Literary Vibes - Edition CXLIX (31-Jan-2025) - POEMS
Title : Twilight (Picture courtesy Ms. Latha Prem Sakya)
An acclaimed Painter, a published poet, a self-styled green woman passionately planting fruit trees, a published translator, and a former Professor, Lathaprem Sakhya, was born to Tamil parents settled in Kerala. Widely anthologized, she is a regular contributor of poems, short stories and paintings to several e-magazines and print books. Recently published anthologies in which her stories have come out are Ether Ore, Cocoon Stories, and He She It: The Grammar of Marriage. She is a member of the executive board of Aksharasthree the Literary Woman and editor of the e - magazines - Aksharasthree and Science Shore. She is also a vibrant participant in 5 Poetry groups. Aksharasthree - The Literary Woman, Literary Vibes, India Poetry Circle and New Voices and Poetry Chain. Her poetry books are Memory Rain, 2008, Nature At My Doorstep, 2011 and Vernal Strokes, 2015. She has done two translations of novels from Malayalam to English, Kunjathol 2022, (A translation of Shanthini Tom's Kunjathol) and Rabboni 2023 ( a Translation of Rosy Thampy's Malayalam novel Rabboni) and currently she is busy with two more projects.
Dear Readers,
Welcome to the 149th edition of LiteraryVibes. Let me wish all of you a happy new year. All of us represent a wide spectrum of age groups and yet we have many unfulfilled dreams, goals unachieved, songs unsung and poems unread. Every morning we wake up to new hopes of something of a miracle happening. You know what is my idea of a miracle? I offer prasad to the different gods and goddesses every morning while doing Puja and by evening take away the small utensils to eat the prasad. I have been waiting for the past fifty years, hoping that one day I will lift the cover from the utensils and find the prasad gone, eaten away by the gods to whom they were offered. Wouldn't that be a miracle? Well, here is to wish all of you the fulfilment of your own hopes of a miracle.
This month we are lucky to have with us five brilliant newcomers. Ms. Deepika Sahu is a media personality from Ahmedabad, with a long experience of working in a newsroom. She also has a big passion for literature and has contributed an enjoyable anecdote for LV149. Sushree Gayatree Nayak is a young student at the Post Graduate Department of English at Utkal University, who has powerful themes expressed in the form of poems. Mrs. Minati Rath, a social worker and a travel enthusiast from Hyderabad, is an avid reader of LiteraryVibes and loves to dabble in occasional writing. She has contributed an interesting anecdote for LV149 from her life experience. We are also blessed to get the tender touch of Anjula, a young, talented boy of 12 who has contributed a beautiful painting for the Young Magic Section of LiteraryVibes. Another young boy Ankit Sahoo, a ninth grader from Cuttack, Odisha, is a child prodigy, churning out poems and short stories with tremendous passion. He is definitely going to travel a long way, destined to achieve spectacular fame. Let us welcome all of them and wish them the very best in their career.
As this edition of LiteraryVibes comes out, Saraswati Puja is just two days away, to be celebrated on the 2nd February. Since our student days we hold this festival in high veneration, Maa Saraswati being the Goddess of learning. As the years have passed by, we have also learnt that text books are just a part of learning, there are many more lessons which the journey of life offers. The more we learn them, living becomes more meaningful and fulfilling. Let me cite two stories I came across in social media to illustrate my point.
GURU
Dr.Subhash Munje.
I started my first job at a hospital in Alibaug.
One afternoon, an injured woman was brought in. She was pregnant after 11 years of marriage.
A bull roaming around the streets of Alibaug knocked her down and gored her stomach with its horn.
It was a scary sight, with part of the woman's stomach injured and a baby's hand peeping out of the crack of the uterine wall.
My mind was in a turmoil. The mother's life could be saved, her stomach wound was not serious. But to sew up the wall of the uterus was unthinkable, as it was impossible to put the child's hand back inside.
The family's mandate was clear, "Save the mother's life". But how would I ignore the call of that little hand which appeared to be asking for help!!!!
The operation theatre had a skeleton staff. Apart from me, there were two nurses, a compounder and a helper whose job was to sterilize tools.
He was middle aged and an alcoholic, but extremely sincere and efficient in his work for which the entire staff tolerated him.
In the OT, I observed that he was standing quietly and observing the proceedings.
After healing the stomach wound, how do I get that little hand inside was beyond my bookish knowledge. The creator had made the Uterine wall so strong that it cannot be opened easily, no option came to my mind except to perform surgery.
At this point, the helper, who was silently watching, all of a sudden came up to me and whispered in my ear, "Saheb, there is a way that the hand will automatically move back in".
I stared at him. Time was precious. I didn't know why, but my inner conscience made me ask him what he had in mind. He said, "Heat the injection needle and touch the hand, it will immediately go back".
Having no other option, I agreed to his suggestion. I prayed to God in my heart and asked for a hundred apologies from that little one.
