lost in the crowd,
You are on my mind,
I search for you everywhere,
One thought is chosen against the other,
Hope there's a tomorrow,
A new sun will come out and
Remove the sorrows,
I'll keep you alive in me,
You get me through washing away all my tears,
There's always a hope for tomorrow.
Sometimes I want to
Switch off to a hibernation mode,
Do nothing absolutely,
Only meditate on my flaws, my mistakes ,
Go on a journey deep down my soul
Let tears soothe the heartaches,
Before life comes to a halt.
After the calm
I'll return with a new song,
Play a tune dear to world's ears,
No more staggering steps,
I'll strike back with new vigour.
Bathed afresh in colours of ecstacy,
I'll embrace life minus all expectations,
Introspection will be my pilgrimage,
I'll wake up in darkness to find my light,
In solitude I'll realise my dreams ,
I'll discard my fears, pain,grudges and sadness ,
Love will kiss my heart,
Like Spring blesses winter,
New blossoms with new fragrances
Will adorn my garden,
A new sky above me,
A New Earth below me
I'll sparkle with more fire within me
And yes, I'll return with a new song
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. She is a Television and All India Radio artist. 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. Her poems have also been translated in few other languages.
It took me sometime to realise
Life is a wholesome feat
Loses its charm if not lived fully
Mind alone cannot be the source of
All pervasive gaiety
Each moment of living needs to be punctuated with heartful of delight
Festooned with sublime gestures of love and bliss
It took me sometime to realise
A heart is not a storehouse for pent up frustration and hurt feeling
Nor a godown to pile up hatred and animosity
In heart's cosy alcove, bountiful love ought to perch
As per the righteous orchestration of the divine
To make this earth flutter with rapturous ecstasy
It took me sometime to realise
When love is in spate, shoves heart' s floodgate
A simmering weave of enchantment embraces soul
Lilting cadences of zephyr have a brush with rainbow
Even sunless void seeks some plea to perk up
Frail boughs of resentment melt in no time
Nebulous mass of anger shifts velocity
Letting in bright auroral displays of compassion
I have vowed to make it happen
Before a cold chill settles over me,
Time puts stamp to panoply final verdict
And I am reduced to a mere corpse.
Hey woman!
You are an epitome of sacrifice
Compassionate and kind
Walk those extra miles often
Be it rugged terrains or wuthering heights
Indulge once in a while in 'self love'
Listen to your calling , act thereupon
You deserve every bit of it
So, don't shy away from owning up
Hey woman!
Putting others before you, is your bearing
You always are in a mode of 'all giving'
All these are virtues par excellence
But self - effacing day in and day out
Is an odious crime
You too are god's child
Merit a pat on the back
And loads of pampering
For all the job sincerely done
Sans clamor and whimpering
Hey woman!
You need to assert yourself
For God's sake!
Kindle the wick of altruism
Prioritise your wants and needs
As you are the most important person
Of your life.
Sujata Dash is a poet from Bhubaneswar, Odisha. She is a retired banker.She has four published poetry anthologies(More than Mere-a bunch of poems, Riot of hues and Eternal Rhythm and Humming Serenades -all by Authorspress, New Delhi) to her credit.She is a singer,avid lover of nature. She regularly contributes to anthologies worldwide.
Poetry is beauty and pure beauty is poetry
Poetry is almighty and almighty poetry
Poem is the power and all the power is poem
Poem is love’s shower and shower of love is poem
Poem is art of verse and verse in all art
Poem is part of God and God is poem’s part
Poetry is youth’s eye and youth sheds poetry
Poetry evokes logic and logic stoops to poetry.
Verses are in the soul and souls are but verses
Verses are to flowers and flowers are to the verses
Rhymes live with poem and lyric poems live on rhymes
Rhymes light up the poem and poem lights up rhymes
Rhymes carry music and poem begets its music rhyme
Rhymes tarry for poems and poems tarry too for rhyme
Verses shed perfumes and perfumes produce verses
Verses tames taste and by many a tastes imbue verses.
I hate to be under the rein of The Air
Wish declutch’d from the tyranny of its play
Its prejudiced and discriminatory queer air
And all I want in Toto to be from away
The Air is so cruel that it does depart
From the frame it enjoyed to and fro sway;
All of a sudden with no clue exits apart.
Shouted back the air with tidy amount of voice
Eleven thousand liters of me you daily consume
In eupnoea and more in hot rejoice;
With no gratitude reap my breeze in volume.
Enough is enough : You only stay with my presence.
