Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVI (25-Oct-2024) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEWS
Title : Durga in Woman (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,
My greetings to all of you in this festive season, commencing with Dussehra and stretching right up to the new year. Earlier this month we have published the Special Pooja edition of LiteraryVibes with sixteen splendid stories. And now comes the 146th edition decked with enchanting poems and entertaining stories, anecdotes, and travelogues.
We are lucky to have five new contributors this time. Ms. Sutapa Pattnaik is a banker from Bhubaneswar who is intrinsically devoted to literature. An avid reader of LiteraryVibes, she has ventured into writing poetry and her maiden attempt is a testimony to a sensitive heart and promising talent. The other four new entrants are all from the Department of English, Utkal University, Bhubaneswar. Adya Barik, a student of M.A. hails from a family of award-winning writers. She is an exceptionally talented poet with a flair for lofty themes and is destined to carve out a niche for herself in the literary world in future. Sachit Mishra, a Ph.D. scholar, Tophan Khilar and Satyabrata Mahalik, post-graduate students - all of them share a great passion for poetry and write adorable poems from the depth of their heart. Let us welcome all the five to the LV family and wish them the very best in their literary career.
The month of October, 2024 witnessed a monumental tragedy in the death of one of the worthiest sons of Mother India - the great Ratan Tata, an industrialist par excellence and a philanthropist of unadulterated munificence. A great patriot, he has brought honour to the country in a way very few can match. As someone rightly said after his demise, India may not have another Ratan (Gem) like him for the next hundred years. LV pays homage to this great Indian and prays for eternal peace for his soul.
And October is of course the month when we remember and celebrate the birthday of the Father of our Nation - Mahatma Gandhi. The generation which was born before independence and witnessed the freedom struggle, is gradually fading away from the country due to the passage of time. Our generation, born in the initial years of independence, was lucky to see the way a nascent nation with a multitude of problems, was built with patience and vision. It was a difficult task and the present generation can only read about it from history, there is no way it can experience the struggle and the pangs of hard work that tried to maintain a balance between the demands of a burgeoning population and an increasing hunger for success. Yet, so long as the heart was driven by pure intentions and respect for integrity, the nation was on the right course. Things changed in the early 1970s, with the proliferation of brokers, middlemen, agents, corrupt officials and greedy politicians. A great nation founded on the ideals of the Mahatma descended into chaos. Today we are aspiring to be trillion dollars worth of world economy but our potholed roads littered with dog poops and cow dung, our unsafe drinking water, the stinking open garbage in cities, congestion on roads, over-crowded trains, overflowing hospitals, the adulterated food, the crimes against women - everything bears the unmistakable signature of a third world country.
And instead of trying to address these issues we get busy with meaningless, non-productive issues. In one of the few WhatsApp groups I subscribe to, a friend wrote something very objectionable about the Mahatma, another (hyper-aggressive) friend used vile language against the writer, threatening to take him to court. The group administrator threw the aggressive one out of the group and the storm is still raging on half the members supporting the expulsion, the other half opposing it, using more vile language against the administrator.
I often wonder, where do we get the time to do such cheap things and why do we do it? Why do we waste our time trying to change history? Don't we know history is written in indelible ink and it is foolish to tinker with it? Why do we try to denigrate the great men and women of the past, interpreting their actions in the light of what we see in today's world? Why do we forget that we have the benefit of hindsight, but they had to act and take decisions in an environment prevailing in their times, the difficult and turbulent times?
Friends, memory is one of our best friends. When we go back in time it should be to pick up nuggets of joy, not to wallow in misery and regrets. On the theme of "going back in time" I am reminded of the beautiful lines of the great American poet Robert M. Drake, the writer of two fine bestsellers, Beautiful Chaos and Black Butterfly. Let me quote those lines here:
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Sometimes, I feel I want to go back in time...
Not to change Things, but to feel a couple of things twice..
Sometimes I wish I was a Baby for a while...
Not to be walked in the pram but to see my Mother's smile
Sometimes I wish I could go back to school...
Not to become a Child but to spend more time with those friends I never met after school..
Sometimes I wish I could be back in college...
Not to be a Rebel but to really understand what I studied
Sometimes I wish I was a Fresher at my work...
Not to do less Work but to recall the joy of the first pay cheque.
Sometimes I wish my kids were younger....
Not because they grew Fast but to play with them a bit more.
Sometimes I feel I still had some more time to live...
Not to have a longer Life but to know what I could give to others.
Since the times that are gone can never come back,
Let's enjoy the moments as we live them from now on, to the fullest..
Let's Celebrate our Remaining Life , Every Moment.. Every Day.
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I feel these few lines encapsulate what the essence of life is. It is a journey to be undertaken with great care, leaving indelible landmarks one can always revisit with joy and pride - the pride of a well-lived life. There is no place in it for reinterpreting events or reinventing the people who had travelled with us. We should look forward to meeting eternity with a smile on our face and joy of fulfilment in our hearts. Unlike us, a nation has no tryst with eternity, so it must march ahead with hope, to build its future, not to reshape its past.
Hope you will enjoy the offerings from our poets and writers in LV146. Please share the pleasure of reading them by forwarding the following links to your friends and contacts:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/565 (Poems)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/564 (Short Stories, Anecdotes and Travelogues)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/563 (Young Magic)
A happy reminder to all of you that 16 excellent short stories published in the Pooja Special of LiteraryVibes in October 2024 can be found at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/562
Hope you remember that all the 146 editions of LiteraryVibes can be accessed at https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Take care, keep enjoying the cool, romantic air of early winter with the poems and short stories from LV146. We will meet again on 29th November, the last Friday of next month.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Friday, the 25th October 2024.
Table of Contents :: Poems
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
AUTUMN
PARENTS
02) Dilip Mohapatra
WHEN I’M NOT AROUND
03) Snehaprava Das
AUTUMN LLEAVES
04) Abani Udgata
RATAN TATA
05) Asim Ranjan Parhi
DYING AWAY FROM THE GRAVE
06) Adya Barik
I KNOW NOT.
I MISSPEAK, I MISJUDGE, I MISTREAT
I DREAM
I PASS BY A LAMPPOST
07) Sutapa Pattnaik
CHANGE AND HEALING
08) Sachit Mishra
THE EMPTY VESSEL
09) Satyabrata Mahalik
THE LITTLE BUD
10) Tophan Khilar
GOOD TIME
VEGETABLE LOVE
11) Jay Jagdev
THAT SPRINGTIME AIR
12) Leena Thampi
MY FLAMES WILL NOT SWAY
13) Ms Gargi Saha
BEAUTY OF NATURE
HOPEFUL DESPAIR
LIVING DIFFERENTLY
14) Sudipta Mishra
I WISH I COULD MEET HIM AGAIN!