I gathered courage, warmed the needle and pricked the little hand lightly.
The miracle happened at once!! The baby's hand immediately withdrew back inside with a jerk.
The further work was easy. I put the strap on by dressing the uterine wall.
Two months later, the woman safely delivered the baby in the same hospital and that little baby was smiling right in my hands.
I consider that helper as one of my many gurus. To my mind, I believe that when there is no cure by the books, God shows the path as a guru in any form, as the helper showed me that day. His tip will not be found in any medical book.
(From Doctor Subhash Munje's book "Behind The Mask". LiteraryVibes is grateful to him for this wonderful anecdote.)
Here is another one:
A son took his father to a restaurant to enjoy a delicious dinner. His father was quite old and therefore a little weak.
While eating, food occasionally fell on his shirt and pants. The other guests watched the old man with their faces contorted in disgust, but his son remained calm.
After they both finished eating, the son quietly helped his father and took him to the toilet, cleaned food scraps from his crumpled face, and attempted to wash food stains from his clothes; graciously combed his gray hair and finally put on his glasses.
As he left the bathroom, a deep silence reigned in the restaurant. The son was ready to foot the bill, but before leaving, a man, also old, got up and asked the old man's son: 'Don't you think you left something here ? '
The young man replied: 'No, I did not leave anything.' Then the stranger said to him: 'You left a lesson here for every son, and a hope for every father! ” The whole restaurant was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
One of the greatest honors that exists, is being able to take care of those who have taken care of us too. Our parents and all those elders who sacrificed their lives, with all their time, money and effort for us, deserve our utmost respect.
Isn't that a great lesson for life, outside the textbook?
Wish you a Happy Saraswati Puja.
Hope you will enjoy the poems and stories in this 149th edition of LiteraryVibes and share them with all your friends and contacts through the following links:
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/578 (Poems)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/577 (Short Stories and Anecdotes)
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/576 (Young Magic)
There is also a medical related anecdote by Dr. Gangadhar Sahoo, the famous gyaenocologist, at
https://positivevibes.today/article/newsview/575
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 149 editions of LiteraryVibes are available at https://positivevibes.today/literaryvibes
Wish you a happy reading of LiteraryVibes, while waiting to welcome the lovely season of spring. Take care, stay safe and we will meet again with the 150th edition of LiteraryVibes on 28th February, 2025.
With warm regards
Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Editor, LiteraryVibes
Bhubaneswar,
The 31st January, 2025
Table of Contents :: Poems
01) Prabhanjan K. Mishra
LEISURE
02) Dilip Mohapatra
ANCHORS AWEIGH
THE CHIMERA OF MAHAKUMBH
03) Bibhu Padhi
A CELEBRATION OF SORTS
04) Sushree Gayatri Nayak
MY FINAL TRIAL
THE WHITE BLINDFOLD OF THE LADY JUSTICE
05) Krishna Tulasi
EMPTINESS
06) Abani Udgata
NEW YEAR’S MORNING
07) Snehaprava Das
DIFFERENT TALES
08) Asim Ranjan Parhi
PICNIC
09) Adya Barik
AND THEN THE BELL RINGS
10) Dr. Saroj K. Padhi
LIFE SAYS
WALKING IN STARLIGHT
WAIT ! DON`T CLOSE THE CURTAIN NOW
11) Hema Ravi
PEACE OF MIND
12) Dr. Rajamouly Katta
TREASURE TROVE
13) Sudipta Mishra
DEATH
YEAR`S END
14) Pradeep Kumar Biswal
I DIE EVERYDAY
15) Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
THE INDOLENT DAMSEL WITH A MIRROR
THE INDOLENT DAMSEL WITH A MIRROR (2)
16) Madhumathi. H
WE ARE NOT THE SAME...
SMELL...
DEAR THERAPY...
17) Matralina Pati
A PRAYER FOR THE UNVOICED
CASCADES OF HOPE
18) Leena Thampi
ON CLOUD 9
19) Shri Satish Pashine
MANDOVI RIVER CRUISE, GOA
20) Sujata Dash
MEDIOCRE
21) Kunal Roy
A YEAR OF MELANCHOLY
22) Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
UNSEEN SOLDIER
23) Ms Gargi Saha
WASHING MACHINE
UNKNOWN AUTHORSHIP
THE ODD MAN OUT
24) Avantika Vijay Singh
TEMPLE OF HOPE
MAHAKUMBH
25) Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
MIRACLES HAPPEN ALL AROUND
26) Arpita Priyadarsini
TIME AND IT`S AFTERMATHS
27) Bipin Patsani
THEN AND NOW
WHAT IS COOKING?
28) Bhanu Prakash Sahoo
THE FLAME FOR YOU IS NEVER FOR A FADE OR FINISH.
TIMING AND TAMING THE TONGUE.
29) N. Rangamani
PEP-TALK BY A PEN?
THUS SPAKE THE PEN
HAT YOU`D NEVER, EVER DESERT ME!
