Literary Vibes - Edition CXLVIII (31-Dec-2024) - POEMS
Title : Santa' s visit (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,
I am happy to present you the 148th edition of LiteraryVibes which comes loaded with tons of best wishes for A Happy New Year. May the year 2025 bring you abundant happiness, fulfilment and joy. May you be blessed with good health and high spirits through out the coming year. May the LV family grow and light up the literary sky with an iridescent glow.
In this edition we are happy to have six new poets and writers, including Adya Mahanty, an adorable Grade 5 student from Ontario, Canada, who has written a beautiful article on an adventure at Louvre Museum, Paris. Among the others, Ms. Swarnaprava Lenka is a brilliant student from the Department of English, Utkal University. Baldev Samantaray is a seasoned poet from Bhubaneswar and has contributed a deep, impactful poem to LV148. Shefeek Mustafa from Ernakulam, Kerala, is a powerful writer of short stories in Malayalam. Dr. Unni Krishnan, a veterinary surgeon from Alapuzha, Kerala, and Bhanu Prakash Sahoo, a DGM with BSNL, Kolkata, are literary aficionados whose passion for literature beautifully matches their professional skill. Let us welcome the six of them into the LV family and wish them a lot of success in their literary pursuits.
I often wonder how a New Year is different from the other days of the year. People do have an emotional connect to the day, feel as if they are crossing a threshold, like a new bride entering into her marital home for the first time. Resolutions are made with all sincerity and efforts continue for a few days or months, to stick to them. All this is a game of fun in the journey of life.
For me it is all a part of feelings, a fond fantasy, where the winter sky becomes live at midnight and showers fine flakes of good wishes and blessings on eager earthlings. One welcomes the positive vibes in the air for the new year and feels rejuvenated. And those with a literary bent of mind absorb the vibrations of pristine purity, goading themselves to write and share their feelings with others.
New Year is also the time for goodness of heart and lofty ideals. Many stories
inspire the soul and fill the heart with joy. I came across a couple of them recently in social media and would like to share them with the readers:
THE BOAT AND THE PAINTER
One day a man was asked to paint a boat by an owner of a boat. He brought with him paint and brushes and began to paint the boat a bright red, as the owner had asked him.
While painting, he realized there was a hole in the hull and decided to repair it.
When he finished painting the boat, he received his money and left.
The next day, the owner of the boat came to the painter and presented him with a nice cheque, much higher than the payment for painting.
The painter was surprised:
"You've already paid me for painting the boat!" He said.
"But this is not for the paint job. It's for having repaired the hole in the boat."
"Ah! But it was such a small service, certainly it's not worth paying me such a high amount for something so insignificant!"
"My dear friend, you do not understand. Let me tell you what happened. When I asked you to paint the boat, I forgot to mention about the hole. When the boat dried, my kids took the boat and went on a fishing trip.
They did not know that there was a hole in the boat. I was not at home at that time. When I returned and noticed they had taken the boat, I was desperate because I remembered that the boat had a hole. Imagine my relief and joy when I saw them returning from fishing. Then, I examined the boat and found that you had repaired the hole! You see, now, what you did? You saved the life of my children! I do not have enough money to pay for your 'small' good deed."
Dear Readers, no matter who, when or how. Just continue to help, sustain, wipe tears, listen attentively and carefully repair all the "leaks" you find, because you never know when one is in need of us or when God holds a pleasant surprise for us to be helpful and important to someone.
WHAT GOES ROUND, COMES ROUND
In 1892 at Stanford University, an 18-year-old student was struggling to pay his fees. He was an orphan and not knowing where to get money, yet he came up with a bright idea.
He and a friend decided to host a musical concert on campus to raise money for their education. They reached out to the great pianist Ignacy J. Paderewski and his manager demanded a fee of $2000 for the piano recital.
So, the boys began to work for the concert. But unfortunately, they only sold tickets with a total collection of $1600.
They went to Paderewski and gave him the entire $1600, plus a check for the balance $400 and promised to honor the check as soon as possible.
But “No,” said Paderewski. He tore the check and told the two boys: “Here’s the $1600. Please deduct whatever expenses you have incurred. Keep the money that you need for your fees. And just give me whatever is left”.
The boys were surprised and thanked him profusely. It was a small act of kindness. But it clearly marked on them that Paderewski was a great human being. Why should he help when he didn't even know them?
Paderewski later went on to become the Prime Minister of Poland. He was a great leader, but unfortunately when the World War began, Poland was ravaged. There were more than 1.5 million people starving in his country and no money to feed them.
Paderewski reached out to the US Food and Relief Administration for help. He heard there was a man called Herbert Hoover in charge of FRA — who later became the US President.
Hoover agreed to help and quickly shipped tons of food grains to feed the starving Polish people.
The calamity was averted. Paderewski was relieved and decided to go across to meet Hoover and personally thank him.
When Paderewski began to thank Hoover for his noble gesture, Hoover quickly interjected and said, “You shouldn’t be thanking me Mr. Prime Minister. You may not remember this, but several years ago, you helped two young students go through college. I was one of them.”
We all come across situations like these in our lives. And most of us think “If I help them, what will I get in return?” But really great people will think, “If I don’t help them, what will happen to them?” and do not expect something in return. They do it because they feel it’s the right thing to do. Keep helping others for Good Karma will always return.
........................
Hope you will like the offerings in LV147. Please share the following links with all your friends and contacts:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/574 (Poems)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/573 (Short Stories, Anecdotes, and Travelogues)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/572 (Young Magic)
There are also two medical related articles from the famous Gynecologist Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/571
Hope you remember that there are 16 excellent stories in the Special Pooja Edition at https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/562
Please note that all the 148 editions of LiteraryVibes are available at https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Take care dear friends, enjoy the winter with cups of hot tea and LiiteraryVibes in hand. Looking forward to meeting you with the 149th edition of LiteraryVibes on Friday, the 31st January.
HAPPY NEW YEAR! CHEERS!
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Bhubaneswar, the 31st December, 2024.
Table of Contents :: POEMS
01) Prabhanjan K Mishra
LONELY
YOURS TRULY
02) Dilip Mohapatra
CELEBRATIONS
03) Pradeep Biswal
WHEN NIGHT DEEPENS
04) Abani Udgata
BHITARKANIKA
05) Sujata Dash
WANDERLUST
06) Snehaprava Das
THE CITY DWELLER'S SKY
VOICE AT THE OTHER END
07) Asim Ranjan Parhi
RAIN
08) Sachit Mishra
LEAKING TAP.
