Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVII (29-Nov-2024) - POEMS & BOOK REVIEWS
Title : Abstract (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.
Dola DUTTA-ROY
Bio Data:
Born in Calcutta, Dola Dutta Roy had moved around as a child in the melting pot of multiple and cultures in this vast nation. This had a great influence on her creativity.
Finishing her education and a short stint of teaching in Calcutta, she decided to explore the world. She moved to the Middle East to teach. Since the place was politically volatile with OPEC wars and unstable then, she moved to the USA to pursue further studies. An experience she thoroughly enjoyed. Thereafter, she went back to teaching again and was a lecturer at Claremont University in California for several years.
Returning to India, she decided to do something exciting and worked for J. Walter Thompson, a well-known Advertising Agency in the country, for some more years.
Now as a retiree, she keeps busy with creative pursuits.
Today she is a published author of fiction and poetry, painter, designer, music lover and a film buff.
She has been a participating member of a culture club, SRIJAN, in Calcutta, for the last seven years.
Dear Friends,
Happy to offer you the 147th edition of LiteraryVibes. This is just the beginning of that heavenly season, the winter, and what better way to welcome it, other than a warm smile and a bunch of beautiful poems and wonderful stories?
This time we are lucky to host a celebrated literary personality, Professor Dr. Elham Hossain from Bangladesh - a poet, writer and critic par excellence. He is a globe-trotter, visiting various universities to deliver lectures on the richness and wholesomeness of literature. LiteraryVibes is indeed fortunate to have him on its pages and let us wish him the very best in his literary career.
I consider November a very welcome month, it is the harbinger of pleasant coolness in a country where summer temperature can go beyond 50 degrees in many parts. Winter, on the other hand, is mild, enjoyable with endless cups of hot tea, roasted peanuts and delectable fruits. It is a time when the heart remains warm, often overflowing with endless love and empathy for fellow human beings. I remember a winter morning in Delhi about fifteen years back when I was taking my morning walk near India Gate and saw an old lady sitting on the pavement near a bus-stop. She had a basket of vegetables on the ground, waiting for the bus. I passed her and had gone a few steps when I heard a DTC bus coming from behind. Looking back I found to my dismay the bus slowing down, but not stopping. The old lady had stood up but looked on sad and disappointed as the bus moved away. I gestured to the conductor to stop and walked back to pick up the basket of vegetables. The poor lady followed me and when I put the basket on the bus she climbed on and with a warm smile said, Ishwar tera bhalaa karey beta. I always consider that as one of the most sincere blessings I have received in life.
Recently I came across two beautiful stories in internet on what kindness means and what difference it can make in someone's life. Let me share them with you:
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THE RICKSHAW PULLER
(Author unknown)
Yesterday I was travelling home in a cyclerickshaw and asked the rickshaw wale bhaiya, I have some spare clothes of my children. Will you accept it if I give them to you?
He said - Yes Memsaheb... I said - you come inside the house and sit on the chair, I will bring the clothes. However till I brought the clothes, he stood outside.
Seeing this, I said - Bhaiya, come in, sit down and see which clothes may be useful for you.… He sat on the ground.
I said - If you are feeling cold, I will make tea, you drink it.. Hearing this, tears started flowing from his eyes. He said, no Memsahab I dont need tea. I am driving a rickshaw since my childhood! Till date I have not met anyone who gives so much respect to people like us, and these are the clothes that you are giving away to me! We do not wear these everyday, instead we wear them when we visit relatives or wedding parties! There is a lot of poverty, Memsahab....I will go home after two weeks, then the children will wear these clothes, I will bless you a lot Memsahab.....
As soon as I heard this, my heart became heavy, then... this thought came to my mind..
Instead of donating to a temple or mosque or church or gurudwara, isn't it better to fulfill the needs of a living person...??
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KINDNESS IS OVERWHELMING - AN EPISODE IN THE FLIGHT
Ashok Dalwai
Bengaluru
Dear friends,
Last night (10th August), I was on the Delhi-Bengaluru Indigo flight (6E2487).
My hosts had booked services for my dinner - CPML & CPTR. These were a packet of cold sandwiches and a sachet of cookies. Since I don't relish these, I kept them aside and slipped into a nap. After a while, I was awakened by light taps on my arms, and I opened my eyes to see the young air hostess bent down to ask me, "What do you want to eat, Sir?" She pressed on with a motherly care, "I don't want you to go hungry. You must eat something. I will get you some hot meals from the deck, which is not on sale." I replied, "Don't worry. I will manage." She was more serious about her intention to help me than my rejoinder, and asked what would I prefer - poha, maggy, upama!! Beaten by this young girl's kindness, I greedily asked, "Can you serve me dal-chaval?" She rushed back and came to me with a round box of dal-chaval. Offering me the box, she told me, "This is not the usual plate that we offer on sale. This is slightly small, and it won't be enough for you. You eat this, and I will serve you another helping. Can I give you some juice too?" she pressed on.
I was so much overcome by her compassion that I felt my stomach full even before I had eaten. I told her, "You are very kind. You have overwhelmed me with your kindness. God bless you. And, by the way, what is your name?" "Harasimran is my name" was the reply. Obviously, a Punjabi name and the girl did appear like a smart Punjabi girl.
Kindness costs nothing. It requires a caring heart and a wanting-to-help mindset. Such acts of care and concern for another reflect one's upbringing. It is the parents and the teachers that influence the children and youngsters to shape up as good human beings. Harasimran was obviously brought up by wonderful parents and teachers.
We need people like Harasimran in our government offices, private service centers, hospitals, and in general, in all the places where citizens reach out for services. Alas, it is hard to find Harasimrans everywhere. Very rarely do we find Harasimrans in some most unexpected places. At my senior age, I felt positively influenced by this young girl, who was not only diligent about her work, but was equally keen to find ways to help without feeling bound down by rules, as we are used to seeing in most places.
Once a while, we come across such kind souls, which vindicate our own commitment to be a good human being. Age is no bar to be influenced positively. Here, I was in the senior age category, being motivated and inspired by a greenhorn in her twenties.
I silently offered prayers to Wahe Guru to bless this young girl.
(LiteraryVibes thanks Mr. Dalwai for this nice article)
Hope you enjoyed these beautiful stories as much as I did. Please share the 147th edition of LiteraryVibes, the eMagazine, with all your friends and contacts through the following links:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/569 (Poems and Book Review)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/568
(Short Stories and Anecdotes)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/567 (Young Magic)
There is also a medical related anecdote from the pen of the famous Gynecologist Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo at
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/566
To access the sixteen excellent short stories in the Pooja edition please click on https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/562
Hope you remember that all the 147 editions of LiteraryVibes are available at https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Looking forward to your feedback in the Comments Box located at the bottom of the respective LV pages.
Wishing you a happy reading of LV147. Please take care and relax. We will meet again on 27th December with the 148th edition of LiteraryVibes.
Till then goodbye and God bless,
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Friday, the 29th November, 2024.
