Literary Vibes - Edition CXLIII (26-Jul-2024) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEWS
Title : The Farm Shed (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,
Welcome to the 143rd edition of LiteraryVibes which comes adorned with more than sixty lovely poems, twelve fascinating short stories and a number of interesting anecdotes. We are also lucky to have with us three new poets and a brilliant writer who have contributed to our eMagazine for the first time. Ms. Athena Thiyam, originally from Manipur, has completed a Master's degree in English Literature and is currently pursuing research in Delhi University.. Ms. Sonia Oinam, another scholar, is also from Manipur and both of them write brilliant poems conveying themes of heart-touching reality. Ms. Protima Rani Karmaker is an accomplished poet from Dhaka, Bangladesh, whose poems reverberate with earthy emotions and surreal beauty. Mr. Kunal Roy from Kolkata is a well-known poet, writer and critic. He has contributed a scholarly review of Salman Rushdie's magnificent work Knife for today's edition. But the real find this time is a brilliant boy, Suyansh, all of five years of age, who is passionate about chanting Sanskrit slokas in abundance. His two short recitals of an inspiring talk and a story in LV143 will certainly fill the heart with joy. Let us welcome all of these newcomers to the family of LiteraryVibes and wish them the best of luck in their literary pursuit.
I returned from the US a fortnight back after spending ten weeks of happy time with our children and grandchildren. One of the best memories I carry from my days in the US is the visit to libraries in the towns where our children live. Each town has multiple libraries funded by the municipality. They are big, fully air-conditioned, clean and clutter-free. One can spend hours reading books of varied interest and there is no limit to the number of books one can borrow. If someone doesn't find a book he wants to read, he can put in a requisition and within two working days the library will borrow it from a sister library and make it available. Another wonderful innovation I saw was the street corner book banks which one cannot miss while taking a walk within the community. Local residents, after reading the books they buy, put them in a small wooden bookcase (of a size of 24"x18"x15") hanging from a tree or glued to their fence. The walkers can pick up the books and return them after going through. Anyone can contribute to the book bank and can borrow from it. Small children get excited to see books of their interest and freely borrow from the book bank. I was really impressed.
Speaking of libraries, my memory goes back to the year 2018 when I decided to settle in Bhubaneswar, my home town, after retirement from government job. Being fond of books I went to the state library to become a member. I was told that unless I submitted my matriculation certificate as age and education proof my membership would not be approved. I had lost this precious certificate somewhere during shifting of residence during occasional transfers, an inevitable concomitant of government service. I made a few attempts to convince the library authorities that I have a copy of my Ph.D. degree and it should be accepted in lieu of the matriculation certificate, but I was told "rule is a rule". Inspired by this ordeal I wrote a short story in 2019. I have posted the story A Marooned Bird in today's edition. Although it is a repeat I hope new readers will enjoy the story.
I used the opportunity of my visit to the US to read more than a dozen books during my stay there. It was a great pleasure, bringing an awesome bliss to mind. Coincidentally, I came across a very useful anecdote from the internet recently on the value of reading. I enjoyed it and let me share this piece with you:
“I've read so many books, but I've forgotten most of them. But then what is the purpose of reading?” This was the question that a pupil once asked his Master. The Master did not answer at that moment. After a few days, however, while he and the young pupil were sitting near a river, he said he was thirsty and asked the boy to get him some water using an old dirty sieve that was there on the ground. The pupil started, as he knew it was a request without any logic. However, he could not contradict his Master and, taking the sieve, he began to perform this absurd task. Every time he dipped the sieve into the river to draw water to take to his Master, he could not take even one step towards him that not even a drop remained in the sieve. He tried and tried dozens of times but, as much as he tried to run faster from the shore to his Master, the water continued to pass through all the holes in the sieve and was lost along the way. Exhausted, he sat next to the Master and said: "I can't get water with that sieve. Forgive me Master, it is impossible and I have failed in my task" “No – replied the old man smiling – you have not failed. Look at the sieve, it's like new now. The water, filtering through its holes, has cleaned it up" "When you read books - continued the old Master - you are like the sieve and they are like the water of the river" "It doesn't matter if you can't keep in your memory all the water they make flow in you, since the books anyway, with their ideas, emotions, feelings, knowledge, the truth that you will find between the pages, they will cleanse your mind and spirit, and make you a better and renewed person. That is the purpose of reading." Happy reading to all.....
Hope you will like the offerings in LV143. Please share the following links with all your friends and contacts.
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/552 (Poems and Book Reviews).
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/551 (Short Stories, Anecdotes)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/550 (Young Magic)
Take care, be happy enjoying the rains till we meet in the last week of August with the 144th edition of LiteraryVibes
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Friday, July 26, 2024
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Geetha Nair G
TWIN SEASONS
02) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
HAUNTED
03) Haraprasad Das
THE EXILE
DEIFICATION
04) Dilip Mohapatra
ONE LAST TIME
05) Raju Samal
A SAD SONG FOR OUR SOUL
06) Abani Udgata
TALKING TO STRANGERS
07) Athena Thiyam
A EULOGY (AN APOLOGY)
OF A DYING DAY
THE LAND (END) IS ETERNAL
08) Sreeja Vidhu
CELLAR
09) Asim Ranjan Parhi
LIVING IN VERSE
10) Protiva Rani Karmaker
ONE DAY I’LL TAKE LEAVE
BEAUTY OF BELOVED
MEMORIES OF MOTHER’S DEATH
BROKEN BOND
11) Sonia Oinam
FEAR
12) Sundar Rajan
SUN - STRUCK
A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN
POETRY
13) Padmini Janardhanan
RETURN OF THE WANDERER?
14) Hema Ravi
AMIDST CHAOS…..
TIMELESS ARTIFACTS
15) Sharanya B
FARMER’S CHILD
16) Leena Thampi
INFIDELITY IS A SIN
17) Setaluri Padmavathi
WHAT CAN YOU NOT DO?
18) Col(Dr) Rekha Mohanty
A MOON LIT NIGHT ON LAGOON
19) Dr. Akshara Rai
THE FIRST RAIN OF THE SEASON
THE BEACH
20) Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
SPRING IS IN MY MIND
21) Dr R S Tewari Shikhresh
PSEUDO-IMPRESSIONS
BEYOND MUNDANE ROARS
22) Jay Jagdev
ERASED
MY DESIRES
23) Shreeya Sampada
BACKSTABBER
24) Sudipta Mishra
THE PAIN OF A POET
25) Bipin Patsani
BALAK - BUDHI
26) Sujata Dash
A PEEK INTO THE OCEAN OF LOVE
THE UNFATHOMABLE
27) Ravi Ranganathan
GAME-CHANGER
28) Avantika Vijay Singh
HOW INDRA WAS HUMBLED
29) Dr Nanda K. Biswal
IN THE TIME OF POST-TRUTHS
30) Sreedharan Parokode
THE MESSAGE
31) Anjali Sahoo
VICTORY IS A BEAUTY
32) Dr. Ratan Ghosh
MY FAINTED CANVAS
33) Manjula Asthana Mahanti
WONDERS
34) Arpita Priyadarsini
THE DREAMER
35) Dilip Rakshit
THE FLOWER BOUQUET
RHYMES
THE SONNET
36) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
POETRY RISES FROM
SPONTANEOUS SPURT
BEYOND DEFINITIONS
37) Matralina Pati
DEPARTURE
38) Rudra Pati
A PRAYER
39) N Rangamani
I AM WHAT I AM !!
40) Dr. Ajay Narayanan
PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA VIA KILTAN BY AN AGED TUNA-FISH
41) Ms Gargi Saha
THE SCHOOL
UNMISTED BEAUTY
UNFELT FEARS
42) Annamalai M
AIM AT NOT ME
I SAW A RED ROSE IN THY FACE
DECORATED TOMB, AS SEEN FROM AN OVER BRIDGE
OTHERWISE WE WILL PRICK YOU, SKY!
43) Prof Niranjan Barik
STARDUST IN THEIR EYES: RACING BEYOND SIGHT
44) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE TOUCH OF YOUR LIPS
BOOK REVIEWS
01) Kunal Roy
KNIFE (Meditations after an Attempted Murder)
Salman Rushdie
02) Matralina Pati
A REVIEW OF MEMORIES OF WORDS
Jaydeep Ssarangi
Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
HOW DO SCRIPTS GET WRITTEN?
02) Ajaya Upadhyaya
A GLIMPSE OF DIVINITY
03) Dilip Mohapatra
AWARDOCALYPSE
04) Ishwar Pati
CHANCE ENCOUNTER ON A TRAIN
05) Snehaprava Das
LOVE UNDER THE SHADOW OF FLAMES
06) Usha Surya
THE INTERVIEW
07) Ashok Mishra
ONE NIGHT IN CHENNAI MAIL
08) Sreekumar T V
TATTOO TRUTH
09) Jay Jagdev
OUR OWN CONFESSION BOX
10) Pradeep Kumar Biswal
THE LOST ART OF READING: FROM DUSTY BOOKSHELVES TO DIGITAL SCREENS
11) Bankim Chandra Tola
REAL FRIEND
12) Sujata Dash
SOME QUIRKS SOME PUNCHES
13) N Meera Raghavendra Rao
AUNT PUTLI HAS HER WAY
LEARNING IN A HURRY
14) Satish Pashine
SYMPHONY OF RAIN: A TRIBUTE TO NATURE'S REFRESHING GIFT
MAIKU, YOUSUF, AND THE USED UMBRELLA
15) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
RANSOM
LOVE DUET
16) Braja K Sorkar
INDIAN ENGLISH LITERATURE AND JAYANTA MAHAPATRA- A BIRD’S EYE VIEW
17) Sukumaran C.V.
BATTLE OF THE BATS
18) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY: ABOUT A HEALING STATESMAN
19) Sreechandra Banerjee
WORLDWIDE CELEBRATIONS OF RATHA YATRA
20) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE STALKER
A MAROONED BIRD
Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Anura Parida
MY GOLDEN WISH
02) Trishna Sahoo
LITTLE BIRD : MY FRIEND
03) Shibanshi Das
ARTWORK
04) Suyansh Mishra
HIS VIDEOS
POEMS
(Photo Courtesy :: V. Narayanaru)
July is drenched dogs, mud, road-rivers, dull skies,
a painting in green grey brown
viewed by one pair of eyes...
Love, where are you gone?
The months collide and May bursts burning,
streaming in memory's rays
the parable of our passion
Bright blazing like the sunlight pounding the bare earth
While birds preen in their green mansion.
Love, where are you gone?
That sun has set.
Those birds have left.
It is July again
And I wake to walk the path
The single line stretched out
Swaying this way, that,
Seeking to find an answer
As the rains shower their might;
On one side the aviaries of silence,
On the other, solitary night.
Geetha Nair G, a former Associate Professor of English, is the author of two collections of poetry and two collections of short fiction. She has compiled and co-edited three international anthologies of short fiction. She is the CEO of Folio Publishers, a publishing concern based in Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala.