09) Baldev Samantaray
TIME
MIDNIGHT STREET LAMP NEAR CUTTACK RAILWAY STATION
ODYSSEY
10) Bhanu Prakash Sahoo
LIFE OF A LONER
11) Swarnaprava Lenka
STRATAGEM OF MY PERFIDIOUS LOVER
THE FIASCO OF A NECROMANCER
12) Anjali Sahoo
ALL OF A SUDDEN
13) Dr (Col). Rekha Mohanty
A DASH OF COLOUR
14) Dr Nanda K. Biswal
THE INDOLENT DAMSEL WITH A MIRROR
15) Hema Ravi
FLY ON THE WALL…
16) Setaluri Padmavathi
SOLACE
17) Lopamudra Mishra
MY WAY
18) Sreeja Sree
FROZEN DREAMS
19) Arpita Priyadarsini
CALL IT A WINTER
20) Bipin Patsani
EXPECTATIONS
21) Sreedharan Parokode
SILLY THOUGHTS
22) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
RENEWAL
LILIES IN FULL BLOOM
23) Soumen Roy
SEASONS OF LIFE
24) Sudipta Mishra
MOM
25) Satish Pashine
SOME THOUGHTS FOR THE NEW YEAR!
26) Avantika Vijay Singh
ON THE BENCH
27) Matralina Pati
THROUGH THE BROKEN GLASS
FRAGMENTS OF SILENCE
28) Kunal Roy
AU REVOIR
29) Gargi Saha
DIFFERENCES
THE BRIDGE
SLUMBER
30) Tophan Khillar
POETRY
IF SHE LEARNED HOW TO WRITE POETRY
31) Satyabrata Mahalik
A LETTER TO A BIRTHDAY GIRL
32) Pankhuri Sinha
PEACH IS PESSEGO
33) Binsha Anas
A TWIN LOVESTORY
34) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
A TENDER SOUL
Table of Contents :: SHORT STORIES & ANECDOTES
01) Sreekumar Ezhuththaani
ANOTHER
02) Prabhanjan K Mishra
SCENT OF A SAGA
03) Ishwar Pati
THE LOST RUPEE
THE CANAL
04) Krupasagar sahoo
THE GYPSY GIRL
05) Satish Pashine
MUMBAI: THE CITY OF DREAMS
06) Snehaprava Das
OF ALL THE LOVE IN THE PORTRAITS
07) Shafeek Musthafa
AGAIN ON A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT?
08) Dr. R. Unnikrishnan
NEW YEAR—THE CYCLE OF RESOLUTIONS AND SOLUTIONS:
09) Manjula Asthana Mahanti
A MAN OF RARE IMAGINATION
10) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
THE RAINBOW
11) T V Sreekumar
SWARNACHITRA
12) Bankim Chandra Tola
MAN AND ANIMAL
13) Gourang Charan Roul
HARBINGER OF MULTICULTURALISM: DIWALI AND HALLOWEEN
14) Soumen Roy
SOCIAL MEDIA TRIAL
15) Sreechandra Banerjee
A LETTER TO MR SANTA CLAUS
RHAPSODY OF RHYTHMS
16) Nitish Nivedan Barik
A LEAF FROM HISTORY: AN INDIAN WOMAN LEADER AND THE INTERNATIONAL DAY!
17) Mrutyunjay Sarangi
THE EAGLE
Table of Contents :: YOUNG MAGIC
01) Anura Parida
DELIGHTED BOY
02) Adya Mohanty
ADVENTURE IN LOUVRE
03) Shibanshi Das
ARTWORK
04) Suyansh Mishra
SOURCES OF WATER - VIDEO
POEMS
It is so quiet here
no, not even a pencil tip breaks
so away from all
eyes sweep over blank faces.
The air is cut parallelly
layer over layer of silences
heaped one above the other
like raw fish, meat over old rice in Sushi.
I stand on my head, an inverted Buddha,
perhaps striking roots, unmoved,
an ascetic or an Oak; does it matter?
Does it matter if meditating or sulking?
No, it is not so, look closer
through layers of affected acts
not even a poet, busy spreading
his net for catching fresh images.
No, it's not true either, look closer,
not a dejected friend, helpless husband;
not a reticent father as his words may hurt
his little ones, a man in desolation.
Because I was called Buddha once,
no, my head never swelled
rather I tried on my clay foot,
and iron knees, to trudge to you.
I burnt night oil to learn alphabet
as my collections of shells and mussels
were smeared with guttery grime,
not pristine to suit your fastidious taste.
So, when called a night owl; believe me,
neither my chest measured an inch more,
nor strides wider; I measured my miles as yards,
pitched my base camps on peaks.
Today your brooks do not hum
into my reservoir but fall with hiccups
like a great vocalist carefully clearing his throat,
his metronome-sitar having gone silent.
I open my reliquary and am disappointed,
your relics are missing like puffs
before monsoon draughts; the grail lies unholy,
rank breath and sweat rankle.
I am a two-cowrie poet, not even worth a copper,
I never measured to yours as I never learnt
counting syllables, never learnt syntax
of life; the art of saying 'yes' to mean 'no'.
Couldn't even be a poet of cicadas, bees,
and cuckoos, what of heavy duty stuff,
rather learnt a little yelping from pariah dogs,
Dervish-whirls from the dust devils.
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.
You ask me
when the world is weeping blood
is it proper for us to celebrate
to welcome Santa on his sleigh
with bags full of goodies
and light fireworks and singing
Auld Lang Syne to bid farewell to the old
and usher in the new year?
Volcanoes erupt with a deafening roar
spewing forth molten lava
that scorches the earth once more.
The seas swell like a grieving mother
their tides rising in anguish while
Tsunami surges submerging habitats
leaving extinction's indelible dark stain.
Tornadoes merciless sculptors
uproot trees and decimate civilisations
leaving a trail of death and destruction
a dreary landscape of desolation.
Bombers strike
missiles annihilate
and in the rubbles
embers of pain smoulder
a distressing reminder of what's been lost
and what remains.
And yet
the newborn sun dispels darkness
day after day
untiringly.
The clouds burst forth in downpours
dousing the furious flames
that threaten to consume.
Shoots sprout in the arid
hope shines bright
and we know that at the end of the tunnel
there's always light
a beacon guiding us through
life's turbulent tour.
.
As the eventful years come to an end
and a new year dawns with promises anew
it's time to raise our glasses
spread joy and cheers in celebrations
and see the droplets of triumph
and jubilations become an avalanche
overpowering and sweeping away the fears
pains and sufferings around
heralding a new world
vibrant
vivacious and lively.
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
I look down from
the steep mountain cliff
at the brown face of the earth
held up in soft light.
Flowers, trees, and the scent
of the earth are in me,
the rosy face of the hours
before the sun set, also
in me the unbounded sky.