Table of Contents :: Poems
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
A TIME TO PRAY
02) Dilip Mohapatra
I COULD HAVE
MISSING
03) Snehaprava Das
STRANGE LOVERS
04) Sujata Dash
A NEW ME
GOODBYES ARE HARD
05) Abani Udgata
HOUSE ON THE OLD STREET
06) Asim Ranjan Parhi
RITES
07) Sachit Mishra
TO CONSCIOUSNESS
08) Adya Barik
FOREVER ALONE
CONUNDRUM
09) Pradeep Kumar Biswal
MANALI : 11.10.2024
10) Hema Ravi
MINDFULNESS
11) Jaydeep Sarangi
INVISIBLE SIGNS
SPEAKING RIVER OF THE MIND
12) Raju Samal
TAO IN HEAVEN
13) Shri Satish Pashine
THE THREAD OF SOLITUDE
PETALS OF HOPE
A JOURNEY OF HER LIFE
14) Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
A GLIMPSE OF FAIRYLAND
15) Sudipta Mishra
MEMORIES OF SCHOOL DAYS
17) Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
A LOVE UNREQUITED
18) Aneek Chatterjee
OUR UNWRITTEN POEMS
19) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
UNHEEDED PEARLS UNFURLED
DIALOGUE OF PAST AND PRESENT
20) Matralina Pati
MY ROOM
THE LAMPS OF KNOWLEDGE
21) Avantika Vijay Singh
THE ORANGE GLOW
22) Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
BREAKING OF HEART FOR A PURPOSE
BEYOND SKIN DEEP
23) Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
SELFISHNESS
24) Bipin Patsani
THOSE YOUR VISION BLOCKS
AND THOSE UNHEARD
THE COSMIC DANCE
25) Arpita Priyadarsini
NEVER THE ONE
26) Kunal Roy
THE MIND
27) Padmini Janardhanan
AI AT YOUR SERVICE.
28) Satyabrata Mahalik
HER EYES
29) Swatilekha Roy
WHY THEN
MYSELF
30) Sutapa Pattnaik
GOODBYE
31) Meenakshi Goswami
YARDBIRD
32) Pankhuri Sinha
WHOSE PERSECUTION IS IT?
33) Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE BELL
Table of Contents :: Book Review
1) Jaydeep Sarangi
VISIBLE NIGHT
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
(Three Adorations of the Lord)
FIG LEAF
My God wears nothing.
My love wears nothing.
The maverick living
in my shrine wears nothing.
But I wear the sky, my attire,
fire, the kohl for my eyes.
I question even God's
peremptory commands.
From Kabir I took a bit of cloth for my cloak,
from Tuka ropes to hang my hammock,
Mira's lullabies put me to deep sleep,
Salabega* cross-stitched my bhakti.
I roam my memory lanes
looking for toys I buried under innocence
in our pastoral land. I often see
my father's silhouette walk out of dust
whorls.
I ask God for a 'made easy' kit of moksha,
ready to rerun, rejoice, and adopt.
Some mischief at the courier's delivery -
I got a 'DIY' Kit*, packed with emptiness.
In my shrine the all-time impassive Lord
wears a tease, "Serves you right, jerk".
The riddle reduces Mona Lisa
to a lesser conundrum, her fig leaf showing.
He seems as insecure, as unsure,
and with his mystique bare, almost her doppelganger,
I bite my tongue, "O, I shrunk you, Lord."
But I love you as an insecure toddler in buff.
(Salabega* - an ardent devotee of Lord Jagannath, born of a Brahmin mother and a Muslim father, a Bhakti poet from Puri in the 17th century AD. DIY Kit* is a kit of parts to 'Do It Yourself' or assemble the parts Yourself)
LORD’S PRAYER
Give us our love tonight, O Lord,
on our platter of flesh and soul,
and align us along
desire and devotion’s solstices.
Forgive our minor vices as we forgive
your peccadilloes, give us
courage to burn ourselves
in the fire, you ignite in us.
Banish us if we fail, O Lord,
to carry forward your Grand Plan
and convert our brothel like bed
into a shrine of love.
Let not prevarication, complacence
procrastinate our bliss to come;
let innocent sins perpetuate and ambush
us and you in one net.
Let thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
let us love you and live
to redeem your love and death.
THE LORD’S LAMENT: PURI
(A tribute to Jagannath, the Lord of Puri)
Hot sands of Puri blister my soles.
The town’s serene odes in my praise
painfully bellow in my ears, bugles of agony.
My runaway Laxmi would be soaking
her pillow with tears of gloom. Our bereft room
cluttered with the shards of our quarrel –
Would lie scattered half-bloomed kisses
from our half-made love,
dice from our half-played game,
her irritation hurled at the staccato of our coitus
and the earful for me for my faux pas in Gita,
“A leaf can’t stir without my express will.”
Baldev, my big brother, is missing.
Prone to hunger, he would be
tearing his hair in another blistering lane.
Now he would be chewing
his own ‘foot in mouth’
desiccated sense of sarcasm!
In my and Laxmi’s conjugal matters,
he takes stands shifting
between left foot and the right,
leaving no intervening spaces
for me except the no-man’s-land.
Ha, his many a tongue-in-cheek!
Veda Vyasa called me omnipotent,
but forgot mentioning my covenants.
Cheekily chronicling me as a wheeler-dealer,
yet the fairest, a double Oxymoron!
All said and done, I admit,
I remain my Laxmi’s bleating lamb!
If we find our zillion-dollar Laxmi ever,
bring her home after
a pitched battle of wits, a strategy
euphemistically called ‘surrender’,
really a ‘win-win’ gambit in disguise.
I and big brother would fall on knees.
My repentant big brother
down on knees at Laxmi’s feet,
would grovel for food, singing hosanna
to her mischiefs as antics. The Alec Smart
may even play the jester in Laxmi’s court
just for a chunk of her rice cake.
For me it would be ‘All is fair in love and ….’
for my big brother ‘Food is salvation’
for feisty Laxmi, ‘It all depends…’
for Veda Vyasa ‘Your Leela, my Lord!’
for Folklorists the ‘Vision extraordinaire’
for Bhakti poets ‘The fig leaf of God’.
(Built on a folklore about a temple intrigue and quarrel between Lord Jagannatha and His consort Goddess Laxmi, instigated by Lord Baladeva, resulting in Laxmi, the Goddess of Wealth, leaving home in a huge sulk, and reducing the two Lords to abject penury and starvation. Finally, she forgives them and returns home, when the two Lords ask her forgiveness on their knees.)
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.
Dilip Mohapatra
I could have sprayed the room
with a strong deodorant
to drown your scent that lingered
but you continued to
reside in my breath
and the traces couldn’t be subdued.
I could have put on my darkest glasses
to block and blind my vision
so that I see you no more
but you left behind your shadow
that continued to taunt me
to no end.
I could have put on my
noise neutralising ear muffs
to cut off your distant voice
torturing me relentlessly
but my ears continue
to fall prey to
your ultrasonics assault.
I could have bitten a quince
to mask the residues of
the sweet taste of your mouth
left in mine
which has gone rancid
yet it stays with an obstinate
persistence.
I could have slammed the door
on your face long ago
but I chose to stoop down to pick up
your porcelain promises
lying scattered on the floor
and try to glue them back together
but then I realise
that you perhaps are
the smarter one between us
you have beaten me hollow
and who had already
shown me the door
before I could have….