Deep into the night,
moon woken up to its full;
a heartbroken Chakor cries
slitting the sky to pieces,
navigating in inky brittle circles -
I feel guilty.
An emptiness in lower pit,
a throb in the upper.
I search the auricles,
ventricles and the chest's atrium
for the sin I don't recall committing -
But I feel guilty!
I look up, meet stern eyes looking down;
the questioning ones of the Great Bear*,
the Dog's* with exposed yellow fangs,
the red eyes of the Hunter*, but the sins
I have committed, I don't recall -
what, when and how?
The riddle rips open me painfully,
I bleed tears of blood
from eyes congealed with
an unknown loss behind an unfamiliar awning.
Who would fill this emptiness
with what, reasoning or silence?
The night sails soundless,
rudderless, an orphan without
schooling, breakfast, lunch, dinner;
or a kind word ever. Am I guilty
of the umpteen children without parents,
of people without a country?
Footnote - Great Bear* (Ursa Major constellation), Hunter* (the Orion constellation) and Dog* (the Dog star)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is an award-winning Indian poet from India, besides being a story writer, translator, editor, and critic; a former president of Poetry Circle, Bombay (Mumbai), an association of Indo-English poets. He edited POIESIS, the literary magazine of this poets’ association for eight years. His poems have been widely published, his own works and translation from the works of other poets. He has published three books of his poems and his poems have appeared in twenty anthologies in India and abroad.
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. mishra)
Normal eyes may not notice
the subtleties
but he has been
an outsider always.
A seeker’s lamp in hand
he has crossed the verandah
over to the courtyard
to go away. Let him go.
It is not really him,
only his sleeping form
that is who still snores
in his bed of uncertainties.
It is his look alike
fossilized over ages,
also a seeker, though a bit vain,
of his own rite of passage.
He is looking for the lost course
on a bereft bed between unsure banks.
But the one, going away
as a seeker, is not a vain escapist.
Shouldn’t an insect,
drunk on nectar and dozing off
inside a flower, wake up and fly away
before the petals close entrapping it?
Shouldn’t one plan
his luminous evening
atop a distant mountain
before the post-sunset gloom?
If young Goutam’s goal on marital bed
was to win his wife’s favours,
why did he leave young Yashodhara
to attend his land’s call?
Submerged in the joy
of the young wife’s yielding flesh
why should he feel guilty
of causing the night thrash in pain?
Wasn’t it to gather
the scattered dreams
of a new dawn
for his people?
Was his machismo a mask
donned over his pain and remorse?
The exile does not know
when would this night end…
When would he return
from his self-imposed banishment?
Or would he ever return
with the enlightening fruits and shoots?
But he has a good guess:
his comatose self, asleep in his bed,
would wake up then
out of the stupor.
Though the Devil would
be lurking by his comatose bed
hiding behind the curtains
to catch him in his hypnotic snare.
Would the exile
of this critical night
be judged as bizarre
self-seeking by posterity?
(Translated by Prabhanjan K. mishra)
No one has time to go –
One is taking pumpkins
to Hari Raajpur market
on bicycle for sale.
Another is busy
shooting birds
embossed on
linoleum flooring.
After finishing studies,
I have climbed to the top
of my career graph, as well
taken all the dips in Vaitarani*.
I have retired and have all the free time
in the world like the shred of light
that has entered a gem stone,
and flashes back and forth from lattice faces.
The light ray, a prisoner
trapped among
the gem stone’s crystal faces,
is unable to escape.
Thus, deified for
successes and achievements,
abilities and attributes;
I have but to go.
Stumbling along the mud road
bruising my ivory elbows
soiling my brass feet, to catch the last bus
that would blind my eyes by raising dust.
(Footnote – Vaitarani, the river that purifies the soul. Often to end desires and achieve Nirvana, a dip in Vaitarani or Vaitarana is recommended.)
(The two translations by Prabhanjan K. Mishra were original Odia poems of poet Haraprasad Das, already placed in our book GOD’S IN FILIGREE, containing 99 Odia poems of the poet trans-created by this translator.)
Mr. Hara Prasad Das is one of the greatest poets in Odiya literature. He is also an essayist and columnist. Mr. Das, has twelve works of poetry, four of prose, three translations and one piece of fiction to his credit. He is a retired civil servant and has served various UN bodies as an expert.
He is a recipient of numerous awards and recognitions including Kalinga Literary Award (2017), Moortidevi Award(2013), Gangadhar Meher Award (2008), Kendra Sahitya Akademi Award (1999) and Sarala Award (2008)”
One last time
we say
and step once again
to pluck the alluring apple
from the garden of Eden
while the serpent
chuckles from its perch
and we are drawn
into the fire
like the moth spiralling
into the flame
that we swore to resist.
The taste of sin
so sweet upon the tongue
like honeyed poison
beckons with a smile
our wills crumbled
like autumn foliage
so frail and weak
are scattered
by the winds of our desire
as we reach for virtue
grasping at the thin air
to find our hands
filled with empty dreams.
The night
a mysterious cloak
enfolds our whispered lies
while shadows dance
to songs of false promises…
One final drink we say
then one more kiss
and we say how does it matter
while our resolves dissolve
like dews in the morning light.
Each vow
a fleeting ghost
that fades with the dawn,
as the sunlight burns away
our brief regret
our temporary guilt
we teeter on the precipice
once more
and fall into the dark chasm
one last time…
one last time.
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
Every day we take our beloved body
to pre-dawn walk for fitness
and invite our cunning mind
to Sunday sermons for cleanliness
Not knowing that we have a soul
and we abandon
our love-starved soul to starve
which needs nourishment
from a loving heart to grow and expand
With sacred thoughts we come to the temple
and say prayerful words for God
to open the door so that we can offer
our reverence with folded hands
but our life is left only with a single key
which can open the door to violence
and all other keys
to the beauty of His mysterious existence
and infinite bliss were lost on the day
we killed our lovingness inside us .
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 view through the window
sun-kissed afternoon on
concrete assemblage
so many unknown
roads, caverns, secrets.
Never known you, nor will ever
like so many roads before me
Now that the summer is gone
we will sit together under dim lights
in not so warm evenings and live
together in words that must be spoken.
Words that match the colour
of your sky with mine, the urge
of bursting forth of my fountains
on your alien landscape.
Hands will reach across
to exchange the treasured fragrance
of the earth, each in his own way.
For boundaries deny the love
for strangeness of the sky
you have never seen.
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
And what is adulthood when the ten-year-old
I nestle in my arms is dead?
When the sky was so blue it stained your eyes
and the earth tasted of brown sugar,
when the clouds were blankets of cashmere
and the ponds looked promising of a life beyond,
what is adulthood but the endeavour
to water the ten-year-old in you to life?
When death was a stranger who assured me he won't take away my pet for long,
and my eyes and nose and lips were merely to experience,
when linking our little fingers meant fights were over,
and playing adult meant draping ourselves in our mother's clothes,
what is adulthood but the graveyard
of a ten-year-old stifled to shards?
Memory is in the air we breathe,
we speak of the dead onto it,
oh do you remember when you believed
a cloth tied to your neck could make you fly?
Dreams were more airy, less heavy
and tomorrow was in our parents' palms,
pain, anger, joy, they never spared us in their intensity,
ours and only ours;
what is adulthood but blowing air
into the lungs of a ten-year-old?
Stones had pelted down heads barren of hair
the raised voices, the violent holes in the walls
shouts to drown away the terror
running from hands meant to protect you,
screams to muffle the voices
hurling abuses instead of warmth
every cherished item a weapon wielded,
walking on needles around their vein
a caged bird within a caged bird,
doomed with a desperation to escape
and a yearning to live through it again
what is adulthood but kneeling
on the altar of the ten-year-old you killed?
Dusk showered wrinkled marigolds
upon the dimming tide of your weary soul,
the end no longer a mountain in sight
from the playhouse of a little child full of light,
your children far from your womb
prepares to light candles at the tomb,
your grandchildren move about oblivious
to stories of when you were at your most glorious:
a restless lass seeking more than what time warranted,
fierce in love and in vigilance for her siblings,
an unruly flame that refused to abate
and wedded off early as repercussions,
a voice drowned in the holler of her alcoholic husband,
an opinion never asked, never sought, never welcomed,
constantly bedridden with childbirth in a no man's land,
a broken mother tending to her children's wounds,
fed them love scooped with yesteryears' torn fancies,
a mute wife absorbing the sounds of her husband's infidelity,
a loud woman heading the procession for justice.
As night begins to spill black ink upon the sky
and the stars begin to take the shape of a staircase,
your blood starts to gather around your failing heart.
Who shall tell the world of you, old woman?
Of a wife, a mother, a grandmother.
Of your tales that are long gone to cinders
and of your reveries long buried in shame,
of when your feet were soft and smooth
and you could read a letter or two,
your mind has long disappeared into the abyss
and as your grandchildren rock the cradle of your deathbed,
wrinkled marigolds fluttered about the cemetery of your childhood.
Would that the hills crumble
and the lakes become one with the river
the valley a memory in a shamble
and ashes of history pages overhead hover,
Exile, our eternal end we shall ensue.
Whose blood did that lump of soil gulped down on?
Is the scent of the Champak that grows there her children's alone?
Constantinople fell, Istanbul rose, aren't those underneath
the same pile of dead strangers lost together in myth?
A new name for the same Land.
History is written with water, running, never halting,
Destruction, the perennial fate of all civilizations
briefly led astray in the strive for legacies,
we press our foreheads on the soil and in tears sing
songs of praise and made vows to protect the land from ruination
the land that will soon belong to the dead, the decree of all our fancies.
It's a tragedy, our love for the soil which we tread upon,
a sad, sweet tale rooted in our desire to leave a frail footprint,
for we are mortals, the land is immortal, free to abandon
us as it pleases, and yet our forefathers' ashes flutter in the clint.
Who's us and who's they?
Whose history was written before the dawn of day?
A mass of humans, a lump of limbs
grounded to dust, soon to be gone to time's whims,
who is it we protect by mass killings?
Why does the battle cry sound like mourning
for us, for them, for those in between
all to be lost in the killing of each own kin?
Athena Thiyam is a young poet from the north-eastern state of Manipur, India. She released her first collection of poems, The Other World and Others, at the age of 13 in 2014. Born to writers Saratchand Thiyam and Bimabati Thiyam, Athena's early work reflects her keen observations of the world around her and her love for nature. Her poems have garnered attention for their depth and maturity beyond her years.
She recently completed her Post-Graduation in English Literature from the University of Delhi and continues to engage with the literary world, where she endeavours to create a space of her own.
She has been part of numerous literary conventions and poetry readings both in and outside her state. Her poems continue to be published in literary magazines, and anthologies. In 2022, she contributed to an anthology titled Voices Now: World Poetry Today, which features poems from renowned poets worldwide. Notably, she was the youngest poet included in this collection
Helpless are humans;
living in illusions of moments
thinking of unlimited joy
whining over painful affairs
reassuring the doubtful days.
Helpless are humans;
even in happy moments
fearing these moments will end.