And to waive goodbye carelessly
to the days in the last
departing bus, to kiss
the night before it dissolves.
Hot springs of infinite tears,
the wet eyes of the monsoon are
in me and a sad, castaway boat
moored to loneliness,
the wandering shadow of the wind
restless like a jilted lover .
Sight, sound and scent
merge in a white landscape
when colors blend.
The white snow,
wings of a crane,
the back of a snail asleep,
the cold kiss of death.
** the famous mangrove wetlands of Odisha
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
When night deepens
You turn to be
A glass of red wine
Quite intoxicating !
Each sip I take
I get drunk
My throat
Gets burnt.
Your half open eyes
Your quivering lips
The pitchers of nectar
Glow in midnight.
I get drunk
I get mad
I get burnt
Slowly and slowly
You still glow
And glow better.
The night sky
Seldom can see
The darkness inside
You and me
Wavering in our
Own broken dreams.
We burn ourselves
In an intimate journey
Each night
Gulping down
Pegs of red wine
The aches
The scars
Remain alive.
Your bare torso
Ignites the passion inside
My restless soul
Seeks refuge
In your arms
Wandering like
A fallen star
Looking for a shelter.
( 3.30am now)
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
You had set your Eyes on Rain
You had set your eyes on rain
The same rain that nursed my pain
A season of memory and forgetfulness
It flew by your dull breath,
And seasonal precious death
You were used to ends
Ends that propel you to begin.
Autumn reconciled the ungenerous
And purified acts, amorous, adulterous
While the Universe quietly
Withdrew amidst design
Less providence, more of self in chaos.
I am out in winter, back again to its lighter grip
When at my back I hear premonitions
Of an early summer.
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.
In the faint drops of a leaking tap,
I can hear the call of eternity,
Though it's horrid and repulsive,
I find neither mind nor power,
To act and tighten it,
And put an end to this misery.
In the faint drops of a leaking tap,
I do hear the call of eternity,
Have I grown to cherish it?
Has it become a habit?
Or has it become my essence?
Listening to the drops with anxiety.
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.
There is a time for everything
The old peepul tree how it yearns to die
the branches are becoming thin
and leaves are not fascinated
by the old haggard bark
they fall off never to come back again
But time rules
the ever youthful sun
and the whispering rays sing
with the music of rustling morning breeze
and soothes all around
with hope and happiness.
As the day advances the life around descends into earthbound scurry
and tired legs
look down upon the leafles tree
a jarred and jagged sight
How it yearns to die
crouching on gouty root
looking down at the skeletal shade
the burnt grasses down below
and the tiny shades of green
that blink through the rickety naked fingers above
how the peepul looks up
to the burning sun for mercy
How it yearns to die
MIDNIGHT STREET LAMP NEAR CUTTACK RAILWAY STATION
On a winter night
A pair of hungry bones
shivering in cold
touched each other
with unintelligible garble
The vaporised words
hung in a swirl of mist
in the winter chill
not far from the lonely street lamp
The mist ridden aura
around the lazy light
that whispers with condensed breath
of warm secrets
oozing out of the
quivering lips.
With tiny insects
around it in a stationary flux
the full blown halo
hangs heavy
little distended
at irregular contours
like a beehive
of bustling bees
tirelessly humming
with a muted buzz
as if to disturb
the restive silence
and to dispel the darkness
The stillness
of winter midnight
the terrifying hush around
Is as listless
anxious and impatient
as the tongueless swell
of a bloated water bubble
on a meandering stream
of aimless rain water
The energy of possibility around
is more potent
than the most virulent action
as if the lull of suspended silence
is gathering strength
like the eye of an ambling cyclone
Yet nothing happens
The first rays
of morning sun shrouds
the mystery of the night
with the veil of light
(Winter night of 1977)
It has been
a series of misadventures
The life that I held in my cusp
The closed fingers around it
trying hard to locate its touch.
And the one’s that I chose for others
were only for me
and my story about them.
I failed to see
They were the tortoise shell
that hid my nimble neck
It was always
about the destination and the road
the nameplates there on
The journey was forgettable
The pangs of those
who walked by my side
their bleeding feet
the tired voices of those
who sang by my side
were lost in the sand
and noise.
The glazed eyes
have lost sight of the cities and the road.
Now It’s only the glass pane
of a moving train
the disappearing trees
the swivelling merry go round
of green paddy fields
and the moving sand dunes
chasing the limping shrub
There are only moments
that stand still
like a stationary cloud
and the never ending blue
that holds it
There is no history no details
only a whiff of the aroma
hidden somewhere in the layers
The images fade
there is only the buzz
of swarming bees
that roar like ocean
the familiar faces
the shuffling feet
conniving and cajoling
I hear the whispers
smell the thrill
and wonders
of days gone by.
You carry memories
as you grow wise
Baldev Samantaray is a retired banker who lives in Bhubaneswar. He did his post graduation in English literature from Ravenshaw College (76-78).He started writing from his Ravenshaw days. Many of his poems appear in various journals and anthologies.
A loner has that liberty to gaze at self with a world of leisure.
There is a lot to learn about your own aside to what meets the eye through a mirror.
A loner is not a looser or lives life any bit lesser.
A larger horizon through lenses wide lures him for an lavish explore.
Lessons enough are for an earn as loudness around us gets leaner with those laconic churns.
It is some lucky wake up call to link your core with the external contour.
Convergence of core and contour alone confers that legitimacy to one's character,
both through spirit and letter,
with that consistency and credibility never before.
Bhanu Prakash Sahoo works as a DGM with BSNL at Kolkata. He has a great passion for literature and philosophy. He loves to dabble with poetry- writing during his leisure time. He is also a perfection-fanatic.
STRATAGEM OF MY PERFIDIOUS LOVER
My man loves me, but his underlying interest is something;
As a wealthy woman I find my love can be challenging.
This man likes to swarm in the company of women;
And exploits me for relish of his desires, as I am a maiden.
Ah, my precious lover boy! He pretends to liking me;
My unconditional love grows for him like a humming bee.
My lady-killer declares himself as a ‘New man’ for himself;
He utilizes me ultimately, the same way as his delph.
He prefers modernity by creating his own pleasure;
Shifting one woman to another with beguiling smiles at a corner.
My dear also agrees to marry me, only because of his cupidity;
Tread of love and marriage can be possible for him in terms of rapacity.
Our wedlock is startled with blurred relationship;
Auld lang syne I thought of him as our own kinship.
That man selects the black magic to ruin his own noble nature;
Who strongly believes in merry making without bothering about future.
He is not easy-going with other professions;
So, he has adopted this field of motivations.