Devoid of me, Earth or Fire is your choice.
Off you, I enter a womb to breathe with sense.
I fail and fail profusely
Ultimatum please don’t fix firmly
My inability shows off as the
Instant writing clouds and eludes me.
For me it is indeed too lazy;
To sire a poem is not easy.
I can’t stick to the date set
After all I am but a pet
To the firm-hugging lethargy
Often killed in the creative orgy.
Poetry is not at my beck and call
I have to wait a lot and toil.
Put not a strict last-day tag
The submission throbs at end so fag
Incapacity throws a torch on my dream
My kiss to imagination is but a sream
Long should I tarry the poem to come
How can I assure on-date plumb
As in my case delayed light is only brought
‘Entry-denied’ ,’Date-barred’ are the quips I got.
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 .
MY TEACHER, THE MOUNTAIN KINGDOM OF LESOTHO
I landed in the soil of Basotho,
The Mountain Kingdom of Lesotho
on a winter day.
I felt like
Neil Armstrong on the moon.
May be,
I was as frightened as a kitten
with my mouth dry
dark mustache even sweating
feeling lonely
certainly not scared but
worried,
cried silently too.
Was Neil also nervous like me,
can't say much about him
but I knew
I was all alone,
my poor poor soul...
Nothing to read
except the nature,
nothing to write on
except in mind,
and words were hidden
in the depth of African donga,
erosion continued
I thought, my Indian spirit will be
buried underneath.
I crossed the Arabian sea to survive
I am here to succeed
and of course
to move on.
There will be NO turning back
because, the life at home was
dangerously tough for a youth
during those cursed era.
Later,
after shaking my worries off
I took a taxi,
the fifteen-seater Basotho ‘tekesi‘
to my destiny
from Maseru to Mamohau
from the hot lowland to
the crisp highland.
In the taxi
they were seated politely
oldies with woolen blankets,
miners with their trunk box, and
pregnant bo-Me’ with toddlers
on their lap
and me too squeezed in between,
with their strange sounds
dancing around me.
As they greeted me warmly,
“Lumela, Ntate”
and ofcourse
I felt the welcoming simple
polite tone
and I returned it with my smile
without any words.
Kids with their eyes opened,
smiled and murmered to each other,
“Lekula”.
I knew,
I am home!
When settled,
my learned colleagues
told me, when chatting,
that I have to greet by uttering
“Lumelang”,
which I did
and I enjoyed the sound of it luxuriously.
In due time,
I visited the Katse Dam
in Ha- Katse village,
walked through the eternal hills
the dry stony paths that took me
to the Mamohau streams
cooling my fantasies
sprouting my ectacy
and
Ha-Lejone‘s silver cascades
showering me with excitements
stirring my desires too.
Oh, God,
is this the heaven
that I dreamt long ago,
when I was
a high school chap and
who shared it with peers
insisting that,
Africa is my destiny
my identity
and my truth!
I remember swearing,
One day...
one day, I wished to be there!
Touch the wood,
My words came true
and I got my chance to
see the golden Sun of Mamohau
emerging from
the green hills
with the warm light
that I craved for
since my adolescent age.
I felt like Budha!
I saw the sky
the baby blue sky
that was optimistic
and poetic.
I also witnessed
the setting sun
with his red bulged eye
soothing me before
vanishing into horizon
while I was reading
Wuthering Heights
under the shadow
of the willow-tree
with her greens
brushing and blessing me,
cool air covering me
and I felt
I could dream again
and become Emily Brontë!
Thus I stayed
those wonderful
long three decenniums
hairs grown white
with rich experience gained
blessed with light
enhanced with thoughts
heavy with memories
and I started writing, writing...
Note -
1. Katse means cat in Sesotho language. It is also the surname of the chief of the village, Ha-Katse.
2. Katse dam - Africa's second largest double-curvature arch dam. Katse is dam is named after the chief, Katse.
3. Tekesi - Taxi in Sesotho.
4. Lumela, Lumelang - Greeting words in Sesotho, means “hello”. It is prounced as Dumela, Dumelang.
5. Donga is a Sesotho word for gully.
6. Ntate means father, Me‘ means mother. ’Bo‘ stands for plural (ex. Bo-Me’ means mothers).
7. Basotho - People of Lesotho
8. Lekula - Coolie in English, Indians in Southern Africa were addressed as Lekula, a derivative from the word, coolie. For Africans, it means Indian. For South African Whites, as per history, them word is a way to address them as, “hey, you coolie”.