15) Dr. Rekha Mohanty
THE SACRED FIRE & BLACK SMOKE
16) Dr. Saroj K. Padhi
VILLAGE
SQUIRRELS
17) Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
FOR JOY, NOT HAPPINESS
RACE AGAINST THE SELF
18) Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
LUCY AGAIN
19) Matralina Pati
A ROOM WITHI
20) Shri Satish Pashine
OLD SUITCASE
MIRROR OF TIME
21) Bipin Patsani
UNFORGETTABLE MOMENTS
CAUGHT IN A VORTEX
22) Swatilekha Roy
TWO POEMS FOR LITERARY VIBES
WHERE TO, WHERE FROM
23) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
IS MAN A MODEL?
GAIETY, FEST OF VARIETY
24) Muthusami Annamalai
SCHOOL- BY CHILDREN
25) Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
WINTER IS HERE...
26) Kunal Roy
SHE
27) Harisankar Sreedharan
THE DISCOUNT FACTOR
28) Dr. Ajay Narayanan
TWO GREAT Bs OF INDIA
29) Dr. Niranjan Barik
NR!
30) Sharanya Bee
A VISIT
31) Sreedharan Parokode
CHEERFULNESS
32) Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
MY TWELVE LITTLE OCTOBER POEMS
Table of Contents :: Book Review
1) Dilip Mohapatra
ONCE UPON A TIME - A BOOK OF PRICELESS NUGGETS
Thirty years - I recall the kiss, our first,
you tasted like the deciduous autumn
in a hurry to scurry away, and you left,
leaving behind only a coy memory.
Outside the closed glass window panes,
the dry, balmy breeze blows like your hair
in a distant time from my itchy fingers,
separated by our religious barriers.
My mind is without fear, my lips tingle with
anticipation from a blurred past;
it would be touch and go, unthinkable
a half-seen dream, a visiting comet.
A love, reciprocated but consummation
awaited, smouldering, undying,
simmering all my life, I rue the clouds
for losing my shimmering load star.
A life time mortgaged for a pair of dark
auburn lips, for a bouquet of roses
stealing in and out of my arms, a smile
for life time; still, it feels, a good bargain.
I have gone grey, but you stay in memory
the mahogany bhamini of our first kiss,
first hug, and your first reciprocation,
but never apprehended to be the last.
The promise you left on my lips,
the feel of rose petals in my arms,
in the gallop of your fragrant breath,
keep alive a hope, the hope against hope.
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
None of them ever said,
"I love you." Never expressive.
They fed me, covered me up
with the best quilt of our house.
If I still shivered, they cozied up
to me to keep me warm.
Sort of a pair of parent birds
going out of the nest,
returning with titbits,
the very best
saved for their baby bird
from their foraging.
I was ill, they were in pain;
I was hungry, they felt the cramps;
I failed in school tests,
they lost sleep, peace.
In my honeymoon, they had to be
persuaded not to join.
At their old age, they kept
their aches and cramps
to themselves, not to bother me.
Roles had reversed;
I brought home the bacon. A pity,
I never knew when they were unwell.
I neither could reach
their heights though grew taller
than them, nor achieve their wisdom
despite my degrees and dissertations.
When they died, I was busy elsewhere.
Now, I miss them lying in my deathbed.
(END)
Prabhanjan K. Mishra is an award-winning Indian poet from India, besides being a story writer, translator, editor, and critic; a former president of Poetry Circle, Bombay (Mumbai), an association of Indo-English poets. He edited POIESIS, the literary magazine of this poets’ association for eight years. His poems have been widely published, his own works and translation from the works of other poets. He has published three books of his poems and his poems have appeared in twenty anthologies in India and abroad.
WHEN I’M NOT AROUND
Dilip Mohapatra
I know you don’t miss me now
for you know I’m around
somewhere
and will appear any time
you need me.
But who’d change the cells
in the dead clock
or tighten the nut
to stop the leak in the faucet
or free the sliding door
that is stuck on its rails
or do the gift wrapping
of the wine bottle on a friend’s
wedding anniversary
when I’m not around?
Who’d free the zip
that is stuck on your jacket…
or who’d carry the grocery bags
from the shop to the car
and from the car to home…
or who’d clean your
glasses to remove the persistent
fingerprints
or who’d look for the right Apps
and download them
on your cell phone
when I’m not around?
All these little things-
so insignificant yet so crucial-
when combined together
perhaps define
my presence in your life
and the vacuum
when I’m not around!
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
Autumn slithers gently
Pale and wry
Wrapped in a sheet of smoke
Autumn slips softly
From a pewter sky;
The trees put on caps of
Grey and gold and brown,
From a calm ashen sky
Autumn glides gently down;
In ones and twos and threes
Leaves drop from the autumn trees;
Autumn leaves, dry and dull and mellow
Scatter around in a mass of
Faded green and yellow;
in the vacant lots and the deserted sidewalk
Autumn leaves settle in dull clusters
On and around the lonely benches
Of the park;
From the trees standing like
Golden-brown mannequins
Under a sky of lavender n mauve,
Autumn leaves drop and drop and drop
Like words from old letters of love!!
Dr.Snehaprava Das, former Associate Professor of English, is an acclaimed translator of Odisha. She has translated a number of Odia texts, both classic and contemporary into English. Among the early writings she had rendered in English, worth mentioning are FakirMohan Senapati's novel Prayaschitta (The Penance) and his long poem Utkala Bhramanam, which is believed to be a.poetic journey through Odisha's cultural space(A Tour through Odisha). As a translator Dr.Das is inclined to explore the different possibilities the act of translating involves, while rendering texts of Odia in to English.Besides being a translator Dr.Das is also a poet and a story teller and has five anthologies of English poems to her credit. Her recently published title Night of the Snake (a collection of English stories) where she has shifted her focus from the broader spectrum of social realities to the inner conscious of the protagonist, has been well received by the readers. Her poems display her effort to transport the individual suffering to a heightened plane of the universal.
Dr. Snehaprava Das has received the Prabashi Bhasha Sahitya Sammana award The Intellect (New Delhi), The Jivanananda Das Translation award (The Antonym, Kolkata), and The FakirMohan Sahitya parishad award(Odisha) for her translation.
People thronged for a last look.
Someone left a note there
in a corner in the small patch
of sunshine in the shadow
of the imposing building :
“ Sir, please come back, if possible”.
That is when I left the place to wander.
Aimless walk on the chowpatty.
The salt in the wind carried the stench
of the fragility of our dreams, love and wishes.
My hair fluttered in the obstinate, pushy wind.
The friendly barber amidst the snips of the scissor’s chatter said a good man died today.
I asked: was he not rich?
He said: oh yes, of course, does it matter?
Back on the roads that stretched
in as many directions as the naked legs
that walked on them in the streets.
The legs were strangers to the streets
and the streets do not know them .
Where do I search this man
who went often to that edge?
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
DYING AWAY FROM THE GRAVE
Asim Ranjan Parhi
Last Fall,
When I met you,
or merely saw you?
stumbled upon you?