Fantasizes that he could become a God and command the social realm,
Though the adventure is short-termed but believing carpe diem.
He never uses his power to do better for the world;
nor does he fulfill his desire to conquer world.
It leads to his rejection of God, his pact with the devil, finally his damnation;
It's clear that he can save himself if he'll repent and get God's mercy in the path of salvation.
Expectation of pleasure always frustrates;
Same is the fate of his dreams and aspirations.
He expected to live some more years;
But it seems as illusive with great failures.
'As you sow,so you reap', it is well fitting to this character.
To change destiny with his free will, he remains as the worst sufferer.
Swornaprava Lenka is a postgraduate student in the Department of English, Utkal University, Bhubaneswar. Her early childhood was spent in a traditional and extremely conservative family.But,it was her “intensive thirst” for poring over literature that brought her success.As her first achievement, She set a record by emerging as the all Odisha Topper in the Common PG Entrance Test(2024)by securing highest mark in English. She made a deliberate to challenge the common structure of the society by critiquing and changing the mindset of contemptible person through her writings.
(On seeing a Cheetah’s hunt)
And
The cheetah climbs a termite mound
And scans everywhere for prey…
Then, he slowly approaches a mother monkey,
Sitting on a top bough,
Cuddling her infant,
And gazing into its eyes…
All of a sudden,
The cheetah gallops at her in his full speed,
Hooks his claws into her neck,
And drags her down,
By nailing down her wind pipe
With an agonizing grip!
And as a swinging lamp on the lap of night,
The little one on its mother’s lap
Handles its draw to death
So gracefully,
Living so fully, so frankly!!
And the drum of death drums…
But life is literally deaf
Perhaps since birth!
Anjali Sahoo writes poems both in English and Odia. Her first poetry book A Tryst with Thunder (2021), published by Authors Press, New Delhi, sheds light upon manifold aspects of life. They take the readers to the world of imaginative vibrancy, unearthing hidden mysteries of the world. Her published works include three poetry books and two short stories collections in Odia.
The vast spectrum of colours
is the greatest creation,
The magic twinkle
in galaxy and night sky
All look glamorous
So is earth and the ocean…
The flora and fauna
the distant hill,
Fill my heart with
ecstasy and endless zeal,
I love the splendour,
Let me imbibe the spirit
of colourful nature,
Let the colours drench me
like colourful Holi…
Let me feel good
Let me feel happy
With my image in and out
I would like to smear
colour exquisite
and laugh with
friends and family..
Splendid is the sky
From rising to setting sun,
Vivid colours shine to
merge around world
and a beautiful divine
cover is spun…
I see myself
as peaceful as
meadows Green,
As calm as a distant hill
and deep Blue ocean,
As smiling as
red flowers swaying in breeze,
As strong as four legged animals
with colour designed
furry coats moving in
jungle with ease…
I feel as free as
feathered friends
of all shades
dive up and down in air,
As quick as reflexes of a
silvery aquatic creature
facing a signal danger…
I am not defined
by my colour of hair and skin,
My true colour is beyond a line
that defines a region,
I stand by my colourful inner being
that is dear to me,
I like to spread
a dash of colour
beyond me…
Col( Dr) Rekha Mohanty is an alumni of SCB Medical College, Cuttack, Odisha and she has spent most of her professional life in military hospitals in peace and field locations and on high altitude areas.She has participated in Operation Vijay (Kargil war)in 1999 and was selected for UN missions in Africa for her sincere involvement in crisis management of natural calamities in side the country and abroad where India is asked to do so in capacity of head QRT in Delhi for emergency medical supplies.She had also participated in military desert operation
’ Op Parakram’ in Rajasthan border area.After relinquishing Army Medical Corps in 2009,she worked in Ex Servicemen Polyclinic in Delhi NCR and presently is working in a private multi-speciality hospital there to keep herself engaged.
Her hobby is writing poetry in English and Odia.She was writing for college journals and local magazines as a student in school.
Being a frequent traveler around the world,she writes travelogues.The writing habit was influenced by her father who was a Police Officer and used to write daily diary in English language he had mastered from school days in old time.Her mother was writing crisp devotional poems in Odia language and was an avid reader of Odia and Bengali books.Later her children and husband also encouraged.
Dr Rekha keeps herself occupied in free times for activities like painting, baking and playing card games the contract bridge.
She is a genuine pet lover and offers her services to animal welfare organisations and involves in rescue of injured stray dogs.Being always with pets at home since early childhood ,she gives treatment to other dogs in society when asked for in absence of a vet.She delivers talks on child and women health issues to educate the ladies in army and civil.
After sad demise of her husband Dr( Brig)B B Mohanty in February 2023,she devoted more time to writing and published her first poetry book’Resilient Leaf’in August 2023.Since then there is no stopping and she is going to publish her second book of poetry soon.
She enjoys reading E magazine LV , newspaper current affairs ,writing poetry and watching selected movies whenever she gets time.She keeps travelling places of interest in between for a change which is a passion as a girl since days roaming with parents and siblings .Her motto is to be happy by giving the best to self and to the society.She is lucky to have a supportive family.
THE INDOLENT DAMSEL WITH A MIRROR
She is not just a sculptor’s chiselled piece
to figure on a temple wall
intended to serve as a decorative motif,
to enhance aesthetic appeal
concealing the temple’s ordinariness
and wounds of its past.
She talks to all,
though her power of speech is withheld
like God withholding the last virtue called peace,
while pouring virtues on man.
She was talkative and lest she should spill the beans,
she was made to remain a silenced voice.
Postured motionless, yet gracefully poised
that easily set her apart from the rest.
She will never be effete
nor can anything outshine her
excepting lines of poetry.
Yet she doesn’t have a pampered existence.
She can’t even kiss one, let alone being kissed by someone,
to be melted and then pressed close against him,
curling her arms around his neck,
after the kiss widened deep,
while every nerve ending would be on fire.
She wears a long smile
disguising her woes and pain
taking “triumph and disaster” in equal vein
to lose and start again.
Her face has a beatific glow
that lit up every mind coming her way,
despite weighed down by life’s miseries,
she looks at the mirror
to share her pain with the reflection,
for keeping it long, “there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”.
Her smile that strikes a chord with everyone,
building a tidy bond, will never fade
like the pair of lovers in eternal bliss,
as “never never canst they kiss”
in ‘Grecian Urn’.
Is looking into the mirror, deep and long,
a pursuit in Narcissistic self-love or solipsism?
Or, in life’s cold forest
where its possibilities whittle down every day,
denying many the warmth of reason?
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.
Female Koel @ Corporation Grounds Walkway Gandhinagar Chennai 14 12 2024 08:49 hrs.