9. Mamohau and Ha-Lejone are two neighboring rural villages in Lesotho. Maseru is the capital city of Lesotho.
---
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.
Numerous lovers of coffee
Always treat it as a toffee
Take it morning and evening
It appears in every meeting.
Coffee berries are picked
Processed and dried to yield
The seeds are roasted then
Flavor is chosen by men.
Ground the seeds from the mill
People surround for its bill
When the weather is chill
It gives us an aroma and thrill.
The caffeine content in a drink
Causes human health to shrink
All of us surely need to think
Can we replace it with a fruit drink?
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
Solitude is a bliss
because there is peace-
Yeah! That eternal peace
where I find complete solace.
Hence, solitude is a bliss.
Solitude is a bliss.
Rather, it is your own pace
where you enjoy the bliss
in your own grace.
Solitude is a bliss
where one can enjoy
a corner of warmth of
knowledge and strength.
Solitude is always a bliss
for a person like me
who loves to enjoy
my own company.
Solitude is a bliss
as it is sacred;
completely untouched
by corrupt thoughts and persons.
Hence, solitude is a bliss.
Solitude is a bliss
where I embrace verses
then I try many tricks with them
& they take shape of poem.
Hence, solitude is a bliss.
Solitude is a bliss
where I am always busy.
Busy with my passion
Athat give me a new identity.
Hence, solitude is a bliss.
Solitude is a bliss
where I enjoy that
unconditional love in
the books I read and relish.
Solitude is a bliss
in a metropolitan city like Mumbai
where one can enjoy
one's own corner of peace
with some novel and tea.
Solitude is a bliss
where I meet myself
renewed with new vigour
and afresh as a Daisy.
Solitude is a bliss
as it gives me my pace
where I enjoy writing, reading,
loving my loved ones.
Solitude is a bliss
as and when I wanna explore me
I prefer solitude.
There is power in solitude
that enhances my skills.
Solitude is a bliss
where I experience a galaxy
of variety of precious moments
that I ever enjoyed thoroughly.
Solitude sometimes is a battlefield
where every now and then
some or the other thoughts clash
and I experience immense chaos.
Hence, solitude is a blissful silence
that help me ponder over
many negativities and may cause
a danger to my health.
Hence, solitude is a bliss.
Solitude is really a bliss
though I knew it earlier.
It's again she who
made me realize the importance
of solitude and I feel blissful.
Solitude is a bliss
ever since I faced a trauma
the day when I was outtrodden
and it was my solitude
that helped me come over the same.
Hence, solitude is a bliss.
Solitude is a bliss
as it gives me immense strength
to deal with those
unhealthy and unwanted moments.
Solitude is a bliss
as it empowers me
with new and positive thoughts
that dwell longer and
yield good results too.
Solitude is a bliss
as it is like a garden for me.
A garden of flowers named
peace, harmony, loyalty and diligence.
Hence, solitude is a bliss.
Solitude is a bliss.
It serves my passion.
I ponder, I write and I explore-
I explore myself as an author,
a dancer, a sportsperson.
Solitude is a bliss
as it is the library of
many good thoughts, values and morals. L
that yield virtuous deeds.
Hence, solitude is always a bliss...
Mrs. Mayuri R. Ghorpade.is working as an Asst. Teacher in junior college section of Lala Lajpatrai College of Commerce and Economics, Mahalaxmi. Mumbai. Her area of specialization is Language Learning and Teaching. She has been in the field of education since last 13 years. Writing is her passion and she is passionate about growing in the field of linguistics as well as literature in near future. Apart from her passion she loves to listen to music.
1. THE EARTH
Unfold like an epic
Of agony and achievements
The Earth is where we stand
When we descend.
No place for dirty delight
Nor of perpetual pain,
The earth is where we learn
Dignity out of despair.
2. THE WIND
I see no difference in you
And a gust of spring wind.
I feel alive in your touch
And in your thrilling embrace
I feel fulfilled,
Ripe and vibrant
With the green suffusion
Of your love, pregnant
With buds and blooms smiling within.
In me they play and relax,
In me they quarrel,
But when I stretch my eager hand
To catch their gleam sweetness
They hide, they hide somewhere chiding.
I look for them every nook and corner
But mysterious as they are,
They remain a mystery to me.
3. WATER
In the unseen centre
You strike the water, my love,
And the soft rapturous ripples
Come laughing
Like sweet little infants
To drench by their wet feet
My thirsty white bosom
That spreads to the river-bank.