Dilip Mohapatra
The saints say that
you won’t find God in temples
in churches
nor in mosques…
You won’t reach Him
through prayers
through chanting
while counting the beads…
For He is not far away
He’s at your heart’s reach
you got to look within
and find Him in you…
But when I search for Him
within the multilayered
recesses inside me
I find His bejewelled throne
derelict and dilapidated
the musk has sublimated away
leaving behind
just a faint trace
confirming His presence
in His absence…
I was told that my body
was His abode
my soul being just a fragment
of His soul
but now that He is gone
I wonder if my body
that is defiled
debased
and desecrated
is really worthy of Him…
… whether my body is a hostage
to its own shadow
and if the essence of my soul is
eclipsed by the darkness
that mimics me?
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
Snehaprava Das
Aren't we strange really
To have put a moon
of our own
In the burning summer sky,
And in the puddles of
monsoon rains, to have
Our silver boats fly;
Aren't we strange indeed
To grope out our embers
In the mounds of ash,
To make our roses bloom
On a greying,straggly mass;
To dig up warm fossils of memory
Under an icy, frozen bed,
To go gathering living dreams
In a terrain of the dead;
Aren't we strange dear
Forever apart, but
With each other always,
Weaving a tapestry of love
On the shadow of an
Ancient age;
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.
Sujata Dash
I was afraid to take the plunge
Till I took a climb to prove myself wrong
The difficult terrain was fraught with
Unexpected bend and turns
Each step that I took , told upon ...
My frail limbs and breathing pattern
It seemed like an uphill struggle
the ups and downs, the meanders and pitfalls
took their toll
I was exhausted, kept panting all along
My limbs were aching yet I adhered
Like an incredibly committed soldier
Every bend wowed me with a surprise
Every corner took my breath away
The sight of horizon meeting
the wide expanse above
Was an exhilarating experience
Like two buddies engrossed in
Intense conversation
They continued till the sun
seized the vantage position
Liberating self from stunted vision
Tossing pigtails
In girlish ebullience and disposition
I discovered a new side to my character
This reward I earned by taking up
the gripping sojourn.
Sujata Dash
Goodbyes are hard
No matter the duration or relation,
Letting go is hard
No matter the topic or person.
Moving forward is hard
No matter the age or faith,
Loving unconditionally is hard
No matter the friend or family,
Grudges are hard
No matter the scenario or situation,
Forgiveness is hard
No matter the misdeed or culprit,
Yet,
Man is strong and hopeful
No matter the problem or hurt,
Believes in his own skills
And the grace of the Lord,
To love, learn and live
To dare, dream and do
To hope, have and heed
So move on, march on
For sky is the limit and dreams just a touch away.
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.
Abani Udgata
On that old street the house stands
in the haze of our mother’s sigh of grief.
That house on the old street
had many mirrors on the wall.
Today the opening and closing
of doors from here throw unsteady
lights , ever disappearing, on time.
Like the searchlights from a boat
on an abandoned light- house .
The mirrors in which the seasons
changed their clothes stood behind
the dining table where we held our breath
wishing our dying father
to come home from the hospital .
And then came the storm and
carcasses of branches, leaves and
flowers blown by the wind on the path
joining the house to the street.
The small car on the street to the railway station
was at a safe distance, far less
than our father who never came.
We climbed on to the train and set off
in to the years ahead, away from the house.
The mirror briefly showed the departing
car and the orphaned young commuters.
The mirrors on the wall forgot all that .
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
Asim Ranjan Parhi
I shall curse in public
And love in private
You are in and out
While setting fire on my sulk
Or splintered luck,
Yet ignite my static self
That pities and laments
And sharpens
Dibyastra of a Dibya self
One that carries the divine
And
Marries the ghost
Behind some untrod coast
Hosts the loving
No less holding the lost
I am the ancient priest
Who performed this tantric death
Thousand arrows darting
Through my half wed breath
I shall cruise down in this endless war
Past, Present and Future scar.
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.
Sachit Mishra
Soar away, cherub'd droplet,
As I toast to the thunder's roar,
Let not these mortal fears,
Trouble you anymore.
Flutter beyond the tilted graves,
Of stealthy orbs and lucid arcs,
Pay heed to spectral rumblings,
And fleeting whispers of the dark.
Swim across the painted sea,
Draining a tad of nimbus' glee,
Deep into the lores of tainted shores,
Deep into the immortality of yore.
Then hurry back, hurry fast,
For this tender sweetness won't last,
Haste! Overhaul my sober pain,
Haste! I am dying again.
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.
Adya Barik
Forever alone for that's what we are,
Forever astray for that's what we do.
And a synthetic discord greets you from far,
You follow a straight path then fall into a loop.
The yellow of the flowers don't soothe you anymore,
The grandeur of a forest park is just not for you.
A rose is too childish for the love that you aspire,
A wreath feels as if you have a strong point to prove.
You screech, you shout, you struggle for thy self,
Thousands of last times just for thy sake,
You give up, you leave it, you cry for help,
You look up, you pack things, if that's what it's gonna take.
Forever alone for that's what we are,
Forever astray for that's what we do.
And a ticking clock waits for you by the car, Things end, they leave, fading into the rood
Adya Barik
Dazzling rays in the dead of the night,
All I need is the hint of a sight.
To tell me I can, to tell me I should
To tell me it's possible, to tell me I'm good.
"Ohh what a pity being
Oh what a shame!
Hello Miss Attention Seeker
You should stay away from fame!"
~Run away into the woods
Hide yourself well,
Stuff your ears with cotton
Decline all your mails.
I need to make this work,
I need to stay present,
I need to calm myself,
In no way am I going crescent..
"Why so much about you?
Honestly no one really cares
Why such a buzzing tantrum
You're nothing any rare. "
~This world is not safe dear,
This place is not warm,
The only thing that stands out is
they know how to harm~
This will be for you,
That's how the world has been,
That's how we all grew.
It gets better with experience,
It gets better with time,
Once you get the hang of it,
You become a part of the crime.
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.
Pradeep Kumar Biswal
It’s mild cold here now.
Glaciers on the top
Of the mountains shine
Under the morning sun.
Tall pine trees
Stand motionless
In silence.
There’s long queue
In front of Hidimba temple
Few foreign tourists
Look disappointed
Not being allowed entry.
While going up
In the rope way
The young girl
Hides her face
In traumatic fear.
Snowfall
Is yet to arrive
In the valley
The water flowing
Down the river Beas
Changes it’s colour
From blue to green
From time to time.
There’s rush
In front of the Momo stall
In the Mall Road
But the little girl
Runs after
The colourful balloons.
In the nearby Durga temple
In midst of the evening rituals
The beautiful face
Of the Holy mother
Soothes the heart.
Looking back
The girl selling balloons
Had kept open her goods
With a smiling face.
She didn’t have
Any winter garments
To save her from cold
The warmth of her eyes
Was not less
To counter the cold.
Mr. Pradeep Biswal is a bilingual poet writing both in Odia and English. His poems are widely anthologized. He is also an editor and translator of repute. A retired IAS Officer, Mr. Biswal presently holds the position of Member, Odisha Real Estate Regulatory Authority and stays with his family at Bhubaneswar. Views are Personal
Hema Ravi
Viewing a total solar eclipse is amazing.