30) Pankhuri Sinha
SEA GARDEN CASCAIS
31) Tophan Khillar
THE WINTER SOLITUDE
32) Sachit Mishra
IF I WERE THE WIND
33) Dr. Protiva Rani Karmaker
THE GIFTS OF LOVE
RIGHT COLOUR OF SORROW
34) Baldev Samantaray
URBAN MUSE HOUSE TO HOME - A JOURNEY
35) Lopamudra Mishra
I STILL BELIEVE
36) Sreedharan Parokode
THE SPARK
37) Swatilekha Roy
WEAPON
#SEARCH
38) Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
AN EMPTY TOWN
Prabhanjan K. Mishra
In youth he was torn asunder
by his job, giving tuition for some
extra earning for butter on the bread,
bringing up children, and his poetry.
Leisure was too dear a commodity.
Wife would feel elated if he had time
for a leisurely word or an hour for her.
Children felt to be on cloud nine
if he took a day off to go on a picnic
with them. But years passed -
Scenes changed. Wife would be
glued to her new lover, a smart phone,
the Alec Smart, naughty devil of a flatterer
seducing her with touched up selfies
younger, fairer, and snapped in best profile.
Years passed; scenes changed –
he stayed home; children went to work.
Their wives stole their time when they
returned home. They enjoyed holidays
and weekends together with kids, wives.
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
It’s alright when
I am secured alongside
tied to the bollards
fore and aft
with the strongest
head and stern ropes
which defy the winds
currents and the tidal streams
and keep me
from the harms way
ensuring my safety
while I rest
within the warm embrace
of the harbour.
But when I am underway
I have a mission
to carry out
a purpose to fulfil
for I am built to
brave the waves
to beat the weather
whether fair or foul
I need no time
to rest and relax
no need to drop the hook
for my motto is to
float move and fight
with my anchors
aweigh!
Dilip Mohapatra
I am not my own twin
and don’t have two sets
of DNA,
yet your lustful eyes
lick my body all over
to transform me into
one with the eyes of Aishwarya
with Rekha’s cheekbones
and the duskiness of Bipasha…
I came to sell strings of beads
in many colours
and diverse lustre
but they are overwhelmed
by flashes from cameras
and incessant clicks of mobile phones
and the facial makeup
generously applied by a beautician
and remain as they were
unsold
neglected and un-noticed…
… and in frustration
and exasperation
I pack my bags.
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
Bibhu Padhi
Inside the temple, the silence
was as strange as your speech,
under the weight of your years.
There were the sounds of the street.
You requested god to spare you
death’s kingdom.
I knew how your weak heart
received a touch of new life,
unknown to others.
The temple called you back
to participate in a ritual
of celebration we all call life.
You wept on hearing god’s
prophetic voice declare
the vast future of the words,
great landscapes, among other things.
Distant forests that held our secrets,
were brought nearer by bird-songs.
Once again, time rose from
everything that belonged to us.
Remote footsteps were heard
by our ever-eager ears,
moved into the mind, where
everything stayed.
Bibhu Padhi was born on 16 January 1951 in Cuttack, Odisha.He studied at Ravenshaw College, Cuttack for Master of Arts in English literature in 1971. He received a Doctor of Letters (D.Litt.) from Utkal University in 1991 in English literature. He has 13 volumes of poetry in English and 5 volumes of poetry in Odia. His poems have been included in numerous anthologies. He has also authored a novel, called Absences.
Sushree Gayatri Nayak
The funeral of my life
Is open for everyone—
From haters to lovers,
From rich to poor.
Let them gossip
About my deeds,
Let them judge
Whether my life
Was a success
Or a failure.
I don’t want them
To see my bungalow,
Imported furniture,
Or luxury cars I owned.
Like they went to see Emily’s.
I want them to judge me
By-
My personality,
My character,
My behavior,
My words.
My bodiless soul
Will be present there,
To listen all their talks—
Whether good or bad.
Don’t be afraid!
I won’t do any harm.
I won’t accuse anyone.
I will be happy
For the compliments,
And for the comments—
I will simply accept them.
And strive to change them
In my next life.
THE WHITE BLINDFOLD OF THE LADY JUSTICE
Sushree Gayatri Nayak
The statue of the Lady Justice
Blindfolded with a piece of cloth,
By the hands of society—
They tamed her,
Forced her to wear the cloth,
To judge all equally,
Unmoved by favor or greed.
Yet they, the very hands those bound her
Are the backstabbers,
Who never let her deliver justice,
But blinded her for eternity
Thorns wrapped in soft petals,
Grip power in their hands,
Greedy, partial and corrupt.
They free the sinner and punish the just.
All their deceptions, their dark misdeeds,
Hide behind the veil of purity.
The white cloth, once a symbol of truth,
Now stands as her greatest barrier.
The goddess too, is treated as a woman,
Oppressed and silenced,
Woman of this patriarchal world,
Just a plastic doll in men’s hand.