Or stalked you?
while pretentiously searching for you
Listlessly longing for you
Near, or far, being unaware
I didn't demand, nor plead
didn't dare
come closer or urging heed
All those lasts
and their living pasts
My eyes had sighs
That only stood
With unsaid cries
When you had your smiles crude
And never missed the dreams brood
Or, bothered by how before
A timeless memory ruled
My eyes and sighs,
that only stood,
desperate cries
that you stripped nude
Missing in autumn,
Spring or summer
Or, my winterhood
Has held me tight
By its indolent, unsure,
Gloomy might
This missing, terrible, violent
Death like, potent
Will burn you,
forever churn you
with all your lies
in ashes and crashes
before Time triumphs or
universe vies.
Asim 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.
And then what does one do
when he doesn't have a place to call home?
Where does a winged bird return to
when the flying is over and it's time to retire
to something solid, something concrete,
something you can call a home?
I know not,
for I have never experienced
the warmth of home
at any place or in anyone.
I want them to take me home,
I want them to call me once,
for I'll never turn that away.
But no one does.
No one stops to ask
where I'm having dinner tonight.
I know them all, yet I feel so unknown,
so unheard, so unseen in this world.
Am I an outcast? Am I built differently?
Is it even healthy to look for
glimpses of familiarity within stranger faces?
I know not, for that's what I have done all my life.
I've enquired for acquaintances
in places, most peculiar to the human mind.
I've looked in people's windows,
hoping their eyes would lock with mine,
and for the briefest second,
I would have something to return to,
to have butterflies in my stomach,
to dream about all night.
I've made friends with certain spots,
which have proved to be
significant for me in some timeline.
I've tried to attach names to memories
and then have failed miserably,
for I have no names, not even mine.
So the same question repeats,
again and again, until it becomes my truth.
And then what does one do
when he doesn't have a place to call home?
I MISSPEAK, I MISJUDGE, I MISTREAT
Adya Barik
I falter as I stand upon the altar,
I misspeak, I misjudge, I mistreat,
The world and me, all alike
I take a stance and then forget to defend it,
I develop feelings and then choose to lose it.
I am me and all those around,
The voices echo and now I'm bound,
To act but subtly,
To fail but aptly,
To misspeak, to misjudge and to mistreat,
To dismiss and discard and be discreet.
It's funny, I know, but it's messier,
A doomed war and a would-be martyr,
Whether it's fluid lunacy or concrete,
I misspeak, I misjudge, I mistreat.
As night flutters it's cosmic wings,
I dream of verses and bells' rings;
The world's a doing, doers do the world
The choices you make, pen, pins or sword.
I dream of that boy I yet know not,
I picture those berries and milk boiling hot.
I dream of the backyard, grass growing high,
I seep into the ground in a metamorphic sigh;
Is it that tedious, a simple life at bay?
Just four pillars, and love, care and hay?
But do you want that, echoes reach you fast,
Buckle up yourself, reach for the mast;
For simple is simple, when a life's been lived
When the gems were buried, then gloriously retrieved.
Look for the light, but sure to be cautious,
Harder when you can't settle, to be in ruins or be prosperous.
I PASS BY A LAMPPOST
Adya Barik
I pass by a lamppost, on my way to class,
A genuine tangle of wires, a sincere curve of mast,
I look, I wonder, what a pain it is to be!
Someone they don't want but someone they need.
“It's too messy”, they say,
Might burn if I go near,
Take me out of my shell, sure,
But will certainly fail to cheer.
Beauty is a beast, keeps lurking in blindsight,
Too shallow a lake, too dear to hold uptight.
That's the way of the world, that's how it works,
You sacrifice your needs while the wants stand and smirk.
Adya Barik is a postgraduate student in the Department of English, Utkal University, Bhubaneshwar. From childhood she developed a keen interest towards literature under the influence of her grandfather, Kendra Sahitya Akademi recipient, Shri Sourindra Barik. She first became a published poet in the year 2019, when her poem, “Waiting for the Moon” was published in an anthology by The Write Order publications. Since then, she has been part of many published anthologies under various publication houses. Adya particularly engages herself in literary pieces that talk about the nuanced human experiences. She believes poetry to be a way of life, a tool to channel each and every human emotions in spite of the usual gravitas they are subjected to and believes in presenting them in their full glory.
CHANGE AND HEALING
Sutapa Pattnaik
The once vibrant corridors
now reduced to silent pathways
The once warm and smoky kitchen
now replaced with modern setup
The once self-sufficient household
now dependent on procurement
Many of beautiful human relationships
now reduced to echoes of time
To never return and only to remember at leisure.
If Change is the only constant
and Time is the best healer,
Then why does it still hurt, and tears
refuse to cease upon remembrance?
It takes time to heal yet
today we have no time to heal.
Busy trapped in the vicious circle
of the demanding modern world
We are neither taught to
identify nor acknowledge our pain
Instead forced to leap over it
pushing it to the farthest of reach
For another time to ponder, it
slowly chips off our very existence.
Then one day it overpowers and overwhelms
beyond control or capacity, we say
Change is the only constant
and Time is the best healer.
Sutapa Pattnaik is a Banker by profession. She loves to read, drive and sketch. Her introduction into the world of reading and art was because of her mother who enjoys both of these activities. She enjoys making cards on special occasions of her loved ones. This is her very first writing in any public forum. Being an avid reader and fan of Literary Vibes, it is indeed an honour to be able to pen down for one of its editions.
THE EMPTY VESSEL
Sachit Mishra
Twin vessels of magnetic hue,
Sailed across the green sea,
The only contrast bet'n the two,
The former was with a crew,
The latter sailed empty.
The former's mast kissed the skies,
Its azure blinding the sun,
An image of artistic opulence,
Headstrong, it sailed on and on.
The latter flaunted colours of night,
Dark, deep, devoid of dawn,
The Orphan of the sea lived up to its name,
Aimless, it sailed on and on.
The former laden with hopes and dreams,
Of the few that were on board,
And of the many they left behind,
As they cheered and roared,
As the ship left the shores of time,
Towards a new light,
And more lands to find.
The latter swayed to the dance of the sea,
Not held by worldly clutches, it sailed free,
With no one to cry,
With no one to die,
It wandered undirected
Under the September sky.
Far across the lonely heavens,
The clouds squabbled for no reason,
Punching and kicking in a fiery uproar,
Brewing a storm o'er the horizon.
The others soon joined the fray,
And so did the imitative sea,
The evil waves rose and fell,
And so did the vessels in dismay.
And then the heavens cried
The troubled tears of sorrow,
That sank the silver sky,
Stopping the arrival of morrow,
Moments passed, yet time stood still,
To the command of this deadly thrill.
The vessels tried to hold on,
Yet they smelled death in the air,
Their hopes had turned to despair,
And their dreams into nightmare.
It rained havoc for days long,
Until the clouds of fury ran dry,
The sun popped its head out afresh,
Its rays clearing the misty sky.
The sea quelled its nerves,
The vessels sailed towards dawn,
But instead of them two,
There sailed only one.
Twin vessels of magnetic hue,
Sailed across the green sea,
The only contrast bet'n the two,
The one without aim sailed away,
And the one burdened with hopes,
Never saw the light of the day.