Helpless are humans;
coming closer to death
everyday
with aching body.
Helpless are humans;
knowing that the
ultimate destiny awaits
to get liberated
from all illnesses
from all illusions.
SONIA OINAM, born in Imphal, Manipur,a poet and has a keen interest in crafting articles and memoirs. She had her first publication of an anthology of poems titled, Endless I Will Be (2023) that delve into emotions, exploration, and hope, resonating with the essence of life. Her forthcoming work on a Memoir is getting ready for publication.
One day I'll take leave...
To touch my tired feet on the green grass,
To breathe the air of the night-blooming jasmine flower,
And to lose myself in magical hours.
One day I'll take leave...
To spread the warmth and love,
As a fire pit does during the winter.
And mother’s cooking during dinner.
One day I'll take leave...
To befriend the sweet rays of the sun
And to find a new rhythm in life,
Listening to a sweet bird’s melodious vibe.
One day I'll take leave...
To get carried away with the stream of a river,
To respond to the call of nature and love.
And build a nest of love like a dove.
When she speaks, I feel like cascades of jewels are flowing.
When she walks, I feel like soothing air is blowing.
When she looks, I feel like candles are sparkling.
When she smiles, I feel like a rainbow is peeping.
When she acts, I feel like excellence is growing.
When she blinks her eyelids, I feel like stars are twinkling.
Her beauty in my heart is as deep as the seabed.
It will be growing in silence as a bird in her nest.
When my mother died,
Doctors said, “We have tried,
And as it was COVID-19,
We have failed.”
When my mother died,
Nurses said, “What a good soul,
And the sweet smile she had,
Her pain made us so sad
That we all cried.”
When my mother died,
Neighbors and close relatives
Whispered with confusion
Whether to meet us to
Show their condolences or not.
Only I and my siblings were silent,
Standing like uprooted trees.
Sounds, whispers, and formalities
Beating my heart like arrows.
The vast world lying before me
Seemed too narrow!
Suddenly my sons’ faces brought me back
To life and reality,
Suppressing the clotted pain of mother’s death.
Perhaps it’s called harsh cruelty.
When I brought you a beautiful rose,
Looking at the thorns
You kept it aside with mourn.
When I offered you a peaceful nest,
Thinking of discomforts
You broke it with swords.
When I enjoyed your simplicity,
You considered it my complexity.
When you were the king of my hut,
I was merely the flying pain in your heart.
Dear friend, if our bond is like this,
How can we prepare a strong loving bridge!!
Dr. Protiva Rani Karmaker is an accomplished writer and columnist for national dailies, renowned for her contributions to education, youth development, and literature. As a professor and first director at the Institute of Modern Languages, Jagannath University, her expertise spans literature, education and research. She has authored twelve books by Bangladeshi renewed publishers, 01 book by Indian publisher, 22 journal articles and 200 columns. In recognition of her exceptional work, she received the International ERUDITE SCHOLAR 2022 award from the Council for Teacher Education Foundation (CTEF), India, and the International Award of Academic Excellence and Leadership 2024 by the Council for Educational Administration and Management (CEAM) India.
The sky turned reddish hue at the horizon,
Musical waves welcoming the summer Sun,
Serenely rising, laying golden carpet,
Dancing to the musical waves, unchartered.
Soon a flicker of light silently emerged,
Igniting in me a spark, very profound.
"Reach out like me within", it seemed to convey,
"You will be the Lord of all that you survey".
From all roving eyes it's shut,
In that smug little casket
Embedded, is a gem, priceless
Unseen, yet conspicuous.
The morning it greets with a vigour
Essaying deft little kicks, with ardour,
Waking me from my slumber
To alleviate my distemper.
As the little one squirms inside,
The law of Nature to abide,
The casket I lovingly caress
To greet my prized possession.
A joyous radiance engulfs my zeal,
As a room of one's own, I conceal.
Eagerly awaiting that fateful day
To revel in that event, gay.
Poetry for pleasure,
Could be at leisure,
With rhythm and rhyme,
Words flow into line,
Garlanding verses,
With topics, diverse,
Makes poetry so worthy,
With its rhapsody.
Changes did usher,
For free verse to flower,
Thoughts flowing carefree,
That drives reader's glee.
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.
Time was when for sustenance
Man wandered in groups or alone
Rain or shine, wind or water
Food to be got no matter
And then one fine day it dawned
Bring home the plant, not just fruit
Wild plants turned tamed
Social evolution seeded
The colors, shade along with fruit
Harnessing the wild and sweet
Man moved up several wrungs
Each into his own Eden.
Man lived in pleasant comfort
Till greed replaced need
Sustainability lost
Future-gen wanderers again?
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.
One who loves would never preach
I stumbled upon Love one evening
And travelled safe
Living in verse
You said you were thrilled and blessed
By waiting for a quarter of a century
Only to be cursed as an intruding 'initiative'
You said you waited and waited,
'didn't like the evenings in which you missed me'
'but such evenings never came'
You said 'all your experiences led me to me'
And 'it was spiritually corrupt not to love you'
Only to nourish fail us at the end of history
The moment of love never stops at Time' s curse
Yet the martyrs of it could fail it mid-way
I took decades to reach it
You, as a chapter in a voluminous book
So, ages ago, I stooped to its depth
while you slipped petty,
Despite your designs,deceits and routine destructions
I prospered in Love,
You in infinite shame.
Asima Ranjan Parhi is Professor and Head, Department of English at Utkal University, Odisha. He was formerly the Dean, Faculty of Languages, Professor and Head of the Department of English at Rajiv Gandhi Central University, Arunachal Pradesh. Author of a book Indian English through Newspapers, Parhi has published a number of research papers in Translation Studies (CIIL), Indian Literature (Sahitya Akademi), Journal of English and Foreign Languages (EFLU), Studies in Humanities and Social Sciences (IIAS), International Journal of Multidisciplinary Thought, Journal of media and Communication Studies, a Monograph from Sahitya Akademi, book chapters in publications from Springer and Routledge. An Associate of Indian Institute of Advanced Study, Shimla, Parhi pursues an interest in ELT, Translation Studies and Children’s literature. Recently he has published an anthology of poems titled Of Sons and Fathers from Pakhsighara, Bhubaneswar. His forthcoming publications include an edited anthology on Gopinath Mohanty and Tales from Sarala Mahabharata in prose from Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi.
The young immigrant was on holiday.
As the car went past dusty, crowded streets,
she watched children at play –
scantily dressed, grimy, yet
radiant as the sun overhead over the
patched tents. Aluminum utensils, and mongrels
lay beside the elderly lady who rested,
keeping a watchful eye over the urchins.
Mother read aloud the news article.
“Nordics are always winning the happiness race”
They are small, homogenous, and wealthy.”
Promptly retorted the little one:
These children are also happy!
As we entered, someone squealed -
Run! It's time for the man…
Five minutes to noon
'Man,’ kept the multitude captive!
Then, the most intriguing thing –
a door opened, a tiny bearded man emerged
struck the gong twelve times,
The door slammed shut!
Another toy man- blacksmith with hammer –
striking the ‘seconds’ hand, without a ‘break.’
This ‘Bracket Clock’ of a bygone era –
Collector’s Pride!
Giovanni’s ‘Veiled Rebecca,’
The ‘Wooden Double Statue –(front) Mephistopheles and
(back) Margeretta – Timeless!
Can write paens! If anyone says:
Museums are a bore,
I’ll give them a virtual tour
of the enthralling experience…
Hema Ravi is a poet, author, reviewer, editor (Efflorescence), independent researcher and resource person for language development courses... Her writings have been featured in several online and international print journals, notable among them being Metverse Muse, Amaravati Poetic Prism, International Writers Journal (USA), Culture and Quest (ISISAR), Setu Bilingual, INNSAEI journal and Science Shore Magazine. Her write ups and poems have won prizes in competitions.
She is the recipient of the Distinguished Writer International Award for excellence in Literature for securing the ninth place in the 7th Bharat Award, conducted by www.poesisonline.com. In addition, she has been awarded a ‘Certificate of Appreciation’ for her literary contributions by the Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips on the occasion of the 74th Independence Day (2020) and again. conferred with the ‘Order of Shakespeare Medal’ for her writing merit conforming to global standards.(2021). She is the recipient of cash prizes from the Pratilipi group, having secured the fourth place in the Radio Romeo Contest (2021), the sixth place in the Retelling of Fairy Tales (2021), the first prize in the Word Cloud competition (2020) and in the Children’s Day Special Contest (2020). She scripted, edited, and presented radio lessons on the Kalpakkam Community Radio titled 'Everyday English with Hema,' (2020) a series of lessons for learners to hone their language skills. Science Shore Magazine has been featuring her visual audios titled ‘English Errors of Indian Students.’
A brief stint in the Central Government, then as a teacher of English and Hindi for over two decades, Hema Ravi is currently freelancer for IELTS and Communicative English. With students ranging from 4 to 70, Hema is at ease with any age group, pursues her career and passion with great ease and comfort. As the Secretary of the Chennai Poets’ Circle, Chennai, she empowers the young and the not so young to unleash their creative potential efficiently
.
(Translated by Nikhilesh Naduvannur )
Have you seen snow clad continent?
Have you seen desert that veiled sea?
The other day , I saw such a site
A continent guarded by snowy hills.
Greenery spreads everywhere.
Tranquil whiteness abounds
Yet black rocks of blows emerge here and there
A cold land has absorbed all the water.
Now its crust is cold and hard.
Here the sun blazes even at night.
Serene islands make a feast of amazements to the eyes
Huge lakes hide under the lid of flake ice.
Volcanoes lie dormant as a subterranean fire.
Those clouds hanging on the horizon
crave to fall down at the day's end devoid of night
A soft gale strews fog and hinders the view
A hot weather will upset the ice layer and end up in brooks
In an outpour of uproaring grief icebergs float
It might upturn the boats of dreamy.
This land is to be explored for peaceful purposes, thats the pact
What surprises is visitors use the land for their own needs
At once my eyes opened and groped around.
I took a look at my circle of friends
To my wonder I have witnessed many frozen deserts
Dozy volcanoes
Hiding lakes...
Sreeja Vidhu is a Malayalam poet whose poems have been published in various offline and online magazines. She currently serves as the Joint Secretary of Purogamana Kala Sahithya Sangham, a well-acclaimed literary organization in Kerala. In addition, she works as a mathematics teacher.Her notable works are Sakshi, Shoshammayum Avarachanum Kudumbam Enna Prasthanavum, Software, Karivepp, Veruthe, Mounam Samsarikkunnu and Poruttham.
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.
Farmer’s child
Don’t you know your way around these corn and barley fields
As precisely as the lines of the folk rhymes you’ve memorized?
Haven’t you frolicked around this land that sprouts gold
And made strong kindred with a scorching sun
From whom you don’t shy away at all?
Don’t you recognize the scent of this earth
Like that of your own birth mother’s?
Isn’t the wet soil after a drizzle your favourite play dough
For sculpting those costly toys you’ve
Always admired through the gleaming windows of the city-shops?