She loves the colour white,
Chooses justice over sin,
But her greatest mistake—
She obeys the order of men.
It is not the chain that binds the elephant
But his belief in its strength.
So too, the goddess of justice—
Once Empowered, Fearless and Unstoppable—
Is bound not by mere cloth,
But by her love and submission.
Yet, a day will come—
When Lady Justice will lift her blindfold,
Punish all the unruly hands,
That betrayed her name.
Sushree Gayatri Nayak is a budding muse and poet from Odisha, India. Currently pursuing her studies in English literature at Utkal University, she channels her passion for love, nature, and current social issues into heartfelt poetry. Her verses weave emotional depth with thought-provoking reflections, capturing both personal experiences and broader societal concerns.
Krishna Tulasi
The silence still
My mind unhinged
Misses the emptiness you caused
Free but caged
Brain enraged
Losing it felt like blue snow
The gap in our lives
Unmissed
The sweet secrets
That we hated
Infact the biggest enemy
Turned out to be the
Missing piece
Krishna Tulasi is a passionate amateur poet who loves to weave words into meaningful and touching stories, inspired by the lyrical genius of Taylor Swift and the poetic genius William Buttler Yeats. Expressing emotions through the written word brings solace, and a keen interest in experimentation drives the exploration of diverse styles to craft unique and impactful poetry. The goal is to resonate with readers on a social level, evoke emotions, and leave a lasting impression. Through thoughtful words, thoughts, feelings, and experiences are shared, connecting with like-minded individuals who appreciate the beauty of poetry.
Abani Udgata
A perfectly ordinary man
very human and gullible
to the wiles of summer,
and rain, bends down
to pick up the stubs of
yesterday’s cigarettes,
deflated balloons, ignoring
the echos of last night’s
laughter cocooned in memory.
It rained in the morning on
the creeper shivering in
the morning air on my gate
like a lonely cat on the wall.
That ordinary man caresses
the lonely creeper’s breaths
flowing through its flowers-
tiny, unpretentious wonders.
So the camera moves ahead,
millions of houses bleary, awake
to light, shade, air as before.
I undress before the onrushing tide.
Take leave momentarily off
the everyday pain, pleasure, sighs
that haunt the calendars and go out
to shake hands with the ordinary folk.
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
Snehaprava Das
The sky here
Sits besmeared in the ash of winter
Like a miracle monk,
Bare, in salvation mood
Millions of godmen take holy dips
In rivers of faith and fog to
wash off their sin,
The sky sprawled over
A golden land of promises
is caught
In a raging inferno
Godmen stare at the blaze
bewildered
In their denial mode,
Somewhere in between
On a paradise of deception
Gods sit in a trance,
Eyes closed
ears shut
To the slogans of faith
and screams for help
From lands full of wars and wisdom.
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.
Asim Ranjan Parhi
The morning was painted blue
With some white interruptions
She was vibrant, the January bud
A bud that was 'Gotie chaula re gadha'
The body is but a lyric of our alterity
Written, accessed, deepening and thirsty
'O' brightening glance'
The dancer is always known from the dance
So, don't cast a cold eye but drink into the skin
And devour the last taste of beauty through eyes
And stand in supreme surrender
To you, my visual and pilgrim pleasure.
Winter had only thought to ruffle her face
But failed and joined the ritual
The night moon had receded under pain
While the setting sun blazed and cried
Even before setting
And the disloyal waves dashed berserk
Making it clear, 'all human assertions are futile'
Except the universe driven tumultuous love
Between a blue and a white.
Glossary: Gotie chaula re gadha is flawless beauty in Odia
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.
Adya Barik
And then just like that, the bell rings.
The bell rings and it's about time to pack your bags up.
To take your life elsewhere.
Far away from the familiarity of your hometown.
Into the wild, the unknown.
They say "you haven't met all those people who are yet to love you" , but how am I ever gonna
live without the people who already love me?
But then the question arises,
Do they really love me?
Or they just know me for a very long time.
So is this love Or just habituation that I'm attracted to?
Is it the comfort of being a first hand witness of your childhood friends growing into the best
friends you have right now?
Is it the assurance of a happy life as you keep seeing the uncles by the shop smoking cigarettes
and having a cup of chai together on a daily basis as they grow some white hairs here and
there?
Or is it just you, fearing what this change can bring about into your life.
What if it breaks you down to the ground?
What if it turns out to be the most superior decision of your life and sweeps you off the ground!?
My God! Sounds dangerous, isn't it?
But you know what my friend, as they say,
“Familiarity breeds contempt”
You have to get out, you have to take that step and you have to come out of your shell.
There's no other way. It has always been like that.
It's this rollercoaster that you've signed up for.
So yeah, all the best to all of us,
The unacknowledged explorers of the world and the adventure called life!
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.