Sometimes I think
You are the centre
And I seek for you
At the centre of
Every drop and droplet
That comes to me.
4. WOODS/ SPACE
Lively with green youthful foliage
And a history eternally present
Whole in itself in unity of all things,
The woods foster some primordial premises
With a spell in them, an anxious call
To their wilderness that covers time and space.
Looking into their depth it seems as if
I am looking into your eyes, looking into myself
With all the light and shade reigning there,
The warm adoring awareness we inhale,
The freshness and beauty
Of the consciousness the woods breathe out,
The consciousness of the root and the shoot
While, like trunks, we hang about
Feeling cut off and alienated in the night
And contented all the more in the morn
To be joining the exhausting emptiness
Of the earth and its erotic soil smell
With the blue nothingness of space
Where there is nothing but freedom and joy
Smothering the ecstatic openness of the sky,
At one with nature, unbound and binding still
To the thrill of its moving wheel.
5. FIRE
You are the fire in me, my feeling,
My faithful companion
And spark of imagination!
When the creative urge upsurge
Your flames close around
Like arms where I crystallize;
For you are the beginning and the end,
And the cause of all beginnings,
The repose and eruption of the embryo
Resting in chaos and creation,
The agony of death, labour pain,
And in the void of darkness and doom
You are dawn, the simmering infernal fire
Of the hot summer afternoon being just
A ritual rhapsody of the warmth of the divine
Which comes in the music of rain.
(From the poetry collection ANOTHER VOYAGE/2010)
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.
Say it again,
can’t just believe,
let me ensure
it is right.
may be,
I am in my dreams
Going through
an intense love story,
why don’t you repeat
for my benefit,
one more time.
Never ever imagined
your expressing it
so easily,
thought, one feels good
hiding love
to make it
more intriguing,
am little surprised
you didn’t take much time
to decide.
However,
I was ready
Waiting for it,
my whole life;
now,I feel positive
and am euphoric
about a sense of being complete,
it surely is an instinct,
Without any fuss or furor,
Love is so exquisite,
Does it really make any difference
If said or kept quiet?
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
O' God, save me from my ownself
From my egos
So that I may keep away that me in my own
From those possessions, I say mine.
I may not be ungrateful for your grace
And disrespect anyone by any means.
O' God, save me from every sort of frustration and meanness
So I can always say sorry whenever I make a mistake.
God save me from that jealousy
That might spoil humanity.
May I be able to forgive everyone,
and be able to walk with everybody!
Since none of us is sin-free.
Save me,save me.
Again and again
O' Lord
Hold me with your mercy.
Nourish me with patience
So I can fight my inner demons.
Maintaining peace
Save me from pride and everything that is unnecessary.
Bind me in oneness with the whole
Bless me within your divine tranquilly.
Obeying your omnipresent rule
©Soumen Roy All Rights Reserved Soumen Roy
Its not of sorrow.
Neither for joy
It's not for gain.
Nor of the loss
It's all about contentment.
A gift to enjoy.
Worries lurk in ghostly attire.
Always so notorious,
being nonexistent and so very clever.
Have you seen the river stop flowing?
Or did the birds refuse to sing lullabies?
The air has never refrained from cooling and refreshing itself.
Neither the lions gave up their roar
So many seasons pass by.
Of the storms,snow, rain, or heat
Tranquilly keeps flowing in every aspect of nature.
None stopped for a moment, and neither complained a bit.
Life is not a race, so why do you chase?
Who has seen tomorrow?
Rather, live in every moment!!
Life is more than beauty; there is a yarrow in every single moment.
©Soumen Roy All Rights Reserved
Soumen Roy
Kolkata; India
Eyes gazing over the grey clouds
Forlorn and cold
Trembling hands and wavering lips
Long been caged in the prison of silence.
Lullabies refuses to sing there now.
Lost somewhere in the stringency of the woods
A few drops of melancholy rolled down the dessert land.
Of the loud clattering and untimely icy rain
But no one cares.
None did wipe.
Those hands of affection are suffering remorse.
Strange numbness smirks peeping from the wrecks
They were left abandoned for a decade.
With a dearth of compassion and a parshimony of love
Leaving a void in the corners of a bleeding heart
Standing at the crossroads of life
Like the moon covered with clouds
Questions peeps repeatedly in silence
Will the dew that drops over the grass blades this evening,
shall remain fresh till it's last?
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.
THE MUSK IS IN UMBILICUS
Leena Thampi
Serenity is the goddess of wisdom and virginity.