Aren’t leaf hoppers and ladybirds
That crawl and play on your bronze skin everyday
Your dearest of mates?
Would you trade your pampered calf
For even the rarest of gems on this planet?
Farmer’s child
Don’t you realize your father is one of those Gods
Whose perspiration is what keeps this
World’s hungry belly full?
Farmer’s child
Yet why do you wear ragged clothes
Sleep on the floor in a leaking house
And go to bed with your rumbling stomach
Only dreaming of food..?
Sharanya Bee, is a young poet from Trivandrum, who is presently pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in English Literature in Kerala University. She also has a professional background of working as a Creative Intern in Advertising. She is passionate about Drawing and Creative Writing.
A world full of faces yet you see none
In the midst of fleeting connections
I treasure the loyal one
Ain't interested in acquaintances
Or shallow conversations lacking life
An unknown angel may bring grace, But with the known devil, you find your peace
Cloaked in the guise of an angel bright,
Deception dances with pure delight.
Chains of comfort, a seductive snare, Beware the facade, the hidden glare.
Infidelity is a sin, a betrayal of trust
It tears apart relationships and turns love to dust
The pain it causes is deep and profound
Leaving wounds that may never fully be bound
When one digress from their committed path
It brings turmoil, confusion, and wrath
A vow broken, a heart shattered
Leaving behind a love that once mattered
The lies and deceit that come with disloyality
Can destroy everything in its vicinity
A web of secrets woven in deceit
Leaves a marriage in defeat
The bond of marriage is sacred and strong
But infidelity can make it all go wrong
Trust is broken, hearts are torn
Leaving behind a love that was once sworn
So think before you stray from your side
Is the temporary thrill worth the pain and divide?
Infidelity is a sin, a stain on the heart
Believe in true love ,it's a class apart
So cherish the love you have, hold it tight
And never let perfidy come into sight
For a love built on trust and devotion
Will withstand any storm or emotion.
So let us cherish this virtue,
This sacred vow to stand by each other, through life's ebb and flow
For loyalty is the key, to a marriage true
A bond that lasts, a love that shines through.
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.
You're a bundle of energy
your cheerful smile lights up the world
Turning the sound of silence into a song,
You make everyone happy
What can you not do?
You dare not to utter a word
You know not how to cheat
People love you for your warmth
And like you for your frankness
Isn't it trying for attention?
Worry not for the failures
Think not your weaknesses
Let the world lead you, dear
You can do everything you love
What can you not do?
Let your words change the globe
Let your actions prove who you're
Be brave in every walk of life
And confident in every place you live
Isn't it growing like the shape of the moon?
See dear, only hard work bears the fruits
Learn like a newcomer to the earth
And move on with the chances you get
You can achieve your goals, if you dream
What can you not do?
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 am on a silvery boat
that dances merrily
on the blue water
in a full moon night,
The pearly rays of a smiling moon splashed over it,
Chilka ,the lake of sapphire
transforms into a
sparkling beauty,
reflecting the full moon
starts singing a
melody sweet..
As the waves dazzle
there erupts a fountain of joy,
Cerulean beauty plays
hide and seek
with the dancing boat
like a tossing toy…
The dark blue water gleams through argentum light
all over the night,
The nature paints exquisite images of crystals delight,
The plaits of cobalt with strings of silver over
the care free hair
that look mesmerising ,
The azure beauty attracts like heavenly night jasmine..
the boat slowly sails
towards the tiny island
named after Goddess kalijai
not very far,
The sea gulls have
long disappeared,
I could see blue beauty
in full colour and demure,
The unique sight imprints
the mind for ever…
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.
The skies grow dark, the winds do sigh
As petals lift, and leaves reply
The earth awakens from its sleep
As the first rain begins its sweet creep
With droplets slow, and gentle pace
The parched ground drinks the welcome grace
The scent of wet earth rises high
As petals lift, and flowers sigh
The rhythm beats, the symphony plays
As raindrops dance, and splash all day
With every drop, a story's born
As the first rain brings the world to morn
The dust is washed, the streets are clean
As nature's palette is reborn serene
The first rain brings hope and new beginnings too
A fresh start unfolds, for me and you.
The sun shines bright on the sandy shore,
Waves crash and foam, a soothing roar.
Seagulls fly overhead, their cries a delight,
As I walk along, feeling the warm light.
The ocean stretches far and wide,
A vast expanse of blue, where dreams reside.
I breathe in deep, the salty air,
And let the rhythm of the waves be my care.
The beach is where I come to unwind,
To let my worries fade with the tide's design.
It's where I find my peace, my happy place,
Where the beauty of nature puts a smile on my face.
Dr.Akshara Rai ,have graduated in MBBS FROM IMS AND SUM HOSPITAL, BHUBANESWAR. And now serving as a Resident Doctor in SUM 2 ,phulnakhra. Won multiple awards in poems, stories and elocution , passionate about drawing, painting, Sketching, writing poems, short stories ,reading books, acting and oration.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
Shush...can you hear the elusive nightingale sing?
The trees have dressed up in a new coat of leaves.
The Bengal Clock Vine clusters are hanging from the sheds
Splash of lavender all around.
The sunbirds have made the palm trees their home.
Their sweet twittering is filling up our senses.
Suddenly newness all around
It's Spring, it's Spring ...Spring is in the air.
The eagles glide down.
Clusters of China doll flowers pop out from the bushes.
The fragrance of the Panchamukhi Champa intoxicates nature.
The white Champas too fill up our senses.
Fresh green leaves decorate the bare branches of the banyan.
A crow guards its nest.
The crows are cawing, the parrots are screeching.
A new kind of happiness.
It's Spring, it's Spring...Spring is in my mind.
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).
Impressions if tried to make early
Are no better than the hair curly
That can't be combed with guarantee ,
For they grow on the roots
quite sturdy .
At times ,it so happens that roots are weak ,
Though they appear to be better than streak.
Likewise, impressions seen are entirely different
From reality whether they are intimate or indifferent .
Human impressions are still very dubious
Like an oily art of speech that is suspicious .
Better judge on judicious count and colours ,
Based on pragmatic philosophy, above rumours.
Trust is neither sold nor purchased in market ,
It is in-built in the sacramental architect.
Elevation and erection of the
castle of relations
Can't be structured on the bricks of weak foundations.
Let us not be victim to
Pseudo-impressions
So as to avoid inviting wilful perversions .
Be calm, quite and march in natural course
To overcome all that is ,Infact, curly and coarse .
Desires are indeed infinite,
We keep them on to ignite,
Know not the chime of time,
Just trod the sublime in prime .
Better tame ills and vices ,
With sacramental devices.
Spray peace and pleasure ,
And delve into the treasure.
Treasure of all that is beauty ,
Holding the flag of your entity
With the bliss blessed by God ,
Truly be sheltered by His rod .
The secret lies in being and doing good
To enrich and accomplish brotherhood .
Doing so for sure 'll open the doors
To fly beyond the mundane roars .
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.
I remember you saying to never speak of the end again,
that fate has this habit of coming true if you speak of it often.
So scared you were to live your life with all the chaos,
everything you did then centred around us.
Saw you today smiling like a virgin with no past,
sans all the scars which we both wore as we lived through our patch.
Is it Botox, or some magic potion,
which helped you to erase not just the scars but with that me.
You seem so happy after meeting the fate you so dreaded,
are you acting well, or someone got your memories erased?
From my deepest corner at my darkest hour,
My mind shudders and remembers the scar,
This gullible heart refuses to learn,
Still gets drawn to the flame only to get burnt.
Desire, I solitude, with no one between us,
With the eternity in our hand to slide down the course,
Silence, I desire to listen to your words of love,
Not to leave, to extend these hours, never to stop.
Darkness, I desire to stay wide eyed,
Not to face my situation forcing me to close my lid,
To see you primping and come tiptoeing,
To quell our hearts in its uprising.
White, I still desire for its blankness,
Because I can paint your portrait in its fullness,
Potholed road, I still love,
Each of them reminds me of your body and it's curves.
Desire I your absence for peace and vim,
To live with my situation and to live in my dream,
Don’t rethink or return to fill my voids,
Your portrait in my heart is better than what my mind remembers.
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
Yes she is a traitor !
Do you know
With whom I tied a precious bond
She fragmented that into pieces
But pretended to be one with me and true
She chattered with me
Delightfully
But in my absence she often stabbed my back
Her secure presence
Which gave me a secured place always
Now nowhere I could trace!
I was a coward who had no consciousness
Her fake smile
Was filled with full of arrogance
Me , a fool !!!
Wished her good wishes on many occasions
But she neglected me very often
In all pleasurable situations
I regarded her the most loyal
Bosom buddy
But she regarded me as an adversary
A lot of effort I invested
For flowering the blooms of friendship
But within a few second
She devastated my emotions into shreds
Dear, even today your sweet reminiscences are there
Your cheerful face will always float in my eyes .
Dear, I know that you are now with someone else
But for me, your memory
will always be the false dreams that
I saw with open eyes …..
Shreeya Sampada is a multifaceted artist who has a keen interest in classical music and dance from her infancy.She has received numerous accolades by winning state level competitions in music. As a girl of fourteen, she delves deep into the intricacies of Nature and life for adding colour to her canvas. With a noble ambition of being a doctor in future, she nurtures her time in serving the people around her. She is currently studying in a High School in Puri, Odisha.
A poet knows the joy of suffering
He who paints the dark sky
His bright pen evokes the pain
Soaring high into the vast sky
A sculptor of an unknown art
He who draws his agony in a colorful canvas
His image fools the readers
Turning the pages of black into white
A mysterious man of intriguing chapters
He who employs the characters at his commands
His face misleads you often
Leading you to see the beautiful pictures
Camouflaged by an artist’s sketch!
Sudipta Mishra is a versatile artist known for her work as a poet, translator, reviewer and editor. She has authored many books including titles like “ The Essence of Life” and “The Songs of My Heart”. Her recent book, “Beyond the Pandemic”, explores the impact of Covid 19. Mishra has received prestigious awards such as the Rabindranath Tagore Memorial, Mahadevi Verma Sahitya Siromani Award . She advocates social justice in her writings and is pursuing a PhD degree in English .
(A child’s intelligence)
Balak-budhi is not always immature
and of mischievous kind.
It often proves to be creative and far better
than dull obstinate and exhausted minds.
When twelve year old Dharmapad climbed
the incomplete Sun Temple at Konark,
he didn’t concentrate on the King’s ultimatum
and threat that all the 1200 artisans
including his father be beheaded
if the temple top is not fixed before dawn.
He thought rather of the cause of their failure.
Freshness of his mind and his keen observation
helped him pinpoint the issue and find the solution
what the old worn-out carpenters could not do
owing to their exhausted expertise and dysfunction.
Instead of applause and opportunity
of availing the King’s pleasure,
he earned the envy of the inhibited artisans
who were apprehensive of the King’s displeasure
that a small boy could do such a magnificent job
while all their concerted efforts failed.
So, no escape from the Royal Wrath, they presumed.