With no soul to cry,
With no dreams to die,
The orphan of the sea
Sailed undirected and free,
Under the September sky.
Sachit Mishra is a PhD scholar at the Department of English, Utkal University. He is a published poet with numerous publications in the poetry column of Western Odisha Plus, a weekly newspaper affiliated to The Times of India. He is a passionate litterateur who tries to paint his experiences of the world in his verses.
THE LITTLE BUD
Satyabrata Mahalik
I’ve not seen ever a fairy before and except in tales,
So I must not be sure and proclaim it as true or false.
Like tales of fairy it comes in a dreamy shelter of honey and opens up with a drizzling fire,
It, of course, drifts throughout the hall by evacuating the gloom of life like air.
It brings lots of giggling
And fun of anything that is still lingering on the faces of the buds,
It comes with a magic stick to fulfill all the wills of the littles and with great wisdoms and lots of blessings of Lords.
Father like me, others will be owed to them, the way she takes care of our buds with bountiful affections and loves,
Like a mother, but not actually, thinks for the health and solves.
Even though it’s just a little folk-tale,and nothing more than that, not real,
But it teaches morals and ethics to my boys and girl.
It’s not only to my daughter, I conceive,
Rather to my intact little hearts, and the love I ever receive.
Satyabrata Mahalik is a Post-Graduate student of English Department at Utkal University. He is a prolific poet. He can be contacted at 9692194397
Someday I am going to marry her,
When times are not so bad,
Her mother does not care for me
So I will have to ask her dad.
We will build a little home for two,
And have some quite menage,
We will send our kids to public school
And live on bread and marge.
I'll give her the needed thing called time,
Escaping from reality we will enjoy
Sitting we will watch Amazon Prime
Our misunderstandings we'll destroy.
One day we'll have some little fight
In her anger I will hold her tight;
Listening my words she'll melt
Those amazing moments now I felt.
Cooking will be easy when I'll cook
What's very strenuous now will be easy;
For going on vacation two tickets I'll book
For the time for leisure, I will squeeze.
In home I will find her all around
Without her presence home will be empty;
For clearing emptiness, she is bound
To live in it for making happiness plenty.
To me my vegetable love is now growing
Day by day my lady looks mind-blowing;
It's she who is not responsible for this
It's my fairest eyes that love my miss.
Wherever I go suddenly comes her image
But she doesn't listen to my love language;
My lady belongs to a very small-scale village
She doesn't listen as she is very privileged.
Dressing herself Coverley, she comes to college
The most attractive thing is her baggage:
In it she brings food hiding from her father
Together we eat, making her my partner.
Lot of things she tells regarding her family
Always making me to listen to this carefully:
Don't know why she is very possessive
Her every talking feels as if massive.
She, a pure hearted girl knows not to love
I, a stupid one try harder to unlove;
Someone please ask her not to talk
If she does, unwantedly I will walk.
Tophan khilar, a Post Graduate student in Department of English in Utkal University, has keen interest in writing poems. He loves reading fiction and poetry. He started writing poetry when he was doing his graduation, taking inspiration from his teacher, Ajay Kumar Pattanaik. With over 60 poems written, he aims to evoke emotions and provoke thought through his writing. He is a young poet with a passion for exploring themes of nature, identity, love, etc.
THAT SPRINGTIME AIR
Jay Jagdev
A familiar feeling in the air wafts into my being,
That memory of the season of the leaves falling.
The coolish winter was silently receding,
The summer in its harshness was rearing.
My dependent heart would not accept my tree bereft,
For those leaves were her identity and her beauty.
Those leaves, for years had caressed my marred soul,
And that tree had sheltered my body from the Sun.
Shared my fear, begged I, to her not to change,
For I didn’t know of any place I could last under the Sun.
The tree remained bemused, smiling at my naivete,
She by then had lost her innocence and become worldly wise.
She had seen the harshness of life and its crooked way,
That the fallen leaves would turn into manure which will help her grow.
The human nature like the leaves must change at the right season,
The old giving way to the new to justify our reasons.
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
MY FLAMES WILL NOT SWAY
Leena Thampi
Thought of walking away from the daily grind,
To recover from myopia and burnt out mind,
Thus reconnect with my purpose and vision ,
and to hear my inner voice not the online mission
Took a sabbatical from media and stepped outside to gaze at the wide map of my life,
To renew my creative skill brimming again.
This constant thought has been killing me for a while,
The paralysis and anxiety about opening my manuscript file.
But fears are like whack-a-mole.
stop worrying and come out of it as whole.
There is no writing contract signed or paid,I am my own master, it can wait.
the fears will always be there, but don’t let them run the show .
Lost in alphabets, wherever I went,
world of words and images appeared.
The scent of poetry fluttered in the morning breeze.
At times metaphors peeped out from the fluffy bushes and greeny turf
Tea and poetry go hand in hand, just like the sand and surf.
Crafts steamed up from the tea cups laid, aroma inhaled created brain waves.
My muse seductively played mind game,Basked in radiance of art I fell for ever in a nupital frame,
the poems I met years ago started riding inside me which had lost it's way back.
Why should you regret what you have missed,
what you have got, let's only question it.
I took out my pen and wrote these lines in sheer ecstasy,
"A safe haven, an escape, a sanctuary,
You can't exit this reality,
Glimpses of undefined beauty,
When you feel for something strong, it should be written down
The muse is always awake , reciprocal and eternal,
Quill all the beauty despite peril.
Touch the world with soul bare
There's no seconds to spare,
Poetry is nothing but a dream.
It's omnipotent and runs in everyone's blood stream ".
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.
BEAUTY OF NATURE
Ms Gargi Saha
I like to hear
The buzzing bees
The chirping birds
The croaking frogs
The gently flowing rivers
The rustling of the trees
The ocean’s roaring
Different sounds of nature
And noises of the human world
The honking of the cars, buses, trams
Factories emitting fumes of gases
Crackers bursting loudly
Makes a lot of difference
We should not forget to listen to our inner voices
Amidst myriad noises………
So much
Is
A bunch of fresh, blooming roses
In a graveyard of still, silent corpses.
LIVING DIFFERENTLY
Ms Gargi Saha
Two words of love
Two words of mercy
Two words of kindness
Two words of sympathy
Two promises to keep
Blessings to shower
Helps the emaciated prosper
And makes the world
A better place to live in
So much different it would be
If there was no hatred
No hostility, enmity, revenge
Wars, bloodshed, deaths
Let there be peace here and above
I pray for a Heaven on earth.
Ms Gargi Saha is a creative writer and has published two poem books namely, 'The Muse in My Salad Days ', and 'Letters to Him '.Her poems have been featured in National and International Journals. She has received the Rabindranath Tagore Memorial Award and the Independence Day Award for poetry. Presently she edits several scientific research papers. She can be reached at gargi.paik@gmail.com
I WISH I COULD MEET HIM AGAIN!