Viewing a total solar eclipse - is amazing,
show of iridescence and delicate colors.
Show of iridescence and delicate colors!
Viewing a show of iridescence and delicate
colors – Total Solar Eclipse is amazing!
Water changes deep blue, above, a tangerine ball.
Water changes deep blue; above, a tangerine ball
fades gradually as the zephyr blows gently.
Fades gradually, as the zephyr blows gently.
As a tangerine ball above the deep-blue water
changes, fades gradually – zephyr gently blows!
A long trail on clear, starry nights…
A long trail on clear, starry nights
symbolizes sudden realization and much hope.
Symbolizes sudden realization, and much hope.
On starry nights, a sudden long trail
symbolizes much hope and clear realization!
Show of delicate colors and iridescence -
the tangerine ball above is amazing!
As a sudden solar eclipse fades, water
changes deep blue; a zephyr blows gently…
Viewing a long trail on clear, starry nights
symbolizes much hope. Gradually, total realization!
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
Jaydeep Sarangi
I sit under my house of idioms, I count Tulsi leaves falling
gathered in surrender, asking them to describe
this immense storm, this gash, this silence, this purity
with the infinite relation and never having enough to hold.
I summon histories knocking at the rain drenched gate,
heart’s dark door, hands holding my story
outside my landfall, standing like a ghost of my grandfather died long ago.
I am warned again not to travel in the sun, not to go where crows are rare.
With the eye you lent me and hands inviting seasons to travel
through thoughts to fetter, igniting the magic moments.
I’m not chosen for the wavy sun in the water,
timeless conch shell you hold in both hands.
Jaydeep Sarangi
My memory is like an ancient stone lying for ages
as I cross river beds from one orion to another
Time’s tongue is lolling out of hunger for more--
from Palm leaves to chinars, olives to stone apples.
Old images are inscribed in unsaid black,
pangs, prayers and funerals cries
on my brown skin, words in charcoal.
Even today, this afternoon is eager for more.
Beyond Konaraka ruins, in the forest green
tears of the Chandrabhaga dancing in tunes,
wearing blue clothes for a ride to the Ganges.
Let me dress up. My memory walks with a stick.
Jaydeep Sarangi is an Indian poet with ten poetry collections in English latest being Memories of Words, poetry activist and scholar on postcolonial studies and Indian Writings with forty one books anchored in Kolkata/Jhargram,.. With Rob Harle he has edited six anthologies of poems from Australia and India which are a wealthy literary link between the nations. With Amelia Walker, he has guest edited a special issue for TEXT, Adelaide (Australia). His recent books include, Mapping the Mind , Minding The Map:Twenty Contemporary Indian English Poets , Sahitya Akademi, 2023 and A Life Uprooted: A Bengali Dalit Refugee Remembers, Sahitya Akademi, 2023. Mapping the Mind, Minding the Map ( 2023, Sahitya Akademi) is his latest book. Sarangi is currently the President of Guild of Indian English Writers, Editors and Critics (GIEWEC) and Vice President, EC, Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library, Kolkata. Living with poets and poetry, Sarangi is principal of New Alipore College, KolkataHe may be reached at: jaydeepsarangi1@gmail.com Website : https://jaydeepsarangi.in/
Raju Samal
Birds in the sky
moon in the sky
stars in the sky
most enchanting
of them all
is the stretch of nothingness in the sky
flowering of full emptiness
in that unlimited space
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
Shri Satish Pashine
When alone, I am not just alone,
I am alone in a crowd,
A single soul drifting,
Yet connected to many others.
Silent, but not absent—
A new way of seeing,
A new way of being,
Because in my solitude, I find connection,
And in the crowd, I keep my identity.
When can a word be said to go beyond its context,
Breaking free from personal views,
And stand strong in the light of repetition,
Like a new god,
Ready to start a new story?
It rarely happens, but like a bird
Finding a new fruit,
I found a new truth:
I am not alone.
Alone, I am just a thread in the bigger picture,
Not lost, but quietly shaped,
A new word,
A new meaning,
Unfolding—
An idea still growing.
Shri Satish Pashine
Strong trees stand tall, unshaken,
Not defeated by fallen blooms or withered leaves.
They never surrender to despair,
But continue creating new blossoms,
Nurturing life from what once seemed lost.
What we’ve lost
Was never truly gone—
It lingers in the air we breathe,
Waiting to return.
For what is there that cannot be reclaimed?
Each leaf that falls
Whispers autumn’s quiet lesson—
After every ending,
A new beginning quietly stirs.
Leave behind the shadows of yesterday,
Step into tomorrow with unwavering courage.
Life is a canvas—
Paint each moment with hope’s vibrant hue.
Pause for a moment—
What is yet to come?
Why dwell on what’s gone?
Just as trees renew with every season,
We too can rise from the ashes,
Renewed with each passing day,
A reflection of hope,
Growing stronger,
Becoming something beautiful again.
Shri Satish Pashine
How often you pass her by,
thinking she’s had her share,
as if years have drained
the fountain within her soul,
as if the weight of days
has left her emptied, content, whole.
But you forget—
she was a girl too,
with dreams that bloomed
like flowers in the rain,
a spark beneath those silver strands,
a life that’s yet to wane.
She still has her likes, her little quirks,
her wishes tucked in silent folds,
glances that speak what words won’t dare,
a beauty she still longs to hold.
Not just here to mend and serve,
but a soul that seeks its own embrace.
You see her as something known,
a figure bound to familiar places,
her life like furniture, settled in corners,
a quiet grace that time erases.
But she was once the sun, the rain—
and her heart aches for songs unsung.
She is a whole world to me,
my heartbeat wrapped in human form.
Don’t take her presence
like air or sky,
a gift just given, nothing more—
each glance you let slip, each unspoken word,
leaves her to wander shores unknown.
I feel each sigh she swallows down,
the sharp ache of dreams deferred,
her unspent grace, the storms contained,
a life unfolding, unobserved.
Remember, dear, she’s not yet done—
her journey waits, her spirit calls,
for life still flows through veins unseen,
and she walks on, unseen but whole.
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
I had just fallen into a light sleep.
Suddenly I turn around and look out of the window.
Far far below I get a glimpse of fairyland.
Lights, lights all around
Glittery lights and dazzling ones, truly fairy lights.
The Diwali lights everywhere decorating the land.
From up above I see the beauty of the night.
My plane hovers over the fairyland.
In the Diwali spirit, my heart lights up.
Fairy lights decorate my heart and thoughts.
Glittery lights and dazzling ones, lighting every corner of 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).
Sudipta Mishra
Gone are the good old days
In the womb of time.
Now sitting silently I can only explore
golden memories of mine.
Dear friends, I recall our gatherings
Under the mango tree
I can still hear
the echoes of prayers and commands carried out aloud
By our dearest Scout Teacher.
While taking a trip down to the memory lane ,
I remember each memorable moments
With my friends
The long talks at the corridors
Waiting for the tiffin break
The school bag with a heavy homework
Reminds me of the punishment given by the Math Teachers
We all survive in the scorching heat of Summer
And even we dance outside the classes in the rain of July
I can still recall the shining birds in the nearby pond of the school backyard
With glittering eyes , I used to stare
As students were restricted to go there
Everything is now stored in a treasured memory box
Now, I can only cherish those moments of glorious years
With a nostalgic look at those unforgettable memories
All that I can do is to paint those old good memories in the pages of a never-ending story...