Dharama* climbed again
and this time to dive into the ocean for his immersion
that none would know of his presence there
and his selfless Karma.
Foot-note: The myth of Dharmapad.
* Dharama/ Dharmapad was the 12 year old son of Bishu Maharana, the Head Carpenter/ Mason, among the 1200 artisans engaged by King Langula Narasingha Deva in building The Sun Temple at Konark in Odisha. The carpenters took 12 years to build the temple and none of them was allowed to visit home before completion of the assignment. Tired and exhausted, the artisans failed to fix the temple top. The king was angry. He warned the artisans that all of them would be beheaded if they were not able to fix the top before dawn the next day. The artisans were at their wit’s end. In the meanwhile, Dharmapad came to visit his father, Bishu Maharana. He was in his mother’s womb when Bishu came to Konark. So, Dharama had not seen his father. Teased by his mates as fatherless, he asked his mother about his father and ultimately he reached Konark and introduced himself to his father with proof from home. Bishu was delighted. His happiness was short-lived, because of their predicament and the King’s ultimatum.
When Dharama offered to help, the artisans laughed at him and sneered at his age. However, they agreed at last and Dharama climbed at the top and discovered a small error that didn’t strike their exhausted heads. The problem solved, the artisans were in panic again. The King would kill them, they thought, if he came to know that a small child could solve the problem while all of them failed. So, Dharama decided to end his life by jumping down from the temple top and save the heads of 1200 artisans by his supreme sacrifice.
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.
Poetry chisels glorious words
A lucid drama unfolds happier pastures
Hushed whispers walk those extra miles
To quill a compelling narrative
When I look at those deep eyes
Entwined with profound love
The moon sings a lullaby to my soul
Stars compose a pulchritudinous lexicon
A surging sense of self belief soaks being and core
Bristles with wistful reveries of yore
When I peek into the caring eyes and its ardor
When my fatigued limbs look for respite
After relentless daily grind
A silent puddle embraces my tired eyes
In no time
You sniff my fluster, gently assuage the quagmire
Through your soothing look and gesture
The sparkle in the eyes captivates my soul and heart
Be it sprightly spring or vistas of blinding blizzard
The love you squirt sans words
Uplifts my sagging morale, ushers in a new start
I erupt in triumphant cry each time
I look at your mesmerising eyes
In an instant,they whisk me away
To the acreage of paradise.
Time is continuous
Life is only a pause
The wheel of time spins ad infinitum
Sans fatigue and exhaustion
Time weaves
Cavernous mesmeric stories
Sets heart fluttering with feeling
Punctuating nuggets of jouissance
With contentment and bliss
If we peer into
The unfathomable abyss of
Space and Time
We find the serene tapestry of sequence
Where past, present and future coexist
Time is like an alchemic halo
That surrounds our soul and being
Ambles freely during happy tidings
But, hobbles emitting inexorable heaves
When unfavorable flukes beset our journey
Time is a whole
We are mere particles of the entire
Like grains of sand on the beach
In awe with ..
The sprawling oceans and the vast seas
We too remain mystified by
Time's lilting charisma
That soothes our enraged nerves
In its comforting bosom.
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.
Believe me, a smile from a stranger
Is a game -Changer
As is a beautiful sunrise
Seen without a device
From your naked eyes.
Laughter of innocent children
As they run and calories burn
Chirping of a sweet little bird
Wagging its wings even when tired
Its sweet notes are heard and unheard.
A boat ride without a care
Blowing balloons with fanfare
Measuring a rainbow with ease
In sync with the gentle breeze
Believe me, they are the source of peace!
A simple meal, serene within
Anchor in the higher, to win.
Be as you naturally are
Believe me, they are the rearranger
They are the game -Changer!
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.
'Why worship Indra
When to rain is his Karma?'
Queried little Krishna of the people of Vrindavan.
'Worship Govardhan!
Who gives you wood vital
and fodder for your cattle.'
Thus, it was the Lord
Who said that nature must be adored.
Nature be worshipped and thanked
For blessing us with resources unlimited.
He also taught us to do our karma,
For that is our dharma.
To the people of Vrindavan he said,
"You are farmers, from your duty don’t be misled.
Your duty is farming
And with it all associated - like cattle - honouring
Praying for natural phenomenon is not your duty.
And when each works by their duty, that is the world’s beauty!
In his hubris, an enraged Indra, the King of Heaven
Sought to teach the people a lesson.
He summoned angry clouds
To thunder loud
And rains to lash
With lightning to crash
Bringing untold misery to the inhabitants
As Indra stood adamant.
To the Lord, they rushed for protection
As thick rain poured from every direction.
Lord Krishna then stood nobly
Raising Mount Govardhan calmly
On the little finger of his left hand
Where the mountain stood like an umbrella grand.
For 7 days, the villagers sheltered there
Below the raised mountain rare.
His pride broken
A humbled Indra recalled the clouds of devastation.
In his benevolence,
The Lord forgave him for his arrogance.
The story, thus, enlightens us
Of the victory of righteousness
Over arrogance and false pride
That has always lost and died.
To this day, the story finds part
Of festivities that traditions continue to chart
A day after Diwali, in the month of Kartik
Govardhan Puja urges us to be symbiotic
To consecrate nature
And to live in peace and harmony with her
For nature is central to all existence.
To conserve nature, we must go that extra distance.
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.
Callousness is the villain
that prevents watering
the tree called relationship
as it dies slowly with agonies
of bearing untold stories inside.
Even a single death makes the world
impoverished.
It’s a world full of monsters
wearing smiles on their faces
and cliches abounding.
Foxy felines they are,
cunning and deceitful,
by their acts of trickery
they sneak in everywhere
and rule the roost.
Angels are teary-eyed
and full of scars here,
lonely as if in a crowded desert.
A world of post-truths we inhabit,
searching for truth here
amounts to looking for a needle
in a haystack.
Active in social-media, many
promote false gods
with promises galore.
Cowards get hero’s welcome,
thriving on pretension, as if not trained
to subservience
when manipulation is all they know.
“Emperor’s new clothes” is the new reality
scared as they are to go
upstream and sticking their neck out.
Honesty is a bad policy
that sends people away
severing bonds, and leaving
one lonely.
Compassion is the gateway to
divine freedom—is an outdated idea.
Commitment is a wet dog
drenched miserably in the heavy rain.
Trust that deepens intimacy
is pushed far to be a hazy memory.
Letting others down and
learning to sit with the discomfort
when let down, are not mutually exclusive, they deem.
Blurting out one’s mind
having a child’s innocence-
is disgraceful for many.
Where is the world we have lost
in our realization that
one beautiful heart is better
than a thousand beautiful faces
who only unleash sweet words from their soft lips?
Is it the world we have got
we richly deserved?
And alteration in its landscape
is unlikely to happen sometime?
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.
The message,
I received from a friend is, enthusiastically opened..
In it, I saw some tears
in red colour
I asked about it to
the passers by.
They kept mum.
Further
my contact extended
to the peasants in the field
Ploughing and persons
paving the metals on the roads
They too had nothing to divulge.
Finally,
as a last resort,
I decided to see my
inner heart
There I could see the
golden letters of the message
'stop war or it will stop you'!
P.L.Sreedharan Parokode is a bi-lingual poet and lyricist from Malappuram district, Kerala. He has a Master's degree in English literature and Population Studies and a Post Graduate Diploma in Parental Education. Sreedharan has thirty books of poetry to his credit, including 'Weeping Womb', 'Slum Flowers,'Mahatma Gandhi' 'Nelson Mandela',Poems', 'Don't mum Please' etc. He has also written songs for professional dramas, for albums, songs for competitions, devotional songs etc. He has written songs for animation film also.
Sreedharan has attended various literary conferences in India and abroad. He presented his poems at World Congress of Poets, in Taiwan, 2015, China, 2018, and literary conference in Serbia, 2007.
He has received awards and honours from various organisations, such as, Sahitya shree Award, Sahitya Shiromani Award, Shan E Adab Award etc. He has also received an Hony.Doctorate from the World Academy of Art and Culture
Sreedharan is currently engaged in Doctoral Research in Population Studies from Annamalai University. Earlier he was working in the Administrative wing of the University of Calicut.
(On the occasion of T-20 World cup victory)
Victory that comes
From the saltiest hours,
is the Beauty that overcomes
The loftiest towers!!
Anjali Sahoo writes poems both in English and Odia. Her first poetry book A Tryst with Thunder (2021), published by Authors Press, New Delhi, sheds light upon manifold aspects of life. They take the readers to the world of imaginative vibrancy, unearthing hidden mysteries of the world. Her published works include three poetry books and two short stories collections in Odia.
I can't move on
I am stumbling in my memory lane like a broken blurred path
I feel the heavy load
always paining my brain cells
Since blood stream stopped flowing there like water of an uncared lagoon
No more oxygen running through my brain cells, I feel
Nutrients too forgot to ignite the sleeping neurons
Those cells were clotted just seeing the bloodshed of millions…!
across my home land…!
The heavy load doesn't allow me to sleep too
it just pierce me to paint
the canvas of my past
but…!
I can't move on
I can't move on
to paint my brutal past
my fainted canvas drowned in my deep cells
like falling leaves
many years ago
with the fall of my heart
from my humble home of Noakhali, Dhaka and Barisal at last
I feel, my canvas drowned in my broken heart!
I feel, my canvas drowned in my broken heart!
Not to allow me to move on
Not to allow me to move on
Dr. Ratan Ghosh, PhD, Associate Editor of an International Literary Journal entitled “THE MIRROR OF TIME” ISSN-2320-012X, free lance writer, poet, Short Story writer and a Novelist. His poems have been featured in many national and international E- journals, Journals and paper back anthologies across the globe. He has authored the books like--- MY LOVE, an Anthology of love poems, THE WEEPING SOUL: POEMS BY Ratan Ghosh, a book of Hundred poems on Eco-poetry, FOOTPRINTS: VOICES OF REFUGEES, poems by Ratan Ghosh, a Historical anthology of verse, QUOTABLE QUOTES a book on motivational Quotes and a short story book entitled BRA AND OTHER TALES published from Canada.
His edited books are GENDER DISPARITY, NOSTALGIA, CASCADE, SUNUP and THE CONTEMPORARY WORLD ENGLISH POETRY.
- He has been declared as the WORLD YOUTH ICON OF LITERATURE, from THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF ARTS AND CULTURE, India affiliated to THE WORLD ACADEMY OF LITERATURE, HISTORY, ARTS AND CULTURE, MEXICO on 15-11- 2019.
- He received prestigious award International Award of Excellence "City of Galateo-Antonio De Ferrariis" from Italy, 2021 The Award Ceremony, in the presence of political, cultural and entertainment authorities, took place in Rome on October 14, 2021, at the Primaticcio Room in Dante Alighieri Society.