Spring’s arrived earlier, the morning air’s warmer.
Warily bidding goodbye to the chill, people
prepare for prayers, travel, and spring cleaning –
the festive season is just around the corner.
Vibrant red, yellow, and magenta flowers
dot the urban landscape, In the gardens,
a riot of colors – purple-pink, yellow,
white and scarlet-colored beauties welcome
the butterflies and the bees and the hasty passersby.
A plethora of tiny yellow-white flowers engulf
the tender green leaves and dense branches;
a few appear knobby too – Mangoes!
On the street, women adorned in stunning
reds and yellows haggle for the best quality
‘vadu-manga’* and ‘mahali kizhangu.’**
It’s also the best time for making
‘vadams’ and ‘papads’ -perennial favorites
of Indians in India and overseas.
The persistent ‘coo-coo’ of the male Koel followed by
a shrill ‘kwik-kwik-kwik’ reply from the female
in reply – getting ready to invade, and lay our eggs!!
The ‘barks’ ‘screeches’ ‘snorts’ of squirrels competing
with ‘croaks,’ ‘squawks, chirps, clicks, whistles and 'growls'
of the mynahs
Everyone is occupied, I’m the only one without work!
But yes, I had ample time to spot the female cuckoo on
the tree over there….
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
Where would a city dweller
Look for his sky
The sky is a forbidden vision
For the city dweller's eye;
An awning if dusty blue
Spraling irregularly over
Tall towers and highrise complexes
Outside the window of
Hus pigeonhole of an apartment;
The city dweller's eyes
Blinded by the dazzling lights
Floodind the winding cacophonous roads
Look up for a scrap of an amber moon
And are greeted by a dull,
patch of grey and pale yellow;
They take a journey
Back to another time
Where another sky beaming with
An azure smile holds forth
The gift of a holmium moon
For the ciy river below;
The city dweller's sjy
A canopy of fustian grey
Stitched looselt with dull zircon stars
Blankets the people below
Who revel in.a life of lie;
He is our Father, the Creator Supreme
Aren't we his children all?
In our hours of despair
We try to put through to Him
A call;
His phone it seems has set
Certain sekected responses
It has different replies for different callers
Depending upon the nature of their case;
'This number does not exist' for some
At the other end of the phone
While some others keep receiving
A constant busy tone;
'The person is not reachable at the moment
Please try later' a voice says
The tenacious caller tries and tries
Through monotonous nights and days;
Often to a switched off cell
Or a wrong number it gets connected
'Where lies the problem,' the caller wonders
'In my device, or the wish I made?'
Hardly ever in entire lifetime
Like a dream
The call is received at the other end
Or so does it seem;
Before the callee gets over
His doubt
To his dismay he discovers
The balance in his card has run out!
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.
The golden sun plays hide and seek
The earth enjoys his pleasant presence
Those pristine waters gently sing a melody
Where the flowers blossom, leaves dance
And the sunshine kisses you and me!
I see this bright peeping sun again
He brightens the globe, brings life to the lives
The flowing waterfall energizes all
And the glittering lake gifts crops and coins
Those dwellers dwell in the lap of nature!
Every nook and corner narrates a story
The walls wonder, streams speak
The mountains murmer and grass hops
The green earth shields every creature
The blue sky brings warmth and love!
How blessed the living things are!
The rejuvenating gifts gift them joy
Resources turn raw into reaped crops
Wearing the colors of the spirit,
The nature stimulates solace!
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
Every dawn I lose myself in cross way,
Then search my destination in my way,
The ways puzzle me with variation of rays,
Some shiny ,others dark,
here the Sun rays stopped leaving its mark,
My tired eyes couldn’t measure the spark,
Hence I walk round the circle,
Tracing my footpath,
At first I stumble ,then I rise to remain stable,
Walk carefully ,thinking my limps are not so able,
Any bruises will make me crumble,
With each step I gather courage to speak out with fumble,
Slowly and steadily my goal is notable,
I count my foot prints now ,
how to reach my way without much jumble,
Before the dusk, covering the earth through its buckle.
Lopamudra Mishra, a contemporary poet, author, translator and editor, hails from Bhubaneswar, Odisha. Her writings are intended to touch the inner chord softly by emphasizing on "Sense and Sensibility" of attachment and bonding. She has six books till date in her name- “Rhyme of Rain”, “First Rain”,” Tingling Parables”, “Rivulet of Emotions” and “Red Tulips” . Her sixth book, “Hurricane Heart under the Honeyed Sky” is on the way. Her poems have been published in various magazines and anthologies. She has been Editor of Radical Rhythm-4 & Co-editor of Radical Rhythm Series and Durga.
She is an alumnus of Sailabala Women’s College and Ravenshaw University, Cuttack.
(Translated from Malayalam by Sreekumar Ezhuththaani)
Beneath the frost, frozen and forgotten,
lies a heart steeped in silent agony.
She aches, not for life,
but for death’s cold embrace to cradle .
Some unscrupulous beast
Had a sumptuous feast
Around her, the barren wilderness of human indifference—
hearts as dry and cracked as summer’s scorched earth.
Is her only crime being born a woman?
A punishment etched deep,
leaving pain as her sole inheritance.
She waits for her saviour,
trapped amidst wolves cloaked in shadows.
The gods, their eyes tightly shut,
have long abandoned her to this cruel expanse.
And what use are tears,
when even heaven’s silence echoes with apathy?
Yet, within her, the ember of rebellion stirs.
Not for salvation,
but to rise, unshackled,
to cast off the chains of expectation and grief.
Her frozen dreams thaw,
not to bloom, but to burn.
Mrs. Sreeja Sree from Kattuppara, a village in Malappuram, Kerala, India, is a multi-talented mother. She writes, composes, sings, illustrates, and makes her living as a dance teacher at her own dance school, after teaching herself classical dance forms like Bharatanatyam which is almost impossible to learn on one's own.
A night that was abandoned
By a morning that was way too bright
Seemed unreal yet charming
Putting across a mirage of
Night abandoning itself
Much before the morning decided to do so
The night has it's own devils
Turning their eyes on us
Making us go deep down into ourselves
And rethink about the mistakes and more
Regrets are nothing
But mistakes draped in mahogany lights
And poking our eyes constantly
One after another
You look in the mirror
And see yourself hiding inside a coccon
A coccon that seems familiar
Familiar with the pain that you once were afraid of
Closing your eyes
Won't make the pain less visible
But only enhance the feel of it
Yet you try
Try to run away
From that one place
That you've named after solace
Your solace lies in winter
A winter as cold as your heart
Frozen and blue
Shedding tears like snowflakes
Tragic yet beautiful
Winter ends just in time
But lingers around all year long
Just like their last memory
Hazy yet fresh
As fresh as a flower blooming in the meadows
And it starts to rot
The moment you decide to pluck it out
So let the winter be
Let the flowers wither on their own
And the memories come afterwards
They make only one way visible
Going right underneath your ribcage
Constantly hammering to free oneself
And let it fly away
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.