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.
Ms Gargi Saha
I cannot overcome the gory sights of blood.
Sickness, death, mourning
Time heals everything
Let time take its tide.
Ms Gargi Saha
I dropped into this vast, deep, dark ocean
Sailing alone, tumultuous battle
No ray of light
Alone and loneliness grips me
Friends, pals too joined in the voyage
But after sometime
I lost all
Continuing the peregrination
To reach the shores, someday, unknown, unlamented, unasked…..
Ms Gargi Saha
The lamps are enlightened
The lamps of knowledge
The lamps of power
The lamps of courage, dignity
The lamps of authority
Darkness prevails around
And these lamps show rays of hope
Lead me from ignorance to knowledge
From dishonesty to honesty and truth
From mortality to immortality
Utilize things appositely
Outer appearances are deceptive
Inner glory makes a difference
Physical beauty fades, fleets, returns to dust
But the knowledge of the soul
Are monuments of unageing intellect
True education is not of books, degrees, certificates
But what transforms the animal man to a divine ‘Humane’.
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
Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
Down in the dumps initially
it led to the winter of despair to set in.
And nobody ever knew
what kept chilika’s low spirit sustained
until one appeared from somewhere.
Bubbly and bright-eyed she was,
always wearing a winning smile.
The sparkle in her eyes
doubled up her expression of look.
Full of gaiety and playfulness,
always lively, she was frolicsome sometimes.
What had enamoured her
is his muscular physique and music of words
that flowed with his not so soft current of water.
But her presence rejuvenated his spirit
bringing in a sense of joy and the onset of
the spring of hope.
She was full of vim and vigour-
somewhat unbecoming of her age,
but that she was.
She was the queen of words, soft and sweet,
as if the mellow rays of the parting sun
to herald hope and a new morn.
Animated were her talks
that would change grimacing faces in pain
into relieved ones.
Her reflection on his body
was all embracing
that mirrored her mind.
It was a deep hug he had
long craved for, its warmth permeating
into his inner being.
Not every hug is romance; sometimes
it carries emotions a million.
She hung her legs
in careless abandonment.
He felt the soft touch of her toes
and caressing on his sprawling breast
causing shivers all over his body,
bringing warmth and comfort.
Soft pedalling the boat in fits and starts
or oaring it lustily sometimes,
like the change of one’s moods-
a feeling of tumultuous romance, it gave.
He came near the mirror for a doll up
whether in the morning or dark enveloping the world
with her surprise appearance in reflection.
There was no way
he could sit finger crossed.
He wanted her not to go, but
she had to go anyway.
And unrequited remained his love,
as she left never to come back
like the rivers who don’t go reverse.
Probably, he deserved not
so that she is in his life,
but eminently deserved to keep her in his heart.
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.
Aneek Chatterjee
An invisible artist stitches
clouds with a silver needle,
so that none feels lonely.
Our stories are floating with them.
Our desires, our unwritten poems.
Our dreams and cries;
our promises and pledges.
They change from heart to heart,
yet they are the same.
And the invisible artist is trying
to stitch them into a large canvas.
A tree is spreading roots
inside the water, to reach the land
beneath, — only the sun knows.
Only the sun knows whether the roots
will find the desired canvas.
The tree is happy, like the invisible artist.
Both are engaged in work, silently,
only the sun knows.
Our desires are floating, in the
clouds, inside the water, trying to reach
a canvas, a firm land.
The destination may be near or far;
may be lonely, like the clouds above;
or the land beneath the water, or
— like us.
Aneek Chatterjee is a poet and academic from Kolkata, India. He has published more than six hundred poems in reputed literary magazines and poetry anthologies across the globe. He authored 17 books including five poetry collections titled, “Seaside Myopia” (Cyberwit, 2018), “Unborn Poems and Yellow Prison” (Cyberwit, 2019), “Of Ashes and Persiflage” (Hawakal, 2020), “Archive Avenue” (Cyberwit, 2022) and "Last Evening Was A River" (Penprints, 2024). He also co-edited the “Poetry Conclave Year Book 2022” (Authors Press, 2022). A Pushcart Prize nominee, Dr. Chatterjee also received the prestigious “Alfredo Pasilono Memorial Panorama International Literary Award 2023”. He was a Fulbright Visiting faculty at the University of Virginia, USA and a recipient of the ICCR Chair (Govt. of India) to teach abroad. His poetry has been archived at Yale University. He can be reached at: akchatjee@gmail.com
Dr. Rajamouly Katta
An old book I find is like a sage,
With full of wrinkles but twinkles all over.
The book, written long ago, fresh as ever.
Though in faded hues in every page
With the content for the readers’ content
Though of the past, in the present as mystery
With the fresh hues of long history
Well, all the themes are relevant now intent.
All seem to have traversed in time,
As pearls of the past to look into the future
With full glow in the present in stature
To the senses appealing in rhythm and rhyme
After fall, trees look verdant with new shoots,
For, without the past, there is no present,
There is no future in time’s consent,
To be fresh the novel ideas rise from the roots.
The past in the book looks antique.
With glow diminished, but its heart,
The invaluable treasure in scintillating art,
The present Is to present readers all unique.
In the old, of the new, they are in search,
For a scholar dawns from the teacher,
Whose mind in store, the past as a preacher,
Like the book, ample scope for research.
Dr. Rajamouly Katta
Past: The drops of rain leap from high mounts
Make a sojourn for a flow to the ocean,
A treasure of mine for a living river,
The womb of the cloud, its birthplace,
Without the ocean, there is no flow,
Without me, the past, there is no present.
Present: Mine is full of life in glow
Vigor and power, fresh like the flower
In full blooms to scatter glooms,
My dreams, cherished long, come true.
Past: The flower is fast fading against wish
Looking at me, for my welcome to it
You witness soon a farewell to your charms,
The future is a bud in dreams to bloom near
Like drops to leap from mounts for the flow,
I’m in you in the form of seed and cloud,
At your heart in the art of time for renewal
Over! Your transient life passes to join me.
Present: My sojourn to ring in the bud to bloom,
The wheel in seed-tree-seed cycle to move,
I’m one with you like drops to merge with the ocean,
The living river’s dynamics in its ceaseless dramatics.
Past: Your union with me marks a store,
I’m the ocean, a living river flows at my heart,
A cloud for rivers, a bud for flower, a seed for bower
All merge with me in time after sojourn,
To create history to everyone’s mystery,
Cloud for cloud for flow, seed for seed to glow,
I am the ocean, I am the soil,
Union for union, birth for birth,
Miracles of miracles in time’s motion,
The most wonderful creation.
Present: Now, you and me as past look at a flower
Once the bud in dreams like drops for streams
The ocean awaits them, they merge with it.
All a cycle to move on the wheel.
Past: Have you ever seen a seed without a tree,
And a tree without a seed?
I’m the seed as the root of the tree-family,
I’m the egg as the life of creature-origin,
I’m a raindrop for a flow from the ocean,
I’m the musing born in man’s mental horizon,
I’m the store for creation and re-creation,
The cud to be enjoyed in the realm of facts.