Those who are blinded, don't have the innermost eyes to see,
Sometimes she witnesses the waters bleed,
And wonders how dare they dip their crimes in holy water?
She speaks in cries more than words
Then go around Searching needle in the hay stalk.
Whilst class of a kind,a breed apart , never let her hair down, cause the road of Vermillion leads her to the divine path.
They might have tasted her dignity, from far.
Her heart was built to hold compassion more than a human being can fathom
No secret sin of bonding dwelled in her.
Ask the Gods they will answer
Every doubts you carry about her.
Gods might have walked through the way she had
Though temples neither lie nor admit the fact.
Where sanctity is the last word not proclaimed.
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.
When in joy, we embrace,
A smile creases our face.
May turn into laughter,
To enhance the grandeur.
In sorrow, we embrace,
With tears over our face.
A shriek escapes our lips,
When control of us, slips.
Fear drives us to embrace,
Hoping to face the brace.
With eyes closed and hugs tight,
To allay perceived fright.
Steel and concrete, brick and mortar,
Consume greenery, to foster,
Perceived developmental wisdom,
Disregarding eco system.
Green fingers strive to create space,
Through novel innovative ways.
House Plants are a way to revive,
For a green planet to survive.
Colourful plants add gloss around,
Energizing and so profound.
A whiff of cool freshness abounds,
Which sets the stage to astound.
I woke up with a start,
To open the door, I dart,
To let in the visitor,
Who had sounded the buzzer.
Maybe, it's the post,
From one dear most,
Either his joys to partake,
Or seeking a silent prayer for his sake.
Maybe it's the neighbour,
Seeking to alleviate this day, dour.
These thoughts, through my mind, race,
And I quicken my pace.
Is it just an illusion?
For, the door is open,
Yet I find no one in sight,
It really scares me to a fright.
The door, with dismay, I bolt,
To recover from my jolt,
I cry, "Oh this blessed Solitude",
From which I seek fortitude.
S. Sundar Rajan is a Chartered Accountant with his independent consultancy. He is a published poet and writer. His collection of short stories in English has been translated into Tamil,Hindi, Malayalam, Telugu, Kannada and Gujarati. His stories translated in Tamil have been broadcast in community radios in Chennai
and Canada. He was on the editorial team of three anthologies, Madras Hues, Myriad Views, Green Awakenings, and Literary Vibes 100. He has published a unique e anthology, wherein his poem in English "Full Moon Night" has been translated into fifteen foreign languages and thirteen Indian regional languages.
An avid photographer and Nature lover, he is involved in tree planting initiatives in his neighbourhood. He lives his life true to his motto - Boundless Boundaries Beckon.
Late in life, I hold the certitude
Nothing matters to you
Things are like hollow errands
They lack any absolute values
We think a relationship is the breath of life
It also upholds a little stature
Your time will be running out of your grip
Vultures will feast on your messy matter
Nobody will figure out your grief
Only the sufferers will search for relief in the void
Nobody will accompany you toward Hades
You'll be all alone in the journey of life
If someone clasps your hand in crisis
Then be in their eternal connections
Away from the stale relations
For spending the last moments in bliss
Haunting memories keep visiting
The road to recovery is not easy
Memories of perpetual longings
Tangle my entire being
Treason of my suitors stab me in installments
Too hard to leave this web of desires
Sometimes, I knowingly drown in the drain of disdain
For easing the years of griefs by repairing the story
But in vain!
Yet again !!!
the pang of pain breathed through my song
in memories of my lovers !!!
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.
Flickering crimson glare in the East
Follows, glittering golden rays, at it's best
Cool breeze blows softly to welcome
Alarming chirpings of birds, sharper become
Announce the arrival of the new day
The World can utilize it, in it's own way
We must be empty for recieving
To make room for new learning
We keep stuck as long as we hang
Onto our rough, negative emotions
Though we get repeated, the lessons
Open windows every morning
Allow a fresh wave of energy to bring
With it happy, cheer positive vibes
To allow the today's breezes
Blow in the directions of harmony, peace
Detox mind of data, useless
Try adding rejuvenated thoughts
Enjoy singing with the rhythm
Of a new morning charm
A happy song, with smile and glow
Keep palms wide open, just let go...
Manjula Asthana Mahanti is a post graduate in Sociology and Hindi. Her Graduation was in English honors. She is a Sangeet Prabhakar (vocal) and has done her B. Ed. She worked in a college as Senior Lecturer. Her last assignment was that of a high school Principal. She lives in Forest Park, Bhubaneshwar, Odisha, India.