Sudipta Mishra
I met him again
Twenty long years passed away
I had been waiting for this day
Lazily I overcame those languid moments
Bruises and scratches reminded me of his long absence
That scar time and again hurt me in thousands of my dreams
Never knew that
Meeting him would be so startling
My eyes stuck at one point
I had no desire except to stare at him
I only counted every bit of the immeasurable second
Of those passing hours
Never, I watched the show
I wish I could hold the hands of my watch
Too many words revolved
They rebelled even
Even they refused to believe me
They refused to believe in my silly choices
A figment of my fancy spiraled up from nowhere.
Some stuff like ‘if’, ‘but’, unlike and many more hammered me
Two hours suddenly passed away
But my eyes were intact at the same point
My little girl jerked my ponytail
It’s time to say goodbye to guests
With the screams of ‘congratulations’ in the air
I realized my present state
Chains of memories stored in a secret store again
Began to cascade like a never-ending brook.
While traversing the years
In the time machine
I recollected his acceptance
And then a bold rejection
And then the shattering of hopes
Unlike other spectators on that stage
I unraveled the jester in me
In the circus of life.
Two hours passed
Two decades of my life passed away
I was still clinging to the fascinating bygone
Life must go on.
With this, I hastily gathered the scrambled parts
For returning to the lonely chamber
My heart was heavily laden with those thrilling years of yesteryear.
Embracing the humdrum of this rotten life
became the last choice
That years ago
I had made it in my conscious state.
Sudipta Mishra is a multi-faceted artist and dancer excelling in various fields of art and culture. She has co-authored more than a hundred books. Her book, 'The Essence of Life', is credited with Amazon's bestseller. Her next creation, 'The Songs of My Heart' is scaling newer heights of glory. Her poems are a beautiful amalgamation of imagery and metaphors. She has garnered numerous accolades from international organizations like the famous Rabindranath Tagore Memorial, Mahadevi Verma Sahitya Siromani Award, an Honorary Doctorate, and so on. She regularly pens articles in newspapers as a strong female voice against gender discrimination, global warming, domestic violence against women, pandemics, and the ongoing war. She is pursuing a Ph.D. degree in English. Her fourth book, Everything I Never Told You is a collection of a hundred soulful poems. Currently, she is residing in Puri.
THE SACRED FIRE & BLACK SMOKE
Dr. Rekha Mohanty
Some images you never like,
But they step out in your mind
any time from the dark closet
to gulp you whole,
The energy feeders
thrive taking a toll…
The imaginations take a leaf from- Depression and sorrows,
The pain and sufferings,
The fear of mishap,
The haze of self doubt,
The nebulous future,
The strings pull you back,
May seem innocuous
But they tear you apart…
Let all destroying images
be put together today
into a sacred bright fire set by ignition force of hymns and chant, The engulfing fire will rise
yellow orange and red
as flames magnificent..
Burning is purifying,
Burning is to let go evil,
Burning is putting back
images with elements
of mother nature to mingle…
Sacred fire arouses
the deep senses,
Spark of supreme power
descends slowly bringing
peace and humility,
Negativity consumed
as realisation sprouts
to spread from dormant
micro energy …
The black smoke
continues to bellow
even after the flames die down,
It curls up and above in wind
to vanish as thin air
taking away eerily dancing
shadows with it
that tried to hurt you in vain,
Hope is alive again,
It rises from the pure ashes,
You now have a fresh new day ahead promising a bountiful joy….
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.
That earth grows happiness to all,
air th't pures the heart and soul,
grains grows by the happy farmer,
rivers carries the life in it's water.
Happy Man's land full of calmness,
pride ,hate,fear,anger lives too less.
Calmness sets in it's soil and water,
love sets in the forest,hill and river.
Till morning fire to the happy dinner,
they work ,rest and in end be together.
farmers and the shepherds song ,
reflects happy nature that last long.
Winter ,spring, rainy and summer,
that's my village spread love forever,
It's mountain,wood,soil and in water,
reflects happiness nd smile forever.
Rain drops falling all night
from Monsoon sky
have drenched
the squirrels' nests
dangling from Champak tree that smells of damp nocturnal pleasures
scattered foodstuff, stale
water and pain of living ;
in the morn
love oozes
from damp chests of lovers
of these dappled
Ram's angels
darting out of their
netted door
for some stray food
in inclement weather.
How much do I long to build a nest like this
in your heart
for warm kisses
during rainy night-
oozings of ceaseless shower ?
Dr. Saroj K. Padhi, an Associate Professor of English in the Govt. of Odisha is at present working at J K B K Govt. College, Cuttack . Born in 1962, he has been writing poems in English and Odia since his school days. He has published several reseach papers, two books of criticism: 1. JAYANTA MAHAPATRA’S RELATIONSHIP : A CRITICAL STUDY 2. ENGLISH ESSAYISTS : A CRITICAL STUDY and got 14 anthologies of poetry in English namely PEARLS OF DEW, SHATTERED I SING , RHYMING RIPPLES, PETALS IN PRAYER, SILENT SIGHT, MOON MOMENTS , A SLICE OF SILENCE , ELUSIVE SPRING, MONSOON MEMORIES and WHERE BUDS REFUSE TO BLOOM, THE ENDLESS FLUTTER ,STARS IN THE COVID SKY, IMPULSE FROM WOODS AND SELECTERD POEMS
He has received several awards including the national ROCK PEBBLES AWARD, 2017.
FOR JOY, NOT HAPPINESS
Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
No more for happiness,
enough of ups and downs
don’t have to go through
bouts of sadness
to appreciate its usefulness.
No more the dependence;
longing only for joy,
the ultimate bliss,
beyond fluctuating moods
of bad or good.
Let me dig deep inside
tear through the layers
of sadness and happiness
to reach the state of joy,
a profound state of my own.
I ask my mind
why can’t I realize:
happiness stays for a while
while my joy
is a constant company
all the time.
In little things,
during every moment of life,
beyond pleasure and pain,
this feeling is always complete
and sublime.
Without any conditions
with no premonitions
not bothering about the reasons,
Let me be in joy,
refraining from instant gratifying toys.
RACE AGAINST THE SELF
Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
losing
no more makes me
uncomfortable or sour
though this was never
the case before,
always wished
to be a winner
whatever may be the situation,
However,
find no distinction
between a loser or a winner
as there is reversal of place
in some other competition.
I have learned
not to be in any race
as I wish to be a winner always
transcending to future from present
realizing my own self
digging inside to introspect
not giving any credence
to what the world may think
and which way it decides to proceed.
Let me experience
the joy of being in a state
where both the winner and the loser
converge at a point
feeling grateful that they participate
in the great extravaganza
performed on the life’s stage.