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
Matralina Pati
An ancient ailing bed
And my loneliness lies low,
Round the orbit of darkness
Stoned moments of woe
Swoon to deaths_ cordial still slow.
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).
Avantika Vijay Singh
On a ferry in the delta,
we floated alone on the blue.
A minute speck in the river
with none other in sight…no lights
either glowed on the distant coast.
A hush, a solitude imbued
as an orange glow suffused
the horizon after sunset.
As the ferry climbed into
the sunset, darkness descended
And yet the night lit up brightly…
Millions of stars came out to play,
shining big and bright in the night
as though the sky was washed clean.
The waters were moonwashed
in the pearly light of the moon.
My enchantment with the night grew
As I gazed around in wonder…
Silver waters in solitude
lapping in the silvery night.
I felt like a diminutive
speck of dust under the vast skies
floating timelessly on a boat
with a roof of the moon and stars.
In the crowded bazaar of life,
we often forget our minutia…
how like a speck of dust we are
in the universe’s largeness.
Then why the ego and the fights?
Why the gory wars and bloodshed?
Let the dust of our existence
Add to the energy of life.
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.
BREAKING OF HEART FOR A PURPOSE
Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
Every time,
I think my heart gets mended
after a break,
there is something more
to be smashed-up
before it is further repaired.
I cry in pain
screaming for some divine help
while few shrubs
growing on the cracks
start flowering in random tracks
say something else.
With every stroke of hammer
my heart opens up
to receive love
From unexpected quarters
making it softer
to accommodate
whole of the universe.
sooner,
I read my emotions,
pain is the door
to my long cherished freedom.
No more in fear,
my heart is never a safe treasure;
let it get broken into dust
and spread in the storm,
let it get scattered
all over the desert
mingling in every particle with love,
ushering in a better tomorrow,
nothing can make me happier
If losing my heart
paves the way for the realization
of my ultimate goal and purpose.
Dr Bichitra Kumar Behura
Never ask why,
can’t really reply
as I don’t know myself
why I sleepwalk behind
an unknown desire to realize
the other half of my soul,
lost in the crowd,
since my childhood.
I see something elusive,
unknown to public eyes,
half hidden, exposed partly,
behind a mysterious smile,
an inviting heart
bleeding profusely
with the sea of love
drowning me deep, underneath.
It is not the color or the contour
not even the serpentine grace,
or the titillating walk,
unique and enticing,
may be it is kept
shrouded in secrecy,
only to show up in flashes
to heighten my curiosity.
It is the celestial beauty
standing bare in front of me
with age peeling up the skin
revealing a heart of love
waiting my consent to fleet,
after years of searching
in the wild jungle
infested with bestial roving eyes.
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
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
At any job in togetherness
I take it to heart, and say, 'We',
For his benefit,
He does say, 'I',
'I' is a more powerful word than ‘we’,
and the selfish feeling makes him cheerful
coordination and cooperation are in ‘we’!
Be selfish in life, but
not to hurt others with it!
Society troubles us at times
but, it also makes us learn
competitive spirit helps us play a role
or reach our aimed goal!
Goodness makes you sacrifice
your time, energy, and richness
In turn, sacrifice makes you a slave
to everyone around you!
Let your heart be at peace
with little selfishness, because
being selfish is essential!
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
Bipin Patsani
Like your bright fingers
Moving over my chest,
See, how the white clouds come in waves
And inscribe your sweet name
On the blue vacant sheet of the mountain
That hangs like a canvas.
They enter sometimes the hut on the hill top
And dance as you do within me
To the tunes of the distant stream.
Sometimes they block the sight
Of the neighbor as your vision blocks
The agony I experienced.
See darling,
The moon shivers on the sky
In the chilling isolation of winter
And pulls the blanket over time and again.
Peaceful in our purpose and passion packed,
Come, let us explode and spring forth
Fountains in the desert.
Let us pass from mist to the mystery
That we are and scribble reality
On the tickling thighs of the night.
Bipin Patsani
Before you
It was all imagination.
And now that you have come
I cannot keep, cannot restrain.
The flitting glimpse
Of reality and perfection
Let me catch you, darling,
Let me catch your voice
That echoes within me.
Let us net
The rippling sweetness
From time’s passing stream.
Let us steal the moment
And print the untrodden pathways
With it where lovers may meet
Free from all inhibitions
Seeking fulfillment.
O let us love, before we part
Let us at least inhale some joy
And seal them on the arch.
Bipin Patsani
Thank God,
He sent you at last.
Since you are the message,
I don’t ask anymore.
Just walk ahead,
And I will read the cosmic dance
In your soft silken feet.
See love,
As you turned the leaf
I have begun a new scene,
May be you are the scene itself,
Smiling, waving all through the green.
True, it was struggle before
When I began.
But now it has been an experience
Since my poetry found its voice
In you, each movement
Moistening with your grace.
Should I care when the book closes?
No. it is enough to bear
Your footprint on each page,
And a day with you is enough
To sweeten the rest of my life
Playing your memory on a flute.
(These poems are from my poetry collection,
ANOTHER VOYAGE, published in 2010.)
Bipin Patsani (b. 1951) has published poems in many prestigious journals and poetry anthologies including Indian Literature, Chandrabhaga, Journal of Indian Writing in English, Indian Scholar, Kavya Bharati, Poetcrit, International Poetry and Prophetic Voices etc. He has been translated to Spanish and Portuguese. He has three poetry collections to his credit (VOICE OF THE VALLEY, ANOTHER VOYAGE and HOMECOMING). He is a recipient of Michael Madhusudan Academy Award/ 1996 and Rock Pebbles National Award in 2018. He did his Post Graduation in English at Ravenshaw College, Cuttack in 1975 and served as a teacher in Arunachal Pradesh for 34 years till his superannuation in 2012. He also received Arunachal Pradesh State Government’s Award in 2002 for his dedicated service as a teacher. He lives with his family at Barunei Colony, Badatota in Khordha District of Odisha, India.
Arpita Priyadarsini
To be the one
You didn't wish for
Is like being hung up
Without knowing
where the rope is hanging from
Yet making you choke
Every moment you decide to take a breath
Life pauses
After a certain age
And you think
All that you've worked for
Ends here
And now lies a void ahead
As endless as the horizon
Making you restless and shattered
You look around
And see nothingness
Surrounding you like the night sky
You see the stars glimmer
Seeing them as hope
Not knowing the fact
That they're nothing
But your teary eyes gleaming up
Again and again
Time passes away
As slow or as fast
And you never know
The true intentions of it
When it's never in your hands
But slipping away every second
Your mind plays a constant reel
Where you see yourself smiling
At your own self
questioning your entire existence
And asking for a closure
A closure that seems as impossible
As your existence
Arpita Priyadarsini 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. She is currently working under Home department, Government of Odisha.
Kunal Roy
You reside in the humane
amassing the wealth of thought and assumption,
some are noble,
some are ignoble,
some connive scheme,
some perpetrate the innocence,
some move,
some stagnate,
some receive the heaven,
some the hellish truths!