- He has also received “MEWADEV LAUREL AWARD” in 2019 from CONTEMPORARY LITERARY SOCIETY OF ALMOR: BANDA (U.P, INDIA) and YOUNG INDOLOGY AWARD, 2020 from INDOLOGY, an international Literary Journal,
- LAUREL DE POET, (Ref. No- C&C/II/127054) he was awarded from EVERYCHILD LIFELINE FOUNDATION on 23rd day of April, 2021
- ORDER OF SHAKESPEARE MEDAL (Ref. No-2021/00S/170 awarded from Motivational Strips, World’s most Active Writers Forum, on 23/04/2021.
- He was awarded RABINDRANATH TAGORE MEMORIAL AWARD jointly endorsed by SIPAY, an International Literary Journal and REVUE LITTERAIRE SEYCHELLOISE: DEPARTMENT OF CULTURE, GOVERNMENT OF SEYCHELLES.
In the midst of forlorn desert, healthy green trees
Amidst sizzling sand, happily alive
Yes, curiosity !
Life can be seen many times
Enjoying, playing in the lap of death
Sensational..!
Marks of the footprints, at the sand of time
Greenary, life was very close
Couldn't be the shelter
Astonishing..!
Struggled but couldn't reach
Near the heartbeats, life
Awe..!
Our own carved the maximum wounds
Every relationship had ulterior motives
Hmm, inquisitive about...!
Unexpected, unproposed becomes real, true
A painful sight
Nonpareil....!
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"
With numerous dreams being shattered
And another bunch of hope
being carried over
I look around
And try to find reasons
Of gathering the what ifs
And submitting it
In front of the anonymous
And find nothing
But an entire eternity
Being brought forward
Only through hopes and wishes
I smell of calmness and disaster
Entwined together
To create havoc
Inside my mind and soul
And you smell of dandelions
Bloomed among all odds
Yet thriving and making your way out
I look for you
In every nook and corner
Yet find your trace nowhere
But right beside the constant noise
That utters nothing but distance
And I smile
And laugh
At my own stupidity
Of believing the lies
That time has told me
I have asked time
Not to put me through
Anything that doesn't stay
Yet it pushes me straight into the ocean of
Unwillingness and impossibilities
And every time i start to drown
A voice afar comes to rescue
And drags me out from the endless wrath of time
Arpita Priyadarsini, a Post Graduate of Department of Statistics in Utkal University, has keen interest in literature. She loves reading fiction and poetry. She started writing poems few years back and has been published by an international publication house twice. Her Instagram handle is @elly__.writes, which is solely dedicated to her love for poetry.
I placed a fresh flower bouquet in an attractive
vase
on the dining table, destined for me.
all gathered around, sniffing the elegant flowers,
integrated with a chord of love and dove.
but when the chord was distracted, dismay
happened,
dirty tricks unfolded, and we couldn't find the key.
fervent anxious air surrounded us, like a still life
painting
swinging,wanting to say something. various
utensils in the wooden almirah
beckoned the key, as did the refrigerator.
then, a soft scarlet light fell on the table, and I
merged into it,
kindling me! the smiling flowers recited a sonnet
of love,
not to disband, but to make a sweet nexus.
I once buried my ethics, like worthless spices, in
the soil.
after a few days, I saw skeptics, jealousy,and
indignation sprout
like a thorny cactus, excruciating and tall.
greed escalated me, but I stumbled and fell,
my soul weeping,facing a mirror,unable to
recognize myself.
both I and the mirror searched for something, but
couldn't find
the black cloud overwhelmed the blue,clashing
with rhythms
and making a zigzag flash of rhymes! rain fell,
drop by drop,
sometimes a torrential splash deluged the irritable
spines,
but ethics sprouted from my soul, like wavy
greeneey,
beckoning truth, confirming a stubborn stem,
avoiding dirt,
and flourishing into fruitful greenery.
In this sonnet, I feel you in different words,
flowing like a cascade in my heart!
I prowel through the sounds that pound in my
senses,
though rigorous stones impede me again and
again.
In the depth of this sonnet,your lofty smile
engraved love
in my flesh and bone;I thirst for your scarlet lips!
but you roam in the wavy zealotic rhymes,
through which I yearn to touch you.
however,the twilight flashes the sonnet,making
your face la-di-da,
leaving me hungry, following the crimson light.
I seek your fervent heart as a riddle in the sterile
desert,
though I remain in the sonnet, and the sonnet
thrives in me.
Dilip Rakshit is a bilingual poet and a regular contributor to various literary journal in India.He is a private teacher,teaches English literature.Apart from his literary activities,he is a painter,based at Durgapur,West Bengal.Contact-Whatsapp -- 8918186238.
From the varieties of crises:
The pangs of burning poverty,
From tears and fears, poetry rises,
As an expression of painful adversity.
From the beauties par excellence:
Sculptures with beautiful expressions,
Lively gestures of portraits in eminence
Lovely are the arts for artist’s missions.
In the form of notes from the throats
Of songbirds, small but majestic,
In the songs of boatmen, rowing boats
In voyage to echo, indeed aesthetic.
From objects of nature infinitude:
The seed in flower’s womb as mother,
All manifest the hidden magnitude,
The child that grows up to be a father.
From the depth of a burning volcano,
Like lava to exhibit uncontrolled anger
From the shrieks for life to echo
The virulent cyclone in invincible power.
Beauty lies in every object and creature,
Under the sun, suffering and smiling,
Draw the attention of every feature,
For evil-reform and virtue appealing.
Poetry shatters all glooms into lights,
Glitter in kaleidoscopic views as virtues,
As it is to keep all in majestic heights
Abide peaceful life, maintaining values.
it is the erupt of lava
from the heart of a volcano
like the soul in anger.
it is the rise of ripples
in the gurgling river
with sounds for the ear.
it is the bloom of a bud
from dreams to perfumes,
hues and all for cud.
it is the tune of a bird
to outpour for pleasure
touching the heart.
it is the rise of the rays
to spread in all corners
for light and warmth.
it is the birth of beams,
mirth for all in glooms
the beams of blooms.
it is the leap of tide
for its glow in its stride
it is the ocean ride.
it is the wave for the shore
in glide for its reach
to leave a mark in the fore.
it is the musing in mind,
for its spontaneous spurt
as a beacon in the path.
it is light risen from dark
for enlightenment to all
to gladden all like the lark.
It is not just to depict an incident,
Nor just a long narrative,
Nor just the scenes of acts,
Nor just a series of episodes.
It is far, far beyond,
Its origin is the spurt of a fountain,
It rises like the rays of the sun.
It shines like the beams of the moon,
Unclouded and unhidden,
Unstoppable and unconquerable.
For it leads all to life by its light,
Quenching the thirsts of needs is its goal,
The kingdom of wisdom.
It leads all from darkness to light
In full dimensions, to all destinations.
It glows from the beauties of daffodils,
It echoes from the sonorities of nightingales,
To console the grieved souls,
To rejuvenate the tired, bored of hearts.
It is a flow far from the heights of merits
To the depths of enlightenments
Like living rivers that flow to the ocean.
It transforms into supernal splendors
Like butterflies from caterpillars.
Blooms like flowers of sweet substance
For definite delightful fragrance
Like the sage for his message,
Embedded treasure to know no age,
For it conquers Time's powers.
No other ventures to ascend its towers.
It has the wide medium for reflections
The broad spectrum for expressions
Like melodies of notes from throats,
Like tender leaves from stems,
Like lilies from mud-spread beds,
Like bubbles in the flow of streams.
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\
These shivering fingers
From my slackening grip
Ought to be freed now.
This world has evolved along
The politics of belongings:
Annals of time against time.
Mine you have not been;
Did I aspire
The ownership unabashed
Of your consumable frame?
A vain question of pain
Frolics in naught.
For years I have detained you
Amidst obscure assets of
My salinated woe,
All struggles have ended herewith
And I let you go.
Matralina Pati is a Ph.D. research scholar working on post-modern marginal Bhasha literature in English translations. She currently serves as a Junior Research Fellow (UGC-NET-JRF) in the Department of English at Bankura University, West Bengal. She earned her MA in English Literature, graduating with First Class First in 2020. Her research papers and creative writings have been published in literary-academic forums across India. She is a bilingual poet, based at Bankura, West Bengal.
(Translated from Bengali by Matralina Pati)
Lo! The farmer has looked up to the sky!
What does he mull over?
The errands of monsoon clouds
Define our cycles of life
And reproduction.
I long to caress you with passion
I yearn to embosom you
As if, you were an emergent sprout
Of crops a-budding,
Enfolded in the embrace
Of an affectionate farmer.
In his arms he nestles the plough.
He cuddles the oxen.
The month of monsoon
Knocks at his door.
Drops of rain, still,
Remain absent.
The peacock has forgotten
To spread out its joyous plumage.
Why have the trails of clouds
Forsaken me?
A paltry farmer I have been.
Never did I in my inner recesses,
In dreams or in deliriums
Connived with sinister architects
Of atomic experiments,
Never have I abetted
Industrial dissemination of pollutants.
A fortnight has elapsed.
The office of meteorology could not
Forecast the gospels of rain.
Ingratitude could not smear
My seared chest.
I strive to pay back the loan
I took from the cooperative bank.
And, I pine for rain,
I pray for monsoon clouds
And their awaited advent.
An eminent poet of contemporary Bengali literature, Rudra Pati (born in 1968) is an authentic representative of post-modern Bengali poetry. A B.Sc. (Hons) graduate, Rudra Pati teaches in a government-aided school. Besides teaching, he has a penchant for astronomy, Euclidean geometry, farming, and shepherding cattle in his native place, a drought-ridden rural region of Purulia in West Bengal. His published works include Prantik Chasha (1993), Lathe Othoba Osomprikto Hydrocarbon (1993), E Bachar Shrabon Bhalo (2004), Bekarer Kobita (2004), and Guchhomul (2005).
He was invited by All India Radio to present his poetry at Akashvani Bhawan, Kolkata. He has read his poetry at numerous literary festivals such as Paschim Banga Bangla Academy, Bangla Kobita Utsav, International Poetry Festival, Biswabangla Kabita Utsab, and many more. He is a recipient of the ‘Krishnamrittika Sahitya Award’ (1997). Rudra Pati says: "My dream shatters, yet I dream anew."
Matralina Pati (born in 1998) is a Ph.D. research scholar working on post-modern marginal Bhasha literature in English translations. She currently serves as a Junior Research Fellow (UGC-NET-JRF) in the Department of English at Bankura University, West Bengal. She earned her MA in English Literature, graduating with First Class First in 2020.Her research papers and creative writings have been published in literary-academic forums across India. She is a bilingual poet, based at Bankura, West Bengal.
Bidding fond adieu to the hovering dark cloud,
I stepped out rushing, earth bound, and proud.
To the reverberating drum beat and flashing photo light.
As if the arrival of a new born is celebrated with delight?!
Drenching the woods downtown, I merrily danced.
Drying and dying creatures welcomed me, and thanked.
Plants enjoyed the caressing cool wash with pride,
Pushing all the straw and rubbish, away to a side.
Lakes and ponds were among the first
To beckon me, to quench their thirst;
Gulping like camels to the repletion,
They rejoiced in total celebration.