Dr. Bichitra Kumar Behura, is an Engineer from BITS, Pilani and has done his MBA and PhD in Marketing. He writes both in Odia and English. He has published three books on collection of English poems titled “The Mystic in the Land of Love” , “The Mystic is in Love” and “The Mystic’s Mysterious World of Love” and a non-fiction “Walking with Baba, the Mystic”. He has also published three books on collection of Odia Poems titled “ Ananta Sparsa”, “Lagna Deha” and “Nirab Pathika”. Dr Behura welcomes feedback @ bkbehura@gmail.com. One can visit him at bichitrabehura.org
LUCY AGAIN
Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
She was not outspoken though,
all revelled in the warmth of her words,
forgetting their worries and preoccupations,
fiddling about, indulged in the joys
of friendship, fellow feel
and healing laughter :
the memory she gave them
all liked to keep in their hearts
like some engraved words on a stone.
Every word, however,
was like an experience to them.
Few and far between were her words
never forthcoming about her past,
she won’t let on her affairs to anyone
nor will she resort to mealy-mouthed excuses
to hide the skeletons in her cupboard
which she had none.
Yet all waited for her words
like the stars waiting for the laconic moon
to arrive and speak to them.
Lovelorn all they were
little forgetting that
life is the flower for which
love is the honey. So all
nurturing the desire to get drunk
even for a while.
She was a sulkpot
that hardly anyone liked,
Some even thought low of her,
though the penny dropped very late.
But she had unexpressed affection in store
like a mother,
most part of it being pure
with very little impurities.
She was such a school
only a few could graduate from.
She was so rare and valuable
like gold dust though,
her worth remained underrated.
She left early,
that too, unreported.
So life won’t be on the same roll again
causing a marked difference in me.
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.
No more the tender light of this earth
Rolls on my face:
I have turned into a brittle piece of rock;
My olden disease these days
Tidies up the muted room
With unstable arms
On my behalf.
A frail caregiver, still empyrean
With a golden, undeceiving heart.
Matralina Pati, is a PhD research scholar working on marginal Indian bhasha literature (UGC Junior Research Fellow), a bilingual poet and a translator from Bankura, West Bengal. Her critical and creative writings have been published on national and international platforms. She has authored a book of translations titled Monsoon Seems Promising This Year (selected poems of postmodern poet Rudra Pati translated from Bengali into English).
OLD SUITCASE
Shri Satish Pashine
Now I’ve become
like an old suitcase,
filled with memories,
laden with experiences—
just part of this journey.
As others go out,
I sit with my dog,
living peacefully at home.
Neighbors pass by,
smiling at times,
and I meet their eyes
with a quiet word or two.
Photos of mine
don’t come out quite right,
but the face is the same—
perhaps time has simply
painted me in new shades.
When my phone
often forgets me,
I smile and remind it,
unlocking the code,
for the stream of memories
never ends.
People say to me,
“You hear less these days,”
and ask why I don’t use
machines for help.
Is it to save battery?
But I listen with my heart,
not to the sound of machines.
I still catch
the whispers of the soul.
Sometimes I ask,
“Whose call was that?”
And when no answer comes,
I find joy
in living at ease,
taking pleasure
in the little things.
I used to drop off
and pick up the grandkids,
their laughter echoing
in my ears.
Now they’ve grown,
but their words still
sound sweet to me.
They say,
“We’ll do our homework,
Google’s here, right?”
Now AI has arrived.
And I smile and reply,
“You can do it all,
but my stories
can’t be found elsewhere.”
My thoughts, my words,
are still alive.
MIRROR OF TIME
Shri Satish Pashine
How many summers
I have endured,
Days lost in storms,
In pursuit of the future,
Moments slipped away.
So many springs,
So many winters,
Came and went,
I kept walking,
Feet grew weary,
Knees were bruised,
The count of time
Was long forgotten.
Then one day,
I saw my reflection
In still waters—
Fate silently mocked me,
The truth struck
Like a slap.
The mirror asked,
"Who are you?"
And I—
I could not
Recognize myself.
The years I had lost,
They stood before me,
But I was somewhere
Far from them.
Time kept moving,
And I just stood, watching.
Now, as I look back,
I wonder if I lived,
Or just drifted,
Chasing shadows
While missing the moments
That truly mattered.
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
UNFORGETTABLE MOMENTS
Bipin Patsani
“Time, you thief, who loves to get
Sweets into your list,………………,
Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I’m growing old, but add,
Jenny kissed me.”
(Jenny Kissed Me)
- Leigh Hunt
The moment of love
and its sublime splendour,
however short-lived it may be,
is a wonderful experience
and thus precious, the memory.
Being in love, thanks to Cupid’s arrow,
is a priceless state of mind
all sensitive people pine for
in their passionate intensity
and it is more important than the parting
which comes in this life, this death.
Its thought, its memory brings smile
and set aside all worries for a while.
So, what if we were made to part
and you are no more with me!
That you loved me once
from the core of your heart
and that a few steps we walked together,
is enough to rejoice upon
no matter what life is destined to be.
CAUGHT IN A VORTEX
Bipin Patsani
Peace and happiness may be far-fetched
a state of mind, an illusion,
if you are a family man
or a man of social concern.
Your world is not yours alone
as it is related to the feelings,
the whims and behaviour
of all the members tied together.
You can’t say that you won’t be affected
and you would stay calm
when you see your people in trouble,
your near and dear ones you see
fighting for something
and they are up in arms.
Ineffective becomes art
when a meditative mind is caught
in the vortex of a storm
raised in the crowded realm of ego
and ignorance of the obstinate.
Sages love seclusion
where noble thoughts dawn upon
and poets pine for the “bliss of solitude”
that they may make best use
of their creative mood.
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.
I never invite a person to my home
whom I meet everyday
in between my pathways..
It's a meeting place meant for journey ;
A journey where Hasnuhana blooms ..
After returning to home
I wash my face, looking at a clear mirror
through which absurd scenarios
keep on coming with the smell of Hasnuhana
Swatilekha Roy
In a country side restaurant
A three years old boy was trying
to put a bread in a glass of water!
Perhaps it was a stupid act
of childhood
And some eyes caught fire too.
A waiter watched the whole act and
with a smile, he took away
the hazy glass, replaced it with
another glass of clear water.
Only one eye knew the fact
And thoughts of the boy.
Who knows the difference
between clear and hazy,
Who will decide
where to, where from…
Dr. Swatilekha Roy is a creative bilingual poet and Academician. She works as a lecturer at F.A Degree College, Silchar, Assam. Her poetry has been published in different Journals and literary Magazines. She lives in Silchar, Assam.
IS MAN A MODEL?
Dr. Rajamouly Katta
man is not just assembling
head, legs and hands for functioning
as a body living
walking and working
while the mind is thinking
and the mouth is speaking
while the heart is all the while throbbing
not as a machine to be grunting
to produce something.
man is beyond all as a right
a supreme in his stupendous might
to differentiate wrong from right
from lessons and dictums bright
for responsibilities to fight
all evils at his sight
to place him at a height
for his spectacular insight.
he has nature to teach necessary,
the sun for light and warmth for every
for life away from the dreary,
a tree stationary
gifts its fruits to the hungry
offers solace to weary and teary
to collect honey, a bee is missionary,
a cloud to make land fertile for its glory,
all render selfless service as a visionary,
is man with insight to be exemplary?