Dr. Saroj K. Padhi
Life says, "Slow down a little,
for the green leaves
hunger for a leisurely stare
into their million eyes,
feel the pathos of tears lurking in the Sky's deep dark iris.
"Come to me",
the hills call,
the jungle says,
"Into my depths gently fall."
the hopping chicks
from stubble-filled fields
send their loud call.
Miles of bare paddy fields invite the soul to spread out,
the sight of grazing
cattle lift spirit
Him to happily call out;
the smell from wild flowers,
the panoramic landscape with roving birds and animals
under heaven's bowers,
every little thing
under the Sun
invoke the great Spirit
sitting on the highest towers !
Life says
"Slow down your breath
to feel the beauty and warmth of death in all hours."
Dr. Saroj K. Padhi
It's always a pure
form of delight
when there is rain
of dim light
from heaven;
and you walk on
like a slow January
evening breeze
to the roadside garden
that gently smacks
of a Spring in offing;
and you are on your wing
as you listen to
million birds
that from deep bushes sing,
without aim you wander
your instinct to pander;
transported to cloud nine
every thing appears surreal-
the street lights too
turn into beeping stars,
the vehicles passing by,
look like comets in the sky
and the twinkling mobile towers
in over-hanging mist's
zoom lens
stretch out quite high;
llike new pole stars;
Stars pull me from afar,
to hop across the highway
and become a dim star !
WAIT ! DON`T CLOSE THE CURTAIN NOW
Dr. Saroj K. Padhi
Before I closed the night curtain,
my eyes got caught up
by the sky look
of the half-veiled Moon
that popped up
from behind the over-hanging mist
shrouding the grey eastern SRIKHETRA sky
where like beggars tattered stars
on the floor lie ;
the gypsy clouds
slowly moving up to my right
arrested my mortal sight,
sending shivers down
the sleepy spine,
till I got drunk with her eyes' wine;
I stood there
clasping the curtain
like a lost child
when she flashed
a beam of smile-
suave and mild-
and winked
signalling the curtains to drop
and to my greedy
drew an immediate stop.
Dr. Saroj K. Padhi, an Associate Professor of English in the Govt. of Odisha is at present working at J K B K Govt. College, Cuttack . Born in 1962, he has been writing poems in English and Odia since his school days. He has published several reseach papers, two books of criticism: 1. JAYANTA MAHAPATRA’S RELATIONSHIP : A CRITICAL STUDY 2. ENGLISH ESSAYISTS : A CRITICAL STUDY and got 14 anthologies of poetry in English namely PEARLS OF DEW, SHATTERED I SING , RHYMING RIPPLES, PETALS IN PRAYER, SILENT SIGHT, MOON MOMENTS , A SLICE OF SILENCE , ELUSIVE SPRING, MONSOON MEMORIES and WHERE BUDS REFUSE TO BLOOM, THE ENDLESS FLUTTER ,STARS IN THE COVID SKY, IMPULSE FROM WOODS AND SELECTERD POEMS
He has received several awards including the national ROCK PEBBLES AWARD, 2017.
Hema Ravi
Water runs deep --
to fathom you is not easy.
Secrets you keep
close to your chest- rather cheesy!
Such a friend just makes me queasy.
An open book --
I voice out whatever I think,
no tales I cook.
Achilles heel! I spy the chink,
time to get off the crater’s brink.
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
Dr. Rajamouly Katta
Treasures in store
In letter and spirit
With magnitude of wisdom,
Born in the brains of writers
To shrine in the multitude of books,
In fact, all intact
As they are inerasable in time’s flux.
All born in brains in the past
Are present in flesh and blood
In the lively present
With their lovely fragrance
To grow green in exuberance
To sweeten and to brighten
The realm of readers of all ages.
The acumen of the past
Aive and kicking,
The writers stand as teachers
As moving figures in pictures,
Enthusing and enlightening
By their lessons and sermons
As the treasure trove in the present
Looking into the future bright,
Holding the past tight in every age
As the compass for us in the direction
To sail right in our voyage,
In time’s mission and vision.
The past with the treasure trove
Is present in the present with the future
For a march towards excellence in love
To sail together in its stature.
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
Sudipta Mishra
O' death
Sometimes you annoy me
coz of various reasons:
the nightmares
so many distorted images
crackling of bones
a sheet of
darkness covers my dreams.
Your face resembles the foggy morning
I cry to get myself free from
this cycle
then I realise
"oh, gentle death",
you are here
only to release me
from the clutches
of this stranger's island.
Be it then!
Come and embrace me
like
the wings of angels
who spread them
from paradise
Now I imagine a fairy
"A divine beauty"
sitting near my deathbed
singing the hymns
an eternal harmony
covers the entire land
with her magical wand
she surprises me alone
The white stairs from the heaven
alight on the branches of ignorance
Slowly her arms get me in
For long years
I was longing for this
Deep Silence !