Flowering and fruits
Are as important as the root.
Growth needs pruning
As much as it needs a climate.
What be the name of monsoon,
The magic music of rain
Brings songs to every heart
That is scared of a drought.
What is important in life
Is not which country,
Which community we belong to,
But a keen sense of humanity
And our contribution to human good,
For goodness is that immortal god
Which is vast and open like the sky
Without any confinement.
Let us be redeemed
From all kinds of narrowness
And rise a little above
So as to carry on our heads
Our own heaven of freedom,
If we are to enjoy peace and joy
Forgetting all barriers,
All inhibitions and inaction.
Otherwise, celebrations will just
Be ceremonial without any sincerity.
Best wishes for the New Year,
The year of the cocksure.
PRAYER – I
And now that
You have given me light,
Your love
And divine providence,
Give me patience
O Father Infinite!
Pat me to sleep.
Safe and secure
Though in the circle,
I am moving and moving,
Touching points
With my moving finger
Like a naughty child
Touching dolls and balls
In his play-room,
Never satisfied.
PRAYER – II
You have taught me
The mystery
Of the three zeroes
And made me learn
A B C
And counting numbers.
Teach me
The way of the world
O my Lord!
Give me speech
So that I may sing
Your song of glory
And concern for peace.
You have shown me
Lucy being alive
And Mary still calling
The cattle home.
Let me not
Be imprisoned again
In the heart of a pine
Tree, O Lord!
Let me be there
For ever in your eyes
And obey your command.
Let there be souls
Liberated from
Hamlet’s problem
If they have a cause.
Let not voices be solitary
And the world divided.
PRAYER – III
How is it, O Lord!
How did you hide
In your big black eyes
My missing soul
Which I had been
Looking for
Through the years
Everywhere,
Chasing behind
All the time, but
Failing to catch hold!
How could you, O Lord!
How could you collect
And hide
In your round eyes
My missing soul,
Which all wizards,
All wisdom
Of the continents
Failed to help me get
In their tricky nets?
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.
Some thoughts come in
search of me,
in my work to disturb my
calmness!
I like them to talk to me
even when I am engaged
but with a thousand tongues
I will entertain them
with colourful memories
of childhood activities.
In rain, in ferry and even
in the flood and festivals.
I would keep them alive in
my sleep even to feast them
and no strategy of avoidance or negligence, as the enemies say.
A pure sign of attachment
is always offered for their coming.
As they are my best friends
I never bother about their doings!!
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.
Call me a nomad or a soul forever in motion
I am besotted by the bouquet of offerings
that nature unhesitatingly proffers
Be it fluffy frothy cottony balls of clouds
roaming and perching at will
blinking stars scattered in the blue yonder
sprinkling silvery hue, bursting into giggles
or, babbling brooks exuding girlish impishness
craving to be unstoppable at each turn!
I am so much like a river in spate
ramble, climb, roam and flow in a haste
remain unyielding like a nomadic race
as I am sick of sticking to just one place
My itinerary is never quilled in advance
as my intense urge to explore places
never bows before sticky wickets
keeps me going brawny in the face of
hurdles and Impediments
I may have evolved with time
become a chiseled version of primitive
but my restless spirit forever wanders
like a free willed kite, soars higher
following the subtleties of trudges
of our forefathers.
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 ,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.
The sun rises to set and sets to rise
A regular renewal in action
For a chime in reverberation
As the most stupendous surprise.
The seed, minute in its stature,
Grows to the tree majestic
Glows with the flower fantastic
With the seed at its heart for future.
From the egg the chick takes birth
To grow into the hen as mother
To lay eggs for the race further
It is life ever present to shine on earth.
The ocean has the cloud at its heart
Rises to the sky to conceive shower
To flow ever to the ocean bower
For life in flow to flourish on its part.
The child grows in grace as father
With a child, blest as a progeny
To perpetuate the race in harmony
The child is the father of man forever.
Without past there is no present
The present is not there, sans future
Present is two threads for their texture
In it, past and future undercurrent.
In my usual walk in the morning
I happen to witness in plenty
Lilies in full bloom shining
Stretched beyond limits in beauty.
The breeze is eager to watch the glow
Exhilarating by its blow constant
The songs of birds on trees in echo
I was in joy limitlessly vibrant.
Like angels, lilies move in grace,
Feasting all my senses all the while
All are boundlessly glittering in my face
In my jolliest stroll every mile.
They’re scintillating in competition,
They feel like holding me still
I know my own way ahead in motion
Every moment fresh joy to fill.
They don’t like their darling to set
And can’t bear separation up to its rise
Let lotuses in love with moon be upset
For this, let all creatures have surprise.
They tell their love with the sun
I calmly listen to them in my heart
By all lovers as a model to be won
As their love is so deep on their part.
I recall the sight of lilies in delight
When my mood is in full glooms
I find ecstasy in flight at its height
That’s my bond with lilies in full blooms.
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
Nestled within the seasons of life,
Buddha sang into my heart.
The tranquil panaroma has paved its own path.
The tales of summer are no longer weary.
Neither spring has taken all of it.
The fallen leaf sings the sonorous
The tender green awakens within rustling echoes.
There lurches the sun, being the scarlet bride.
The moon also smiles at the glistening veil.
The wounds started healing this night.
Quenching dews float over the petals of lips.
And the sailor gently moves the stern one way.
Within the stillness,and sailing across the rough tides
And the boat continues to be in its own zeal.
Within the beauty of calmness, deep into its divinity.
©Soumen Roy All Rights Reserved
Soumen Roy is a professional writer, best selling author and a tri-lingual poet. He has been vasty anthologized. His novel and poetry books have been part of International Kolkata Book Fair as well as Newtown book fair. He is the receiptent of Laureate Award 2022 along with many others. His poetry has been a part of international poetry festival 2017 and Panaroma international Literature festival 2023. He has published in different newspapers, magazines and web portals. He has been part of a web series named Showstopperzz, a cinema for a cause. He loves photography, painting and music.
Don't leave me, Mom
Come to me when you are done!
You once said, “Don't you
dare call me when I am with David."
When did we hug each other last?
Why did not you leave me?
I remember -
your fickle words,
non-responsive eyes.
They questioned my unknown cold-blood, my interrogative thoughts!