Dr. Rajamouly Katta
gaiety lies in offering
the tree is the quintessence
for quite selflessness.
nature is for rapture
the sun for its joyful rays
the moon for its delightful beams
the stars with their twinkles
spectacular in sight,
lighting the night,
the oceans in roar at shores
touched by rising tides.
mounts with sublime stature
valleys to echo all melodies
cascades with winsome spectacle
thick thickets and lovely creepers
flowers in plenty in bloom
reflect their fragrant delight,
coo…coos of cuckoos
ever pleasant to echo in hearts
the peacock with its dance
so graceful and beautiful,
petrichor with its scent
cools down simmering heat
all to please us all well
with their hearts filled with joys
calm after storm
has its share in contributing
its share for sheer pleasure
as all in a rich treasure:
all in beauty for our gaiety.
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
Muthusami Annamalai
Backbag full of books and notes
Inscribed with angel’s script
The other hand food and water casket
As breeze walk in troops .
Uniform dress in spick and neat
The frocks with lousy colour.. crease in place
Dwarf tie and straps waist belt
The nonpareil in black shoes trending.
Age may be five, six or seven
The class teacher is but God
They add flying colours to school and teachers
At times they are made to sleep.
Lovely bewitching blessings to those
Who attend these kids—
The sweet smelling flowers of the Heaven
As days pass this sets a pleasing reminiscence.
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 .
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
When the cool breeze kisses my face
I step out quickly for a long-running race
It's not a regular exercise as a routine,
I wander around the fresh world, green!
Those dew drops filled the grass on the footpath
Firmly rooted strong huge trees in the path
Smooth-skinned innocent kids all around
Spread the fragrance of jasmines abound!
The chain of Appalachian wore a gown,
painted with colourful leaves in the town
Yellow, red, pink, and white in huge trees
Create a harmonious atmosphere and glee!
The muddy roads filled with abundant ice
The numerous lakes turned into paths, twice
Wheelers skid, walkers fear, and birds shiver
Pedestrians, drivers, and animals do quiver!
Snow-capped mountains mesmerize me ever
I rejoice in falling droplets like pearls whenever
Cozy room, soft blanket, and comfortable bed
Hug me with warmth on chilly nights ahead!
Energizing and refreshing winter is here
Wayfarers do not move with pets, dear
Bicycle riders sadly stare at the walkway
Notorious kids keep outdoor activities away!
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
Kunal Roy
She is the Queen of epoch,
She was born off fire,
Yagashini was her name,
She was dusky,
Charming and Captivating!
She was a molten gold,
The sun couldn't see her,
The breeze couldn't touch her,
Purity was her recognition!
She belonged to the royal clan,
Worried about her wedding,
A plan was chalked out,
tough to execute!
Yet the Lord had a different scheme,
He knew the heart of her,
He knew her love,
He knew about her gladness
like the flight of a bird
across the blue sky!
She was embellished
Gold and Silver enhanced
Her timeless elegance,
Her lips curled up in smile,
Her arms held the garland!
An open court
took pride of the Royal Society,
Each awaited to wed her,
But the Lord's ally won her!
They returned to the hut,
Destiny began to test her,
Time sat on another's tongue,
She was surprised,
Taken aback!
Lord intervened -
settled the issue of gravity!
She was not spared by any,
She was put into tests everytime,
She was dishonored in the open court,
She was belittled by her husband,
She was dragged, teased and disrobed!
She fought-
She didn't summon any one for help!
She cried bitterly,
She was unheard,
She was crushed by the Masculinity!
She was sent into exile,
She was abducted
She was tried to be assaulted,
She was saved by spouse,
She punished the guilty!
She was not devoid of grudge,
She left her hair untied,
She was not unkempt,
She awaited the blood bath of her hair!
She kept her oath!
She had a wamth in her,
She envisaged the conspiracy,
She manipulated the event,
She took revenge of her insult,
She was contented,
She was the Lord 's friend,
She never took a backseat,
She was one of asthasakhis,
She was the Goddess Laxmi,
She was adored by all!
She became the Queen,
She ruled with empathy,
She accompanied in the journey towards the heaven,
She was the first to die ,
She was not noticed,
She committed the sin,
She loved the Lord's friend the most,
She was the crux of destruction,
She wasn't spared by the deeds,
She set an example for others,
She taught the humanity,
She taught to move ahead of times ,
She is still close to our heart,
She is evergreen,
She has woven a timeless glory!
She represents the women,
She was the worshipper of Shiva,
She is the Creator,
She is the Preserver,
She is the Destroyer!!
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.
Harisankar Sreedharan
I dismounted the Bactrian Camel
She did kindly kneel for me,*
I thought, A cold wind blew
As if acknowledging the fete
The sparse crowd that had gathered
In the cold desert to make the most
Of the remnants of the summer,
The end of the season, before
The winter engulfed and put
The dunes to slumber, cheered..
"Wow..."At this age....!"
The sexagenarian in me felt proud..
I started walking back feeling
Happy with the world.. when
I saw this twelve year old boy
Wearing his school badge and
In his track pants running at me
I flinched... he kept on
And touched me as though
I was his winning tape...
Raising his hands he jumped around
Declaring "I have won the race"
"Yes" said a deep voice
"But the meet record stands
Unbeaten, Try hard"
I looked around hoping
To find the spoilsport
Who killed the moment..
None was there, not even the boy,
He had become me! My gaze
Fell upon the mountain ranges
That looked on, in profound silence Speaking a thousand words at once,
Suddenly I felt my knees aching,
"At this age!!' I thought
Smiling, I started walking back
Those miles before I finally slept!
--------- --------- ---------- --------- -----------
*Indebted to the line "Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for me" by Emily Dickinson
The subtext of The Discount Factor:-
Age has an ultimate reference to time... and the acknowledgement we receive is with a discount for our age.. at every stage. When young, our accomplishments are discounted before a larger aim, asking us to try hard, try better! As the age advances, destinations are discounted to the age and accomplishments get magnified. Only the timeless time understands the real self! To that realization is where we have to travel before the ultimate sleep.
This is what the poem is trying to communicate
Harisankar Sreedharan is a banker by profession. Retired from service in 2020. Still active in the profession. Pursuing interests in literature - poetry and drama. Associated with the theatre movement. Own creations are in Malayalam. Occasionally write English poems too.
A Traveller... fascinated by the time unframed in places - seemingly enjoying the whiff of smoke from cooking pots and tea kettles, smothered by the conversion among the local people .... to stand, watch and let the world pass by ..
Passionate driver, bike rider and trainer.
Dr. Ajay Narayanan
When the Bard met the Brave
India‘s hope
enhanced the folks,
From North to South
and
from East to West
Empowered,
the nation rose to heights.
One with
eternal dreams about
The Indian Cultural Might,
the other with ideals for
the Young and the Bright.
Oh, how fortunate
our India,
shaped by
The Bard and
The Brave
to be fine-tuned by their thoughts,
to be structured by their vision.