Sudipta Mishra
As the wing of the new year begins to spread everywhere
I start to sleep with dreams of endless desires
The wintry night is
adorned with hues of snow
With the last page of the remaining year
I calmly count the memories
saved in the chest of time
While burying the sins of yesteryear
I burn the secrets between me and 2024
I firmly stand to hold the resolutions
The falling leaves of a dying tree
signal the arrival of a new season
Like an artist in a spell
I try to rewind the moments of my loved ones
So many years passed away
With memorable sojourns
In the womb of eternity
So many stories became history
Let the curtain of the last act fall
into the deep night of this season
Let's pause before we step
into a world of new goals
In the myriad shades of last year
I am not going to count
The loss and gains of my life
Like the ebb and flow
One must accept
The rise and fall
For shining bright
in the New Year's sun
I'll no more mourn
for the things unknown
With the New Year's bells
I wish the loved ones
far and near:
A happy new year!!!
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.
Pradeep Kumar Biswal
I die everyday
With each of my sins
My failures
My defeats.
I hang myself
In the dense forest
I drown myself
In the deep waters.
Like a Sphinx
I rise again
From the ashes
I resurrect
From the cross
Fully awake
To find the world
Redeemed itself.
Life looks
Like a metaphor
Partly understood
Rest a riddle
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
THE INDOLENT DAMSEL WITH A MIRROR
Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
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?
THE INDOLENT DAMSEL WITH A MIRROR (2)
Dr Nanda Kishore Biswal
In the temple wall’s open art gallery
where everything is in array and artfully designed
your welcome presence there spruces up
the whole space, bringing in
a touch of divine grace and elegance.
The lovely bride of half-silence,
a sculptor’s nuanced creation
finished like a poem with workmanship and finesse,
artfully carved body, waist—nicely curved
like the bend of a river bank, a connoisseur’s conundrum,
lovers’ favourite distraction,
you are everyway an artist’s marvel.
Artless are your eyes and smile, guileless.
Your frabjous smile is ineffable
that transcends words,
though with subtle shades of meaning,
as you try to hide the anguish of a setting sun
leaving many pink-eyed and lachrymose.
Your smile is poetry without words
that resonates with many, bringing them hope and sustenance.
Many come under you empty, but get the therapy
for their heart; their wounds soothed
by the quiet balm of your smile
that no words can do.
Oh, damsel! have you decked the halls of your heart
that shine with sparkles of compassion and forgiveness
to overlook the wrong doings of the erring truants
of any nature and proportion?
Looking into the mirror then, oh, indolent damsel!
an indulgent brooding over
your lost plenitude, very few can gauge? or staying engaged
in the difficult pursuit of appraising your self?
Poised to the corner of a temple, isolation is not scary,
but crowd is: that makes you lonelier.
So, when the night becomes more alive
and more richly coloured than the day,
as the hustle bustle of city life comes to a halt,
in the thick of darkness, do you choose to live
an opulent life in art and dance,
as your silver anklets begin to work
producing tinkling sounds?
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.
Madhumathi. H
Am not your kind of Instagram vibe
Am a trinket box of hand-written letters, seashells, cassettes, old tickets...
You roam in the world of ephemeral glam
I shall be a fossil of poems, inked by my raw soul...
Am not your kind of Starbucks' unpronouncable liquids
Am a simple cup of filter coffee that tastes like, COFFEE
You find plush hotels, your hang-out
I shall find joy at the sea, and a cup of roadside tea
You buy bouquets
I date the garden flowers...
You make contacts
I make connections...
We are not the same.
We can never be the same.
Madhumathi. H
Smell, is moment's magic
Mother's love in the flower string
Fragrance hugs my soul
Shrinking the distance...
Smell, is memories' home
Petrichor, coffee, or camphor
Smell, is a forehead kiss
A teardrop, a smile
In heart's locket.
Madhumathi. H
You are my tinted glass
Vintage diary
Rainy day's train journey
You are my cardamom tea, handwritten letter, my childhood terrace...
If "therapy" is a person
I would name you
If pain, is a person
Won't you choose me?!...
A bilingual poet-writer(Tamil, English), Madhumathi. H is an ardent lover of Nature, Poetry,
Photography, Music.
Her poems are published in Anthologies of The Poetry Society(India), CPC- Chennai Poetry
Circle's EFFLORESCENCE, IPC's(India Poetry Circle) Madras Hues Myriad Views, Confluence, Spring Showers,
Amaravati Poetic Prism, and in e-zines UGC approved Muse India, Storizen, OPA – Our
Poetry Archives, IWJ - International Writers Journal, Positive Vibes, Science Shore.
e-Anthologies Monsoon moods - Muse India, Green Awakenings - On Environment, by
Kavya-Adisakrit.