Hamlets and villages of all sorts, as I set to cross,
True hosts, they welcomed me with a roaring applause.
Dull and sleepy crops woke up to soothing shower
Only to greet me, flapping and waving with cheer.
Akin to a young girl attaining puberty in time,
Won't I arrive every season at liberty, with power sublime?
People, their destiny all change, it's an evolution;
Yet in my change, none would find any deviation!
One may call me names, cats and dogs, still
I'd never bother, shall pour down, at will.
Field or fallow I never distinguish
Be there no blazing fire to extinguish.
..........
Oh...., is that all a dream of the distant past?
Is the world now a drama with many jokers cast!
People foxed, and all my properties usurped,
'Pattaas' issued, structures raised, left ecology disturbed!
Thus denying my chance to embrace the Mother Earth
And my ever loving, dear soil-friend to play with!
Yet, when I am in no mood to abate
Your disaster team starts to debate!
Or, as if to fool me, you decide to form a jury;
Why should I then hesitate to show my fury?
Like Tennyson's Brook, I'd sing, and go on for ever…..
If you've written your own destiny, only to suffer!?
N. Rangamani, a resident of Chennai, graduated from IIT Madras; superannuated after more than thirty-five years of service in (Aircraft Maintenance) Aviation. He has revived his writing passion post retirement. He likes to write and puts it to action, sometimes. He writes in Tamil and English. Contact: rangkrish@gmail.com
PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA VIA KILTAN BY AN AGED TUNA-FISH
When wandering through
the tickling silica sand
of Kiltan* island of Arabian sea
in the golden hour of Sun
that drew blood on
my pale skin
I forgot that
I am just a visitor,
Not her native!
The tourists from the mainland
are rare in that island.
So the kids ‘n birds were
watching us
from a safe distance
with their bulged
naked eyes
while, the grey bearded
ignorant elderlies
were sitting anywhere near
the water logged shore
to hook fish.
Kiltan not a tourists‘ land
nothing to explore
or to enjoy
except girls
covering their
dreamy eyes
and smiling lips
with their dark purda
made of thin shining
black muslin...
So beautiful their dawdlings
so secretive their hidden smiles.
Seems, our guide
Sha Ali too
is fond of smiling,
and humming an unknown tune
to entertain us
might be a love song,
or a tragic melody,
or may be the rhythemic lines of
a ghazal,
not sure.
But, it was lethargic
and was burning my soul
like a drop of lemonish gin
dissolving into my
saliva!
While humming sweetly
Sha Ali‘s talented
slender fingers
drawing a bird on the sand
with its beak slightly opened
as if pleading
as if searching
as if dying...
Oh, Ali
can't you pour a drop of water
into her beak, please!
I whispered.
Ignoring my plea,
he continued humming
his eyes twinkled with
love
his lips flowered with
the warmth of friendship,
the silica sand
tickled around me
like Nasheed**
I too smiled
the air filled with
love...
Oh, Kiltan
you are eternal,
divine
and Godly!
The melancholy feel
made me drowsy.
Then I saw vaguely
far away,
there lies the skeleton of
a fisherman-boat
partly putrified,
cracked
and broken.
And on the sand
under the skeletal boat
there is something,
something that is lurking
in the shadow,
hidden in the darkness
of the dead boat.
Is it a ghost
or the living fossil
or the shadow of
an extinct living being!
Does it look like the maas,
the preserved tuna
that I tasted long ago
when I was in Cochin,
the God‘s own country,
Or, is it a real Tuna fish?
I was curious
To extract the truth
Of that shadow.
Uttering little sounds like,
“I will be back in a moment”,
I got up
kicked sand from my trouser
and
walked towards the skeletal boat.
Oh, it is a fish,
looks like Tuna
thin, dull
with its eyes grey
gills pale
scales shattered
and skin rusty
oh, it is almost dead!
Is it searching for something,
The lost horizon,
heaven or
its kins
or the memories?
It‘s wings almost withered
tale about to fall out
Heart to stop beating
Slowly it looked at me
and looked at the sky
as if showing me something
as if telling me something.
Then, I saw the birds
flying away
far from Kiltan‘s soil
to another shore
to another destiny
to another dream land.
Is it to Mecca
they fly?
I looked at the fish.
Slowly it started crawling
to the wetness of the blue lagoon
it has experienced
Kiltan,
and its coral reeves
on its way to Mecca.
Enough is enough!
Now, it is time
to start its eternal pilgrimage.
Oh, Allah!
The tuna-fish gradually
disappeared into the blueness
of the sea,
may be towards Mecca.
With a sigh
I looked back.
Our guide, our guard
is still drawing something on the sand
and the guys around him
listening keenly to his humming.
The red sun
slowly touching the sky
at the edge of the calm sea,
I felt
as if the tuna fish is waiting for me too
at that junction.
I rushed towards Sha Ali
My pilgrimage via Kiltan is over.
* Kiltan is a coral island belonging to the Union Territory of Lakshadweep in India. It is believed that the islanders visit Kiltan prior to their pilgrimage to Holy Mecca, then proceed to the final destiny. Kiltan, an unspoiled island, is a paradise for nature lovers, known for its rich marine life, vibrant coral reefs, and serene beaches.
** Nasheed is a kind of vocal music mostly religious.
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.
The school remains the same
Same classrooms
In identical, long corridors
Processing some to doctors, engineers, poets
Who knows, whose which destiny?
In the untraveled staircases.
The ocean for its vastness
The valley for its depth
The mountain for its height
The sky for its magnanimity
The rose for its fragrance
The thorns for its sharpness
The tiger for its fierceness
The elephant for its magnificence
The grass for its humility
The tree for it firmness
All hold together
To form the ultimate, whole beauty.
A fear of lying
Disobeying
Distancing
Cheating
Prying
Adultery
Makes man rum
From the other creatures.
Ms Gargi Saha is a creative writer. She has published two poem books namely, 'The Muse in My Salad Days 'and 'Letters to Him '. Recently been awarded the Rabindranath Tagore Memorial Award and the Independence Day Award for poetry. Presently she edits several scientific research papers.
Loop poetry
(Loop Poetry is form created by Hellon.There are no restrictions on the number of stanzas nor on the syllable counts for each line… The rhyme is a,b,c,b.)
I saw a red rose in your face
Face that shine pearl-like sweat as dew
Dew, the lachrymal tears of the white moon
Moon_ loved and saved in hearts of few.
Few of the soft tulips dazzle more
More the plucking hands smell fragrant
Fragrant tuft of hair falls on fore
Fore that appeals to the poem percipient.
Rondelet
Aim at not me
With power little more I do move around
Aim at not me
Dropped me in no man’s land He
I Did not harm nor storm in strand
Meek I could not against take a stand
Aim at not me.
Lose not your Heart
Lose not your Heart
Yonder there life holds a green lamp
Lose not your Heart
Good hope will fetch bounty in adorn’d cart
Stop not till you get your credit stamp
Ahead is your blessing flooding swamp.
Don’t be after fame
Don’t be after fame
It’s a disease with no relief
Don’t be after fame
By end all will reduce to the same
Sure to fall the flag on a massif
Fame will justify engulfing grief
Don’t be after fame.
DECORATED TOMB, AS SEEN FROM AN OVER BRIDGE
The vision is clear
The fields are green and pleasing
The weather is soliciting
The mind is serene
The sky afar dotted with grove of golden trees
Give picturesque feature;
On the massive bridge
The streamlined vehicle moves slow
Below, down below
The displaced square of the Tomb that is live
With dying garlands and spattered flowers
Lends an overwhelming view that adorns.
The ambience is in rout
Well clad persons are in bright glee
Married are more beautiful in their silk
Sweet smelling are their plaits with flowers
Appendants are their wards and spouses
Amidst the festive car with deity moving
Policemen in proper guard
In the primitive homes’ pail two or three pairs of eyes
Tired of their waiting
Searching for through the melee their lives
--Indeed they are youth and graceful, yet to lose—
Are fit to term girls but more fitting destitute tombs.
OTHERWISE WE WILL PRICK YOU, SKY!
Decima - The poetic form known as Decima has many variants,the popular one in Puerto Rico being with 10 line and 8syllables; Rhyming pattern:[a,b,b,a,a,c,c,d,d,c].
Are the firmaments in full ecstasy?
Had it lost the trait of weeping,
Wants our earth to slip sleeping,
Wishes to drive us out its regency?
O, skies, we admit your vagrancy;
We seek your pardon for our inaction
To store’r pouring__now in question,
We tend ti find some means to prick
So you suffer and shed your tears quick;
We choose joyous pour our sans our action.
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 .
STARDUST IN THEIR EYES: RACING BEYOUND SIGHT
At Break-neck speed they race,
They run so fast
That Eyes fail to run to catch them up
The cloud of dust they raise
Blurs the vision
Who is first and who the next in the race,
How many rounds to go
Or where does it end to bring the stars to light
Thunders of clapping come
From the stands
To cheer the leaders on the race
Excitement runs in the veins, nay in the sky and the air,
Fast they run, fast, fast, faster to make one fastest,
At Break neck speed they race,
The world looks at this race
The stadium and the stand may be thousands of miles apart
Even if they were compact, were in one place
With very little distance between the two, the gazers and the runners,
Will the winning horse ever know
The joy and excitement of the crowd,
The spectators in the stands?
Those cheered themselves to see one fastest
Those who jumped and whistled and clapped
To cheer up and finally
To feel sharing the trophy with the winner,
The latter rarely knowing who and where really, they did cheer!
He said that as an American, Harris understandably might not be aware of the village's excitement, comparing it to cheering for a horse race where the winning horse "doesn't understand why you are shouting and why you are clapping".
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.
Leave the touch of those lips
On the brim of the trembling cup
Who knows how long its flavour,
Its presence, will linger there.
Time will wonder, is it a kiss you left
Or a strand of incandescent light
A something which will glow
Like an undaunted flame.
Or, will it leave the cup
And fleet from eyes to eyes
Giving a new hope, a fresh glimmer
Soothing them with a touch of love.
For everyone whose homes are alight
There are thousands plunged in darkness
For every smile on the lips
There are the fragments of many broken hearts.
You will carry a new vision
To all those whose dreams are dead
Lying as heaps of sad despair
On hopelessly abandoned streets.
Isn't your soft kiss meant
To glow in the darkest hour
And be a solace to
A million silent, tired souls.
Yes, there are those who will rise
To feel the touch of those lips,
The ones that carry magic in them,
The lips of an unforeseen destiny.
(This poem is not only for those few who win in the race of life, but also for the many who fall and rise to strive again.)
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . Four collections of his short stories in English have been published under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali, A Train to Kolkata, Anjie, Pat and India's Poor, The Fourth Monkey. He has also to his credit nine books of short stories in Odiya. He has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
BOOK REVIEWS
KNIFE (Meditations after an Attempted Murder) by Salman Rushdie
Name of the Book: KNIFE (Meditations after an Attempted Murder).
Author: Salman Rushdie.
Publisher: Penguin.
MRP: INR 699.00 (inclusive of all taxes).