You are the mind,
complex in structure,
rhythmic in vision,
harmonious in decision,
fatal in anger,
crooked in conspiracy,
green in envy,
dark in selfishness,
humane in realisation,
angelic in devotion,
righteous in deeds,
upright in destiny maker!
You are multi hued,
like the daffodils,
that bloom in the sun,
shed in the evening!
Like the moon,
that waxes and wanes,
restrains the poor mortals.
Yet
you are the journey to the soul,
that contains the fragrance of divinity,
unalloyed,
untouched,
uninfluenced!!
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.
Padmini Janardhanan
Are you afraid of me?
Are you wary of me
I am artificial created by a natural you.
Are you afraid I will over power you
With my speed?
Or over shadow you
with my data enormity?
Air taxis replace bullock.carts
Spread sheets replace graphsheets
Man not reduced or replaced
Has now more time for better expressions.
Me, AI, is now the logical leap.
What you need is more technology
To free from the druggery of the rhetoric
To reflect to muse, to create
Are you afraid of misuse and abuse
By skewed evil brains?
That would be war between NI and NI.
I have no say there
I work as programmed to.
I exceed and go beyond
Alas! As programmed to.
What you need is better technology
Robust and sharp
To detect misuse and abuse
and nip them before they bloom.
I remain yours sincerely
At your service
AI.
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.
Satyabrata Mahalik
Her eyes are so scintillating,
Which dragged me to the down of the Himalayas as glaciers were melting .
They blinded me ; letting nothing other than those to gaze at in this cheap realm of the
Lord,
Nothing beyond, I can see, is so hard.
Oh Lord! Let me speak of the beauty which I seek since the day-break for all ; we
received ourselves into the human,
Slumbers can't devour me nor can halt me to kiss in such a lane.
The bedriddens can wake from the dust to art once itself see your,
But I will fetch all of their sights and won't let them cure.
The pearls I find, and won't share with none,
Of course, it's yours but u can't sell it upon the cone.
I love You not, I confess,
The beauty but I saw in your sights, can’t just surpass.
Not sure I ,her is wanting mine or not?
Eagerly waiting for quenching again her love knot.
But I can compare myself with the mere glow,(Earth)
It has one, but I've two, and her heart is itself a realm superior to than that blue.(Sky)
My name is Satyabrata Mahalik,and yes im the student of Utkal University Vani vihari, contact numbers -9692194397, Thank you so much for your appreciation for my poem
Swatilekha Roy
Poetry is discounted as having no value
but a deep identity crisis
poetry is homeless...
some say
perhaps that explains
why you are always fugitive_always moving elsewhere..
She has to be content with an absent audience,
say the workaholics.
And she has no other occupation than to follow
her whimsical yearnings.
Yet you look gloom-filled halfway in separation,
longing for life to happen in poetry.
A rose you could give her cheerfully
in return for the hospitable home
she keeps open for you to step in.
Why then...
Swatilekha Roy
Dwellers of the same city
Yet we chance to meet only rarely_
l'm a lone individual
My years roll by in hard hurriedness
Of their own
And my days and months
Likewise haste away too soon
seas become vapoury,
Invisible beyond a limit
And clouds of merit
Can't keep touch with the ground below
You look away
Understandably as a simple act of formality
A lone one
I find myself always elsewhere _
Swatilekha Roy , She is a bilingual poet,Lecturer ,F.A degree College ,Cachar Assam.She is creative and passionate nature photographer too
Sutapa Pattnaik
Goodbyes are hard
No matter the duration or relation,
Letting go is hard
No matter the topic or person.
Moving forward is hard
No matter the age or faith,
Loving unconditionally is hard
No matter the friend or family,
Grudges are hard
No matter the scenario or situation,
Forgiveness is hard
No matter the misdeed or culprit,
Yet,
Man is strong and hopeful
No matter the problem or hurt,
Believes in his own skills
And the grace of the Lord,
To love, learn and live
To dare, dream and do
To hope, have and heed
So move on, march on
For sky is the limit and dreams just a touch away.
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.
Meenakshi Goswami
Meenakshi Goswami
Your poignancy elucidate my anguish,
Your agony reprobate my own being
When your enunciation wrecks in solitary eventides,
Am pinched into incessant furore of torment.
I persistently glide in the brine of your phantasies
And am frittered in your rumination,
Thereby hearkening to our cherished oldies I swayed to your mellowness
Serene my passions,
Alleviate my raving affinity ,
The exclusive night you yearned for me
Oh dear I vow infinite joy on this planet in unison.
Clutched infatuated in your endearment
I am envisaging to be saturated in your torrent,
Draped in your hushed snuggle,
I am craving to be cloistered in your being.
(Ms. Meenakshi Goswami receiving the National Award to Teachers on 5th September from the President of India)
Meenakshi Goswami is the proud recipient of National Awards to Teachers 2022 given by Her Excellency The President of India on 5th September 2022. She is the Principal of CNS Higher Secondary School, Tezpur , Sonitpur, Assam. A Member of the North East Writers' Forum, India, she is also into sports organisations and anchoring at various functions.
She has been awarded on International Women's Day 2007 by the Indian Medical Association and on India's Republic Day 2019 by the Govt. of Assam for her dedicated service towards human resources, arts and culture. She has been awarded The State Award for Teachers by Govt. of Assam on 5th of September 2018. Meenakshi is a proud recipient of the prestigious OIL SHIKSHYA RATNA PURASKAR - 2016' , In recognition of all round excellence as an educationist . Her debut book of poems "The Sensuous Zephyr" was launched in Melbourne on 11th January 2014 where she was invited for poetry session. Meenakshi Goswami also participated in many International Poetry Festivals. Her poems are published in many National and International Multilingual Anthologies.
She has been conferred The Star Ambassador of World Literature by Philosophique Poetica & Grand Canada at World Poetry Conference for her contribution to World Literature as A Poet, A Committed Educator and Scholar of a High Order. The Sensuous Zephyr and Waltzing Words are two of her famous poetry books. As an outstanding interpreter of poetry & an excellent poet, Meenakshi has attended many Poetry Festivals in India and abroad.
Pankhuri Sinha
This insistence on bringing
You down, when you are up!
Floating, even sky diving!
You rose, you soared!
But at the end of the
Good, meaningful day
Making sure you stand on
Solid, hard ground
And feel it too!
Your two feet firmly planted!
Who needs this?
Or practically asking you to
Declare all, you have and hold ,
Dear and not so dear!
Whether you have a boyfriend!
Marriage proposals ?
Is there one you would consider more
Than others? Were you
There earlier in marriage?
As in Inside? What happened exactly ?
What brought you out?
Your story as in! If you
Will please! Why should I ?
Why should stories be
Extracted like this?
Who needs this? And why
Should they get it? Like this?
Asking me the boyfriend question
As soon as I enter
My rented accomodation
A place I call home
Well, one has expectations
From the place, one lives in
And pays high rent!
And sure , one proceeds to
Make friends organically
But its important to define
Friendship and escape
Extortion of stories
Information, Confession !
Manufacturing of additional
Sounds than being produced by my body!
A systematic downing of
My Body and Soul
Existence ! So to speak !
All in a sphere, paid by me!
Who needs it? I ask again!