Madhumathi's poems are part of YPF's(Yercaud Poetry Festival) Ignite Poetry, Breathe Poetry, Dream Poetry, Winterful Whispers, Auburn Ambrosia,
Of Soul Scribers' Soul shores that have 10 of her poems
published, Soul Serenade, Soul songs, Soul Dance, Shades of Love-AIFEST - Special Jury Mention, and
secured 'A Grade’ in the International Poetry Writing Competition(published Anthology)
conducted by All India Forum for English Students, Scholars, and Trainers (AIFEST) in March-
April 2023 in connection with International Women’s Day celebrations, Arising from the
dust, Painting Dreams, Shards of unsung Poesies, are some of the Anthologies her poems,
and write ups are part of.
Besides Poetry, Madhumathi writes on Mental health, takes part in related activities to create awareness, break the stigma, believing in the therapeutic, transformational power of words.
Matralina Pati
Let this pen carve a bridge
For those who dwell in shadowed silence,
Bearing the weight of cries
That never found their shape.
Each word, a muted hymn;
Each verse, a balm laid softly
Over wounds that the world refuses to see.
In the stillness of unspoken thought,
I gather the fragments of their struggles,
Weaving a tapestry of quiet light,
A fragile offering
To the forgotten corners of solitude.
A whisper lingers:
We are never truly apart—
Only scattered among the same sorrow.
Matralina Pati
From the hollow depths of despair,
A cascade stirs and spills—
Each syllable, a shard of light
Scattered over the barren soil
Of a mind unraveled.
Through the communion of language,
I find a quiet sanctuary,
Where resilience roots itself,
Anguish gives way to grace,
And grief blossoms into fragile bloom.
From the ruins of broken ground,
A garden rises,
Each verse a testament
That even despair can harbour
The seeds of becoming.
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).
Leena Thampi
Melodies from thy flute ethereal and divine,
Create the wispy jasmine clouds of the celestial sphere,
Which float o'er the shrine
With a million wishes ,
To shower upon us as virtuous blessings.
yearning hornbills await here
to drench in and quench their thirst.
Relinquish sins, which provoke God
Lest the sky may thunder and roar
So let's feel the cloudy pitcher fall, visualising the VIBGYOR!
Born in Jammu and brought up in Delhi ,Leena Thampi is an articulate writer who's lost in her own little epiphanies and she gives them life with her quill. She's an author extraordinaire with four books to her credit -"Rhythms of a Heart", "Autumn Blaze" , An Allusion To Time' and Embers to Flames.
She has many articles published in India and abroad. She has received many elite accolades from different literary platforms worldwide.She has been awarded by Gujarat Sahitya Academy and Motivational Strips twice for her best contribution towards literature in the year 2021 and 2022.She was also the recipient of Rabindranath Tagore Memorial literary honours 2022 by Motivational Strips.
Her work mixes luminous writing, magical realism, myths, and the hard truths of everyday life.
Besides her flair for writing and deep-rooted love for music, she is an Entrepreneur,Relationship and life coach,specialised in child psychology.She is also a dancer and actor. She is currently working on her fifth book which is a collection of short stories.
Shri Satish Pashine
In 1984 (or was it 85),
we arrived in Goa for the first time.
The Mandovi embraced us,
its waters gliding soft and sure
beneath a simple boat—
back then,
we didn’t call it a “cruise.”
A birthday unfolded on deck.
Laughter and song
floated on the evening breeze,
“Happy Birthday” echoing
like a hymn of joy.
We sat on wooden benches,
watching strangers become companions.
I nursed a beer,
the children sipped their cold drinks,
their giggles a melody
that blended with the river’s murmurs.
It was a perfect evening,
innocent, untouched,
almost sacred.
Years drifted by,
as rivers give way to oceans.
We sailed grand ships,
marveled at cities glinting on distant horizons—
England’s stately harbors,
Australia’s golden shores,
America’s endless coastlines,
Iceland’s ethereal glow.
We let ourselves be dazzled
by the sheen of modern wonders,
our eyes trained to expect more.
And now, here we are,
back in Goa, in 2025,
on a dinner cruise.
But where is the magic?
The air is heavy with awkwardness—
forced dances,
hurried arrangements,
food stripped of flavor,
and a throng that drowns out the stars.
This cannot be the Goa of 1984,
or has the fault crept into us?
Have we grown too old,
too jaded,
to see the wonder
we once carried so lightly?
The Mandovi flows as it always has,
but the current feels different now.
We are still aboard,
but the joy we remember
is a distant shore.
The car waits at the jetty,
and the thought sneaks in—
what if we jumped,
letting the cool embrace of the river
carry us back
to where the magic still lives?
Shri Satish Pashine is a Metallurgical Engineer. Founder and Principal Consultant, Q-Tech Consultancy, he lives in Bhubaneswar and loves to dabble in literature.
Sujata Dash
Being perched at a quiet corner
Of the universe
Embossing my presence
On the stillness of Time's course
When I say " I am just average"
Do I sound like a hypocrite
Or behave too modest?
To most of my acquaintances..