ISBN: 9780670099580
Salman Rushdie, an author of numerous novels, has come up with another master piece 'KNIFE' ( Meditations after an Attempted Murder). An autobiographical account which has literally stolen the heart of the millions!
I would like to quote the words of Gautam Chakraborty in one of his engaging articles on the book: "Did you remember the song of Kishore Kumar? 'That night was of full moon' (??? ???? ??? ??? ????????). The moon light deluged the lake located a little far from the New York's Shatakuya University. Right after the supper, the author was completely overwhelmed by the serene elegance of the place. Aplenty emotions began to function with an immeasurable depth in him and it seemed as if the emotive impulse contained any mysterious knowledge or premonition". Undoubtedly Rushdie's 'Knife' is a vivid account of the turbulent experiences he acquired without any prior intimation!
The book is divided into two distinct parts. Part one called "The Angel of Death" is further classified into four significant sections namely 'Knife', ' Eliza', 'Hamot' and 'Rehab'. On the other, Part two is named 'The Angel of Life', which is again divided into four readable and enthralling sections, such as 'Home Coming', 'The A', 'Second Chance' and finally' Closure?'.
The author embarks on his literary odyssey with a tale of burning anguish. The misfortune befell him in the morning of August 2022, when he was standing on the rostrum at the Chautauqua institution to deliver a comprehensive lecture on the necessity of protecting authors and writers from the savage clutches of peril. A bolt from the blue! All of a sudden a man donning a black attire and mask accosted him, made him lose his sense of equilibrium and stabbed him fifteen times. Besides, the gruesome injuries, he lost one of his eyes , which remained the rudest appal for a pretty long time. He was immediately taken to care in a hospital. The chapter 'Eliza' tells how his spouse Eliza showered love and care upon him for his speedy recovery. There were tears, pains, sufferings, but the urge to bring back her husband to the normal track of life is evident in every bit of the text. However, 'Hamot' and 'Rehab' are inextricably intermingled with one another. One is the place where Salman underwent a nexus of medical treatments and stayed for more than two weeks. Yet he never envisaged the mirror to rediscover himself! He said, "I am trying to remember if I ever felt angry in those days. I was in the extreme trauma ward at Hamot' for eighteen days - eighteen of the longest days of my life (Pg 72)". Anew, "There was no mirror in the bathroom. I still hadn't seen my face (Pg 73)". On the other, the chapter ' Rehab' talks at length on the wave of optimism that ran through him. Strangely, he didn't even know if it was his strength or weakness. "Optimism flooded through me- optimism, my great weakness of my strength (depending on whom you asked and on my own mood as well). After a brief encounter with a number of rehabs, as mentioned in the book, he was permitted to go back home. "A span of more than six weeks" and an iota of hope raised its hood in him as he moved to his abode.
Part two commences with the chapter 'Home Coming'. The author confessed that he could not express his delight, though the treatment didn't stop! The ointment, medicines and other medical paraphernalia were regularly applied on him under the supervision of experts. The author talked at length on his feelings as he had to attend his various appointments. However, the most dreadful was related to his ocular globe. He admitted, "The appointment I had been dreading the most was the one about my eye (Pg 117)". The trauma - narration comes to a full circle as he stated, "But February 14 was also the Valentine's Day of and Eliza and I decided to celebrate it by going out for our first restaurant meal in six months. We went with security, but we went (Pg 133)". "The A", the sixth section significantly points out that the author never took the name of that individual who had brutally assaulted him, tried to snuff out his life in public. However, the most interesting section crops up in an imaginary conversation between the author and the killer. The discourse conjures up an image before the readers. The number of sessions blatantly delineated the author 's sublime status of fantasy. The expression "Twenty seven seconds" revolution is being mentioned here. The whole act of violence took just twenty seven seconds to create a horrendous history in the author's life. Besides, the chapter ' Second Chance' aims to bring forth the truth that the author doesn't believe in the traditional mental makeup that chance comes once in life. Moreover, the good news that "Victory City" attained a considerable fettle of popularity, the author seemed to have been engaged in "a world war of stories - a war between incompatible versions of reality - and we need to learn how to fight it". He drew the reference of Samuel Beckett, who too suffered the same fate and faced a terrible time before he survived. Amid security, love, laughter, success and triumph, the darkness of his traumatic experience always chased him like a rose by the devil worm! Finally "Closure?", the eight chapter comes to the fore. Notably the author put an interrogation mark, which sums up the fact, if at all, he was certain to close his writing or not!
A three sixty degree attempt is flaunted as the readers move towards the end of this brilliant autobiography. Both Eliza and the author went to the same amphitheatre where the savage act nearly took the life of the author. The author recollected the dark memories of "that" day, but nothing could unfaze him. Nothing could unhinge the flow of his life. He was incorrigibly optimistic! No question of despair, as he said, "We 're done here, "I said to Eliza, taking her hand, "Let' s go home (209)". The line simply echoes his sense of optimism amid every single odd!.
Although it is a gripping tale, yet not devoid of weakness. The author could have used more figurative language and shortened the length of his imaginary discourse with the culprit. Moreover, the appeal of melancholy and darkness could have been enhanced by certain tools and techniques of authorship.
To comment on the style and diction, one can finish it up in a single sitting. Two hundred and nine pages and there is no tinge of boredom in the whole process. Simple, audacious and metaphorical at times. Every moment he supported his statements with enough evidence. His creative process is an inspiration from life.
'Knife' is not essentially a sharp instrument. It is a notion. An incisive idea which can cut through all the barriers of language and culture to give birth to a new significance, a new truth and a new reality. But the questions which will keep on lurking at the corner of one's mind is, "Why was he stabbed?". "Who would benefit the most out of it?". If the answers show their faces some time in the future, the book would attain a different height of literary excellence. Anyhow, this 'novelty' will surely deck up the shelf of an avid reader!!
Kunal Roy has always been an ardent lover of literature. He has received various awards for his literary contributions. He is a poet and a critic of poetry. His works have been published both here and abroad. Currently working as an Assistant Professor of English Language and Communication in George Group of Colleges, Kolkata.
A REVIEW OF MEMORIES OF WORDS BY JAYDEEP SARANGI
Book Review of Memories of Words by Jaydeep Sarangi, Published from Authorpress, India with ISBN 978-93-5529-967-3, Priced
In the vibrant realm of contemporary Indian English poetry, Jaydeep Sarangi’s Memories of Words emerges as a poignant testament to the poetic exploration of identity, memory, and the complex tapestry of human experience. This collection, published in 2023 by Authorspress, stands as a significant contribution to the canon of Indian literature as it reflects the poet’s deep engagement with personal and collective histories. The anthology is organized into three sections—Tamas, Rajas, and Sattva—echoing the triadic qualities of nature in Hindu philosophy. This structural choice underscores the thematic depth and spiritual resonance of Sarangi's poetry, which delves into the multifaceted nature of existence.
The opening section, Tamas, introduces readers to a world shrouded in ambiguity and introspection. Poems like "Map Makers" and "My Mate" evoke a sense of geographical and emotional mapping, where rivers such as the Nile, Amazon, Murray, and Saraswati become metaphors for the flow of time and memory. Sarangi writes, “At the heart of all nations / There is a river flowing,” suggesting a universal connection through the fluidity of history and experience. In "Hunger," the poet’s gaze turns to the stark realities of life at a Kharagpur station, where a boy’s simple act of dipping bread in tea becomes a powerful symbol of survival and aspiration. The imagery of “his speech. Half spoken. Half inside” poignantly captures the silenced voices of marginalized lives. This theme of voicelessness recurs throughout the section, drawing attention to the socio-political undercurrents that shape human existence.
The middle section, Rajas, shifts the tone towards dynamism and passion. Here, Sarangi’s poetry vibrates with the energy of love, loss, and resilience. "The Sun uMoments" and "First Love" explore the intensity of human emotions, where personal experiences are interwoven with broader cultural and historical narratives. A standout poem in this section is "for Jayanta Mahapatra," a tribute to the legendary Indian poet. Sarangi’s lines, “You rise in me / Like the dawn / Through my words, my poems,” reflect the influence of Mahapatra’s work on his own poetic journey. This intertextuality enriches the collection, situating Sarangi within a continuum of Indian literary tradition. "History of Waiting Out" and "The Rainbow Land" further exemplify the dynamic interplay of memory and longing. The former encapsulates the poet’s meditative reflection on time and history, while the latter celebrates the promise of new beginnings and the vibrancy of life. Sarangi’s evocative language and vivid imagery transform everyday moments into profound meditations on existence.
The final section, Sattva, embodies the qualities of purity and harmony. Poems such as "Voices in Solidarity" and "A Temple of Delight" resonate with a spiritual clarity and a sense of collective consciousness. Sarangi’s exploration of solidarity and community highlights the interconnectedness of human experiences. In "Guru Pronam," the poet pays homage to the guiding figures in his life, acknowledging their influence on his poetic voice. The lines, “I stand for you, my parents, Sutapa and Titas. / To my father, I am a gardener of your dreams,” reflect a deep sense of gratitude and familial devotion. This personal touch adds an intimate layer to the collection, inviting readers into the poet’s inner world.
"First Fire" and "A Passage to Myself" conclude the anthology on a note of introspection and self-discovery. These poems encapsulate the essence of Sarangi’s poetic journey—one that traverses the terrains of memory, identity, and spirituality. His ability to weave personal narratives with broader cultural themes makes his work both accessible and profoundly resonant.
The linguistic prowess of the poet is evident throughout Memories of Words. His use of vivid imagery, metaphor, and intertextual references creates a rich tapestry of meanings. The recurring motifs of rivers, landscapes, and historical figures serve to anchor the poems in a specific cultural and geographical context, while also allowing for universal interpretations.
The poet’s style is marked by a careful balance of simplicity and depth. His language is both accessible and evocative, making complex themes relatable. The interplay of light and dark, movement and stillness, further enhances the emotional and philosophical depth of the collection.
In essence, Memories of Words is a remarkable achievement in contemporary Indian poetry. Jaydeep Sarangi’s ability to navigate the intersections of personal and collective histories, to articulate the silent struggles of marginalized voices, and to celebrate the vibrancy of human experience, makes this collection a vital addition to the literary landscape. Sarangi’s poems are not just reflections on memory and identity; they are acts of reclamation and affirmation, resonating with the ubiquitous Indian spirit and transcending linguistic barriers.
For readers and scholars alike, Memories of Words offers a profound exploration of the human condition, rendered with linguistic elegance and emotional clarity. Jaydeep Sarangi has crafted a poetic oeuvre that is both timeless and timely, inviting us to reflect on our own journeys through the lens of his evocative verse.
Matralina Pati (born in 1998) is a Ph.D. research scholar working on post-modern marginal Bhasha literature in English translations. She currently serves as a Junior Research Fellow (UGC-NET-JRF) in the Department of English at Bankura University, West Bengal. She earned her MA in English Literature, graduating with First Class First in 2020.Her research papers and creative writings have been published in literary-academic forums across India. She is a bilingual poet, based at Bankura, West Bengal.
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