Many could! Important is
Who can get it in a manner
So organized!? The girl in the
Next room, who am sure
Is professional, a phd student of sorts
Can tell me lots about Univ
Atmosphere and so much more
Is hell bent on coochie cooking about
Mushy mushy love!
Day in, day out!
Which was bearable
If she didn't expect the
Same from me and
Make it the way to be!
But friends its bigger than
That!
She appears in the same stripe of black and white
As the lady bank officer
Who made my house cheque! For my first ever
Home purchase! A bank
Not where I left my jacket
Or coat, but where I found it! And stood up on my toes
To say thankyou and I love you! The bank had kept my
Jacket and it was the same
Lady officer who knew of it
Walked back, fetched, handed over to me as the one who wrote the Cheque!
Why would this girl wear clothes like that, and laugh
Loud through the evening
With her love, till I knock and ask for silence!
Who needs a sad story
Of a broken heart , broken
Home out of me every day?
Why can't I just fix it?
Without crying heart break !
Pankhuri Sinha is a bilingual poet, story writer and translator from India. Two poetry collections published in English, two story collections published in Hindi, six poetry collections published in Hindi, and many more are lined up. Has been published in many journals, anthologies, home and abroad. Has won many prestigious, national-international awards, like the Girija Kumar Mathur Award, Chitra Kumar Shailesh Matiyani Award, Seemapuri Times Rajeev Gandhi Excellence Award, First prize for poetry by Rajasthan Patrika, awards in Chekhov festival in Yalta and in Premio Besio Poetry competition in Italy, Sahitto award in Bangladesh, and Premio Galateo in Italy for poetry in mother tongue. Has been translated in over twenty seven languages.
She has studied in Delhi University, Symbiosis Pune, SUNY Buffalo, and the University of Calgary, Canada. She has worked in various positions as a journalist, lecturer and a content editor. Has done writing residencies in Hungary and Bulgaria, and attended the Tranas Literature Festival in Sweden.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
As I sit at the window
I count the whispers
that come through the air
quietly beckoning me
The quiet raindrops
that may or may not be tears
falling from invisible eyes,
the soft footsteps closing in
When was the last
anyone talked to me,
beyond a mere hello,
when was the last smile I saw?
The room is empty,
yet so crowded with memories
so filled with fun, laughter
of the days long gone
Now the whispers frighten me
the raindrops threaten to drown me,
images pass by like floating clouds
and the silence is so deafening
I know when the time comes
they will all vanish,
the whispers, the raindrops
and the silent images.
Only the bell will toll -
when, no one knows,
and for whom -
for the one going away
or the ones staying back?
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.
Jaydeep Sarangi
Needle of the Night, Tapeshwar Prasad, Penprints, Kolkata, Rs. 395/- 2024, ISBN 978-81-974036-5-1, Pp 120
-Reviewed by: JAYDEEP SARANGI
Indian English Poetry is an intuitive force nowadays which unites hearts and heads for all living under the orion when many other things fall apart, and is arguably reaching, and being enjoyed by, more readers than ever before. Tapeshwar Prasad is a sensitive poet of our generation. His poetry is the paragon of the self-engulfed, self-reeled style that is the literary flavour of our times. Everything is fascinating – nothing fails to astonish the speaker, whether beautiful or ugly. A belief in words is a belief in glittering generalities of a set of themes where a banyan digs deep roots. We need not be an adult to read Tapeshwar’s Needle of the Night.
Tapeshwar’s deep waxen lines are natural. His symbols are rich with the flavor of his culture, traditions and linkages. At times, he writes poetry that is personal and fits in the markers of contemporary world poetry written in plural spaces:
“You sundial your face/ upon many of my/ untoward happenings(.)”
For reading lines of his casket of poems we can wait for throughout the season--for sleep, further sleep and forgetting what is time present. Readers are tempted to read ‘ To rent out my tears’ many times, and become part of the cathartic process. Human hearts know no logic. No one has control over the hearts of others. It has its own magic doors, exit from any side. Some pains stay hard. Poets live to write them in appropriate language.
His poems speak to us - one on one, making clever inroads into our hearts – thus fulfilling the essential task of a veteran poet. History cannot be separated from today. There is hope that this collection will provide some of the trailheads. It is worth holding the poet and reading him more and more. As a seasoned poet, the poet draws symbols from life’s daily chores and lived experiences. In some poems of Needle of the Night the veteran poet takes cotton of his dreams to loom:
“ but to swish
Into air-
All or for nothing.”
Poems in this collection are on varied shades; friendship with time, loneliness , silence, birth and harvesting. We never notice but silences have their own mode of metaphors.
Tapeshwar’s poetic art makes friendship with time. It’s a chemistry of hearts in love for the zest of living. His poem ‘Tranquillity’ is simply magical:
“My tranquillity
In words, wafers
thin
Upon the elements of Nature.”
Sensitive to the core, his short sharp lyrics are truly engaging. Like many other contemporary Indian English poets,silence is Tapeshwar’s one of the stock images. His sincere love for silence captures the poet’s return to his general aesthetics and mental shades. He is a calm and consistent customer always under his wise fingers’ care. There is no question of faith anywhere in his poetry.Tapeshwar’s immediate cultural contexts bear a rich history and tradition. He translates that root through his confident and bold matrix of thoughts and flair.
Tapeshwar writes on the contexts of playing ragas in the mid night. His mood transports him from his state of ‘puff of pain’. Poetry for him is a ‘seven headed crown’, performing functions at various levels. As a seasoned academician he wants us to keep silent like ‘buzzing bees’. By ‘funneling the sky’ Tapeshwar questions himself again and again. The meaning lurks within our smoothly conducted tours through the mystic world of senses and nightly dreams:
All poems in a collection cannot speak to us equally. Most of the poems in this collection are unique gems waiting to be read and re-read. His poem ‘Courtyard of my mud house’ is a mark of Tapeshwar’s love and longings for his cultural roots. He is never away from the traditions back at his home, his sap of vitality through poetry.
All poems here are not hard-core confessional or half-confessional. There are some poems on personal yearnings for where the poet pens his magical aroma of the heart, matters of the heart. Engrossed in deep meditations/thoughts, the poet unlocks many doors of hearts( and heads) to return to his poems again and again where he connects his home with the world.
Jaydeep Sarangi is an Indian poet with ten poetry collections in English latest being Memories of Words, poetry activist and scholar on postcolonial studies and Indian Writings with forty one books anchored in Kolkata/Jhargram,.. With Rob Harle he has edited six anthologies of poems from Australia and India which are a wealthy literary link between the nations. With Amelia Walker, he has guest edited a special issue for TEXT, Adelaide (Australia). His recent books include, Mapping the Mind , Minding The Map:Twenty Contemporary Indian English Poets , Sahitya Akademi, 2023 and A Life Uprooted: A Bengali Dalit Refugee Remembers, Sahitya Akademi, 2023. Mapping the Mind, Minding the Map ( 2023, Sahitya Akademi) is his latest book. Sarangi is currently the President of Guild of Indian English Writers, Editors and Critics (GIEWEC) and Vice President, EC, Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library, Kolkata. Living with poets and poetry, Sarangi is principal of New Alipore College, KolkataHe may be reached at: jaydeepsarangi1@gmail.com Website : https://jaydeepsarangi.in/
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