Oh, by the way,
didn't you know the historic Bond
Between these two Bs,
The Bard addressed the other,
“Mahatma”, the visionary
and the Brave responded
with reverence,
“Gurudev”,
echoing the respect
shining through the heart.
Oh, Indians,
How blessed we are
to be born
on the soil of
these two Great Bs!
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.
Dr. Niranjan Barik
I tell, you listen.
If you reply and I respond,
You will again make queries,
To make me respond,
I surrender my time to be caught up
In the cycle of questions and answers,
Thesis and anti-thesis , never reaching the synthesis.
So convenient to make your say,
And let people have their takes,
Accept or reject your wisdom,
But NR should be the mantra for the wise,
Why your friend, Maa- Baap, the Government
Alerts you for NR, against unknown number
Showing the call from a foreign country,
NR him or her.
You just waived an electronic hand, or said Hi to a Hi,
Then came the long reply unsolicited,
That she stays in England,
All about herself,
Does not wish to interfere in your family life,
Only a little help to be settled in India,
The most peaceful country,
NR was the response,
For common sense said how it was a trap,
NR was the other name of Silence,
NR, the blissful No Response,
No Reply, was the self-imposed Corfu!
Dr. Niranjan Barik is a retired Professor of Political Science from Ravenshaw University, Odisha and is currently attached there on teaching and research on an ICSSR project. He is passionate about literature and writes poems, short stories.
Sharanya Bee
The pot-bellied king
Has indeed wept
No – bawled
His palm-leaf umbrella catches fire
From this dagger-shaped land that now
Burns stronger than inferno
Men & women embarrassed & helpless
Poured their tears to the cupped palms
He extended for a gulp of water
On the masked faces
With reddened eyes who pressed
The tip of their knives against his throat
And raced off stripping him off all the gold
Spitting black smoke
He witnessed demons like never before
He kneeled to the protectors
Begging for mercy
They showed him the symbol
In favour of which he may press his thumb
Tapped his back
With their cemented smile
And morphed into cardboard cut-outs
Waving to nobody
His disheartened footsteps halt
At the sight of a haloed village
With fellow men, women and
Children merrily moving beneath
Gnarled grandfather-trees
Welcoming the King who approached them
With a relief of smile
On whom he saw visages of contentment from his day
No lies, no dishonesty
No crimes, no poverty
To answer where they lived
The many pale hands point to a collapsed hill
Swarmed with search operations in full swing,
Clicking cameras,
Their dismembered bodies extracted from
Beneath the boulders and mud
Stoically swinging in tractor-trunks
Mahabali let out a roar,
Crashing on the ground sobbing non-stop
Gushing rains scatter away flower petals
Pookalams disfigure into graveyards
As kasavu-clad figures relishing
Sadyas in air conditioned halls
Turn to look at the darkened sky and thunder
Cursing the untimely weather
That dampened their “onam-spirits”
The King bawled
All the way back to his heaven
To his civilized subjects
He had indeed, lost.
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.
Sreedharan Parokode
Innocent smiles see the world
as such
with sincere attitude and
sequence of similar mentalities
There is no ambiguity or
cunningness to provoke.
It flows like boats loaded
with explicit emotions of humanity
and not with the elements of
burden of suffocation.
It is the nature of extreme
happiness in accepting and giving
with full hearted magnanimity.
No enemies
No revenges
There will be no balance
sheet of excess amount of
exgratia by additions or deletions
Deliberately made.
What is said is the meaning of it.
No hidden thoughts
No hiding faces
Cheerfulness cherishes positivity
always
and sincerest interests.
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.
MY TWELVE LITTLE OCTOBER POEMS
(Inspired by Dr. Pravat Padhy's article on Haibun appearing in today's edition)
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
1.
The waves pushed with unrelenting force
Rocking the boat here and there
The sea flashed a mocking smile at them
For setting their sights too low.
2.
The bird tried to cross the sky
From one end to the other
Ah, I could have done it, he said,
But for the bothersome clouds.
3.
The air seems heavy,
Will it rain tonight?
But the distant rumblings
Smell of an impending fire.
4.
We were together once
Like conjoined twins
Today we are at two different poles
Ah, the play of time, cruel and sinister!
5.
How I wish I could rewrite
The pages of my long book
Only if I had a different pen
And the ink came from my heart!
6.
The point where two roads
Went their separate ways
Two dead souls meet and think
Ah, only if we had taken a different path!
7.
The buildings stand tall
The weary traveller looks on
Scared to his roots,
Thinking of their eventual fall.
8.
The little house that sat among the mansions
Preened itself with pride
For the big love
That peeped from its every nook.
9.
The cacophony of sound
That paraded as music
Was no match for the little song
That played in my heart.
10.
The neighbour boasted of his bungalow
His garden, and the lawn
While I revelled in the joy of blowing
Small air bubbles into the sky.
11.
The dainty lips smiled at me and vanished
I went looking for them everywhere for years
Till I found them sitting smug in a soft corner of my heart
The smile was still there, but I had lost my sight.
12.
When the bright sun that hung over my roof in the sky
Refused to go away, I asked him about the moon
He smiled at me in a mysterious way,
From today I will be your sun, I will be your moon.
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.
ONCE UPON A TIME - A BOOK OF PRICELESS NUGGETS
Dilip Mohapatra
(A Review of Dilip Mohapatra's Latest Book by Mrutyunjay Sarangi)
Once Upon A Time - Dilip Mohapatra's exotic, entertaining Collection of Short Stories - is a delectable feast for lovers of literature. Short Story, as a genre, is looked down upon by the Moguls of Publishing as a very poor cousin of the glamorous Novels and the demure Bouquets of Poems. Yet, here is a Knight in Shining Armours which can stand up to its full height and announce its presence with full-throated battle cries.
My allusion to shining armour and battle cries is not merely metaphorical - almost all among the twenty stories in the book are enacted on ships and often battleships. Dilip, being a decorated Navy Veteran, has embellished his stories with a bright shine, similar to the shining white uniforms our guardians of the seas don as uniform. There is love and romance on the decks, as also fights and bloodshed. Even a quirky theme like a woman in a man's body touches the cabin of a ship as if everything that is something has to happen on a ship (Bleeding Rainbow).
Whether it is Cheering Charlies, Fighter Cock or Boarding Party, men in uniform appear in their regal splendour to mesmerize the readers with a spirited performance.
But Dilip has taken care to infuse enough variety to make the book interesting. There is satire and tongue-in-cheek humour (The Ant and Elephant, Awardocalypse), as also love and nostalgia (Old Flames).
Each story in Once Upon A Time is a priceless nugget picked from a rich mosaic of emotions, experience and artistry. The flow of words is like that of a gentle river and the book moves from the first story to the last like a swift breeze. In sheer mastery over varied themes, jugglery of words and beauty of style, Dilip combines the magic of an Earnest Hemingway with the thrill of a Somerset Maugham.
I genuinely believe that the book is eminently worth-reading and only the lucky ones will get a chance to read it.
ONCE UPON A TIME: Sagas of Multilayered Emotions https://amzn.in/d/aId1b0V
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
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