Everything travelled into the black hole,
Every wish of mine was
trampled under someone else's desires,
Which were beyond my control.
Once my naked eyes
caught
you both!
I hid my face with my tiny fingers.
If I had the power,
I would have selected blindness!
Now, after theorizing so many theses,
writing so many poems, and designing several anecdotes,
I pen down a last letter...
While sealing it with intense passion,
I let you free from my life!
Go Mom, go!
Live your life...
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.
SOME THOUGHTS FOR THE NEW YEAR!
Throw open the windows,
Let the morning breeze in—
The scent of hope,
The whisper of dreams.
Let the air hum with new songs,
Let spring cradle our hearts.
May the year unfold with promises,
And may every soul be a sanctuary of peace.
Leave behind yesterday’s shadows,
The grief, the shattered skies.
From Gaza to Ukraine,
The night wears the same sorrow.
But let us summon the dawn.
Listen—can you hear its quiet footsteps?
Think of children
Who have never known laughter,
Their joy lost in the rubble of fear.
See the tears in their eyes,
Heavy with unanswered questions:
Who will speak for them?
Who will demand their right to simply be?
And the mothers,
Their arms empty, their worlds shattered—
Where do we find the love
To fill the void that war has left behind?
World leaders,
Pause.
Hear the silence between the cries.
Weapons will not bring peace.
Hatred will not sow understanding.
Instead, light the lamp of empathy,
Raise the banner of dialogue.
Tear down the walls that divide us,
And let compassion bloom like flowers
In the ruins of despair.
Bid farewell to the old year.
Its wounds still ache, its scars still fresh.
But let the new year
Be a healing balm,
A map toward hope,
A dream worth chasing.
Open the windows wide.
Let peace take root in every heart,
Let dreams soar above the noise.
May the laughter of children return,
May mothers find solace once more.
And let us vow,
Step by step, truth by truth,
To build a world where pain fades,
And only love remains.
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
In the arbour of flowers, I sat,
on another year,
watching the sunset!
Gold dust shimmering in the radiance.
wondering if the sky ever aged?
As day after day, it turned another page.
Wondering if any older I felt as the year swept by,
but along with time, I too swept by.
A part of the dewy dawn,
the stupendous star shower,
the mystical moonwake,
in me, they are all!
A part of the dew-drenched winter,
when the water from the earth steams,
as it meets the cold extreme.
A part of the cosmic sound when the bagpipes swell,
with the notes of Auld Lang Syne.
whisking my soul to ancient times.
A part of the eternal spring,
and the promise it brings.
The winter gloom takes wings,
when the mustard in the field sings
of the vibrant colours that into life swing,
when to the seed of faith and hope you cling.
A part of the hot summer,
when the golden hills beckon with sunsets that linger,
like old wine to savour.
Where the river murmurs…
Age-old secrets the wind whispers,
as it carves runes on the stones.
A part of the golden inflorescence,
of the waving autumn grass,
that under pink skies births the effervescence,
for the Goddess Durga's joyous celebration,
sending the message of good over evil to each generation!
Looking at the clouds gently rolling by the hour
I wonder does the sky ever age?
It holds only the power
to script each moment a different page.
Then how can I?
When I am a part of that infinite?
Avantika Vijay Singh is a communications professional, wearing the hats of a writer, editor, poet, researcher, and photographer. She has authored two solo anthologies, edited three anthologies, and has been published in national and international journals. She received the Nissim International Award Runner Up 2023, WE Gifted Poet 2024, and WE Illumination Award 2024.
I have seen your face
Shatter into pieces
Through a broken glass:
Maimed memories saunter
With wounds deeper than the last
I have tried to amass your pieces
Then those splinters
Slipped through my fingers:
And you were the uncaged air
Ah!
If I could strew those pieces together,
Would you still be there?
Or would you be a primeval gust
A restive, untamed howl?!
In the hushed corridors of thought,
Anguished echoes reverberate;
Each breath a struggle,
Your heartbeats reminders of battles
Fought under the shadow.
For ages, you have gathered
The shards of your fractured heart ,
To scatter them
Like seeds upon the page.
From the desolations that crawl
Beneath your rugged skin,
You have cultivated comprehensions;
You have taught me to transmute
Pain into fragile verses.
And this soul of mine goes on to this date.
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).
The journey which began
going to end shortly,
Innumerable impressions,
events and thoughts
ripped through the heart !
Some happy, some sad
the rest depressive!
Thousands of waves
lashed against the shore
break into tiny droplets
to join the receding mandalas again!
The clock strikes the midnight
yells and laughter follow -
A New Year -
New Thoughs,
Missions,
Visions!
The planetary transits
determine the fate -
not ignoring the deed
accumulated
in the cauldron!
Let us pledge
not to repeat the errors:
be small, mid or big,
to live a life
of peace,
of sanctity,
of honour!!
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.
Different countries, different birds
Different butterflies, different snakes
Spectacular species
Unique habitat, various ways of living
How differently designed
Beings sharing space in the same universe
Let us also share our homes peacefully with our families
Let there be no broken homes
Let us join bonds firmly with love, trust, empathy.
Crimson skies
Black birds
Green pastures
White river flowing
And the bridge of sighs
Connects the past and the future
Today dwindles in between
The bridge connects two hearts
In the Unity of Being
Love is in the air
Love builds rapport
Hatred creates walls
Bridges unite cultures, civilisations, races
How I yearn to stroll past the bridge
That harmonises my soul
Linking it to the 'Over Soul'.
Aeons pass in slumber
And only deep slumber
Time educates us
To distinguish between good and bad
Truth and falsity
Black and white
Fair and unfair
Vicious and virtuous
I sleep in solitude
No knowledge of the forthcoming future
Sun and rain
Snow and scorching heat
And aeons pass in the sweet slumber
Let's awake, arise
Shake ourselves from the illusion
That hides the reality
Appearances are different from the reality
All that glitters is not gold. ....
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
In poetry we cry, we lie
Sometimes laugh and feel shy
In real you cannot know me
As I live another life with tea
Sometimes some feelings are kept
Often in poetry it is expressed
I know you will bother to catch my feelings
But don't worry, they are not as intricate as your cravings
In poetry we say the truth and desire
You admire or not I do care
About the things describing your beauty
Sometimes I am good and sometimes naughty
Your expressions are seeds I try to catch,
And shape with verse, a perfect match.
Each line I form your presence you see
Without you no poetry would be.
IF SHE LEARNED HOW TO WRITE POETRY
If she learned how to write poetry
She could have written my efforts
I put to impress her through the beginning
of my life.