She is a published trilingual poet, author, editor, translator and story teller. She has eight collections to her credit along with a long list of participation in national, international anthologies, e-magazines, etc. She is a recipient of several national, international awards, Samman Gujarat and Telangana sahitya akademy award amongst many more. Her recent award was "Icons of Asia"
Long, straight, endless seems the road
Continues longer and longer
Without any company
Mind boggling yet mysterious
And man has to travel alone on it.
Heart throbs faster than lightening
A rum mystique
A current flows within
And awakens the deep, drunken slumber
Initiates it to charge it's battery
Be apposite, avid
And commences the peregrination
Of a tranquil war
To choose between salvation and tantalising temptations
Privation and Affluence
Revenge and Forgiveness
Love and Hatred
A cell keeps moving
Forward or Backward.
Trunk calls have replaced telephones
Telephones have replaced wireless cells
Computers have brought in laptops
And the entire world in one's fist
Wired to the remotest hamlet of the world
News, media, edutainment just at the doorstep
But what of the deep, piercing emptiness that prevails within
Which materialism can fulfill it?
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.
Newspaper comes with so many words with some pages
On every day morning
But all articles comes with different problems
Some news are making us
Fresh and knowledgeable
Many news are so boring
Yet news papers gives us
Energy and enlightening everyday
Some people gets for them
a wonderful new life's ray
Without any confusion
Every day comes sunshine
Birds are making melody
With temple's ringing bell
Come out devoting Mira's vajan from neighbour's house
Morning is fully divine
At that time sweet strong tea comes with my favorite chalk white cup
Atmosphere gets bestowed my balcony at that time
And I get my first word for making a new poem.
Ms. Namita Paikaray from Bhubaneswar, Odisha is a bilingual poet and writer whose poems and short stories have also been translated into Hindi. She has two Collections of Poetry and three books of short stories to her credit. She is a wellknown literary personality of Odisha and has won eight distinguished Awards in a writing career spanning over more than sixteen years.
Mahanadi is Mahanadi,
In forgetting people, villas and villages,
Lives and livestocks it has washed away in its calm fury ,
Mahanadi is not Mahanadi
In recollection of you
That you once sat on its bank,
Sang melodies to it flow,
Spoke heart in its edge,
(When the Moon had to hide its face in a cloud apron)
Danced with it in rhythmic rapture?
A bemused beholder,
You tried to paint it on your canvas,
To hold it in patent
Your memory lingers,
Never ever to die,
But Mahanadi remains Mahanadi ,
Meandering its way ,
Winding and wounding,
In spate or in slim state,
It minds not if it ravages
Men or material
Mind or heart!
Mahanadi , the cool Majesty
Mahanadi , the ferocious Tragedy ,
Mahanadi , the enigmatic Mystery !
What could the miserable poet give you
Except a revered Namaskar!
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.
As I pen down my emotions my eyes shut with droplets of tears.
As I vent my feelings to roll down,the unfathomable depth of my heart quakes.
As I jot these words I recognise myself better...
Bapa,The Father,the selfless being who shivers even with little of our scratches.
He shivers if even a drop of blood oozes out of our bloodstream.
He quivers seeing the sadness on our faces
Yet Bapa is the boldest of All.
He is our natural protector who drapes us away from all perils.
He is the one who dares to wave through all the currents of ocean to gift us a soothing journey.
He is the one who fights all odds to easen our thoughts.
He simply He,so divine in his acts and so pure in his thoughts.
Such is the magnanimity of Bapa
Kabyatara Kar (Nobela)
M.B.A and P.G in Nutrition and Dietetic, Member of All India Human Rights Activists
Passion: Writing poems, social work
Strength: Determination and her familyVision: Endeavour of life is to fill happiness in life of others
It is so disturbing
to see your shadow asleep
when you are still awake,
your heart in a turmoil
like a raging summer storm,
yet the mind calm
as a winter night.
Something is in the offing
making you wonder
whose footfalls approach
making the snow crunch,
the leaves stare wide-eyed,
trees hold their breath
the air stands still.
The silent visitor creeps in
with a strange smile,
to lead you on,
holding your hand,
gently you cross the fence
the sleeping shadow continues
to lay in a pathetic stupor.
Tomorrow the shadow will wake up
and go looking for you
its anguished cries soaring to the sky,
the mourning songs
will fall into their places
like discoloured ice-cubes
in a sunken bowl.
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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