How not seeing her I had loved her,
How I wanted only her presence,
How I wanted to see her, how I wanted to talk
With her, how I wanted to take care of her,
How I was coming with lilies to give her
To make worship, how I stole mangoes
From grove, all this she could have written
With her pen.
If she understood poetry, she could have learnt
Love, romance, life, the power of language,
How it softens the heart of others,
how soldiers listen to poetry at leisure,
how farmers listen to poetry at farming, how a lover listens to it in love,
How a frustrated student listens to it in exam time.
Poetry is everything, imagination gives us life
If the human being stops imagining,
that day the world dies.
I wish she understood it.
If she knew poetry, she could have said about
Baudelaire and Rimbaud how they have given
Poetry to the world making it pleasurable,
She could have said about Devdas Chhotray
How he portrays Mallika, how his poetry
Makes the lover to make more love.
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.
May not be it for all who are born in the same moment,
But for, of course, those who claim.
It's not same like other-days,
Rather very special for the ensuing days.
Not you but me and all gaze in the same way
As you're now having with same
excitement and gaiety,
To refresh, refrain all the despairs of life,
Not to kill you with a brutalsword of cruelty.
For this we give fuel to bring our spirit
Into the world of spirit just to clam own-self
And conceive the purpose of this life
And it only comes when the almighty wishes.
Alright you're happy from this midnight,
But never forget me and those who bring you to this light.
I'm of course not the God nor the "SANTA" who can fulfil all your dreams and wish,
Rather a mere beloved who can only wish and miss.
Though i’m far,
Yet I can only wish you for your bright future And you will definitely go very far
having faced lots of your own war.
My name is Satyabrata Mahalik,and yes im the student of Utkal University Vani vihari, contact numbers -9692194397,
Peach is Pessego and
In Pessego I found
That perfect summer
Juicy and sweet
Waiting for which
I almost lost my capacity
To digest anything but Peach
May be, nectarines, couple other fruits
Some more food
But what about meat?
Like I did, and would want to
Sure not daily, and meat
Is not dairy, meat after all
Is blood work, and yes am writing a
Story against and about animal cruelty
For kind butchering of livestock
And I know the words read
Terrible and sound horrible
Shouldn't animals just be loved?
But can we afford it?
No, we can not step out
Of the food chain! Lets settle
For that easy answer
Leave the debate aside!
Question Is, what all can we step out of ?
Besides stepping out of the House?
As someone somewhere is
Responding unnecessarily!
To the slightest, mildest , faintest sound
Amplifying even, produced by another
Body, or bodies
And sounds of late night water drinks and
What not, the electric kettle
That doesn't whistle, of course
Silence is golden , I do admire it
Even during the day!
Pin drop silence with written
Words and scenes, can be frightening though!
Hair raising
In a town of cold breeze!
As suddenly a van appears
Of a factory farmer or meat
Exporter!
As if in protest of a just written
Para on kind keeping, raising of
Livestock , it’s a hacker! I wish to
Scream but words die like the
Cries of the caged animals!
But who sent the hacker?
Which regime am I talking to or
Wanting to talk to?
Ah! Of course my own !
I am open mouthed
Gaping in surprise
As a popular social media post
Lands and perches before me!
Chicken steak, dripping sauce
All good, familiar and nice
Beer, not my cup of tea!
Well, tea too is under scrutiny
Like dairy, like poultry
And god knows why
No one ever talks about grains!
The staple of the carb country!
Like it was free! In calories
Or cultivation! Bread
Slices after slices
With or without
Butter or cheese
Isn't going to hang on
Our bellies or from our
Obliques ! Or isn't going
To sit idle in multiple
Other places, including
On top of the beautiful
Face of mother earth!
Haggard, tired, sunburnt or
Flooded! This season or
The next ! Never resting
In the shadows of endless
Trees, fed by streams and
Rivulets ! Wild wilderness
Drained and drenched with
Chemicals! Now producing
Crops that won't grow from
Seeds! Plough her bare back again!
Descend upon
Her spine and plant inside
Her womb grains to fill
Your lust and not bellies!
You don’t need to step into
A forest to be trampled at
Sight by an elephant or
Chewed alive by a tiger
It will happen at your door
Step ! What ? You hunted them all?
Congratulations!
You now remain the deadliest
The scariest creature alive roaming
Free to cage, tie up animals
In the shackles of factory farming,
Where they can barely move, let alone lift their heads!
But as long as Peach is pessego
And all other exotic words in languages
That also have statistics , like 60 percent
Of Portugal is empty , there is still hope
All harm can be undone ! Even though
The Paris Convention declared loud and clear
Its the animal farm ! It can still be
Solved mercifully ! Spreading out perhaps organically!
Please, let the animals walk this earth
Before the axe falls on them! Unless you
Wish to be wiped out by creatures
You cannot see, get humane!
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.
With my beloved in the bedside
Anxiously waiting,
Strange noises scattered
Cacophony of unknown machines
Here I am
Preparing to welcome
the Divine Motherhood.
Doctor yelled "push" and i did
Then I heard the "filmy baby cry "
Felt it came from within
But I saw that little face,
In his dawn of the World.
Amazed, just like his dad
Experiencing the trance.
"Go and see him closely" I said.
He then got out from the awe
And went near him.
My boy wrapped in white
Or was it blue...
My vision faded.
Doctor yelled "push" again and I did
Then I heard the filmy cry again or
did I?
They bought her close to my face
I saw that little thing and felt relaxed
Yes! It's Done
We did it..
Binsha P A is a postgraduate in English Literature and is an aspiring poet. Her poems have been a part of antholgy 'The Unsung Thoughts' in 2020.She is a passionate reader and loves penning down about what she reads. She writes book reviews and poems in her blog literarydrops.blogspot.com and in social media.
I am sitting below the barren tree,
Its dry leaves scattered around my feet
Like discarded sighs from a vacant night
Like rainless clouds over a dreary desert.
The leaves look at me with injured innocence,
Asking me what went wrong
Their colours gone like mourners after a cremation,
Their rustles silenced forever.
There are distant rumblings
Of rain clouds moving slowly
With measured, hesitant steps
It may or may not rain today, tomorrow or ever.
I just passed through a hot summer,
Hotter than my frayed emotions
The search for some oasis was futile
Even for a welcome change.
I sit and dream,
Perhaps the tree will turn green again,
A lush vibrant green,
To speak of a rejuvenated tale
But something whispers from within to stop dreaming,
A voice reminds me,
I have had enough dreams to last a life time
And enough lives to last a cascade of dreams.
I know it is time to move on
Soon the fallen leaves and broken dreams
Will visit some other land
In search of another tender soul.
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 . Two collections of his short stories in English have been published recently under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali and A Train to Kolkata. 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.
Viewers Comments