I proclaim to be ordinary
As I embrace the middle order
Find no pleasure whatsoever
In Glorifications of extremes
Keep a safe distance from
Chasing paeans and eulogy
Many adduce me to be insane
When I value the flip side of things...
Find joy in meagerness
And slender chunks of life
But, I feel this is authentic living
Without needing constant adulation
Praise, fawn or limelight
Astounding success
Has never smooched me
Nor have I been pinched by
Repeated founderings
I am okay with feeling fulfilled
Wielding mediocre subtleties
Cherishing each nugget of daily grind.
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.
Kunal Roy
The murmur of the dusk settled down,
The buzz of cricket was heard,
The music of birds fell into silence,
I returned
with a cup of happiness,
a soul of delight!
Lady luck smirked -
A shout from the room,
I feared the worst,
I rushed,
Turned him upside down,
He was my father
forgot to breath.
The heart burnt,
The tears scalded the skin
And one year of sorrow
scripted on the forehead!
Days fleeted,
not the grief
that throve with prowess,
Slowly but imperceptibly
a decade waved bye,
a new shock
created ripples in the placidity!
The same one year of mourning
converged!
She was my mother,
closest than anything else!
Time whizzed past,
Aloneness -
A Dark Solitude,
Yet feel their presence,
Spirit:
Stronger than visible entity!
Wish them to come back,
redefine my existence!
How poor,
How silly I am!
Who would listen to the beats of my heart!!
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.
Mrs. Setaluri Padmavathi
On a sudden call at midnight
He rushed to the grand hotel
Dancing fire from a corner
Dreadful screaming voices on one side
Constant rifles' noise on the other
Veiled faces of terrorists hid
The dark clouds moved fast
Infants, mothers and the old
Abled and disabled got struck
The uniform inspired him
The badge motivated him
He held his pistol with bravery
Holding the collars of culprits,
He caught them at once
He shot them one by one
Focused mind mentored him
Concerned heart consoled him
Shedding his painful tears,
He saved citizens one by one
The burnt building gave him bravery
Terrorizing team was under the threat
Fear feared the fearing folks
Bravery boosted brave brains!
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
Ms Gargi Saha
The clothes are churning in the machine
Round and round they go
With water and soap they rinse
Infinitesimal, gargantuan, dirty, clean all together
They chant the same swishing song
As if they are in a chorus
Together submerged in a pool of pandemonium
All gone to wash their soil
Round and round they turn
To turn snow white
Rinse----Spin----Stop----
No differentiation remains
All are alike
Sailing in the same boat
To see a new horizon soon....
Ms Gargi Saha
These scribbled pages
Published and an infinitesimal copyright
Who would read them?
Will it convey the intended connotation?
Does it authentically have a value?
The latent mist of celebrity
The aroma of pride, prestige, dignity
The unknown authorship.
Ms Gargi Saha
Many roads go straight
But one goes wavy, zigzag
That makes all the difference
Which one would you opt for?
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
Avantika Vijay Singh
Nature, the theatre real
where happens magic surreal
Nature, the temple of hope
where dawns strength to row life’s boat.
Nature, the cure
that heals souls for sure.
The chirping of the crickets
matched the twinkling of stars in the thickets.
The calming call of the Hoopoe bird
hoo-poo-hoo-poo-poo I heard
under the canopy of stars
that soothed my heart with its gentle powers.
And then gently blushed the horizon
as though shyly waking heaven
lifting the violet veil
for the sun to sail.
And the light shined forth
illuminating the world with its birth.
The branches bursting with blooms
to my lips bring happy tunes.
The fragrance of the flowers...
The chatter of the mind overpowers.
No anxiety, no depression, no stress
Do I in their presence possess.
Seeing a boy with earphones I wondered
Could the music that in his head thundered
Ever match the Hoopoe’s calming call
Oh! When will those earphones fall?
When will he know the transcendence,
for which nature offers cues in abundance?
Avantika Vijay Singh
Swimming in the maun,
Maun, the absence of sound
Sound, which is energy
Energy, that defines the cosmos…
He transcends the energy of creation.
A cavernous stillness within
Searches the divine in the universe
The silence joining
That within, with the absolute.
In the sea of silence
Where the mighty rivers meet in confluence
rings out loud
“Har, har, Mahadev…”
The name of the Lord,
in the dense fog
on a cold, winter morning…
as thousands take a dip in the Sangam,
to cleanse the soul
and absolve it of sins whole
The conjunction of the planets
Makes the waters act as magnets
For millions to take a dip in the waters of dharma
To purify their karma.
Seeking for themselves moksha, or salvation
As well as their ancestors’ liberation
From the cycle of birth and death,
Or so goes the myth,
Standing at the intersection
Of faith, cosmic energy, and devotion.
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.
Dr. Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
Miracles happen all around, every day.
Keep your eyes and mind open and sway.
In the sheets of rain
Or while in a street or lane.
In the smile of a child
Or while walking in the wild.
Miracles happen all around, every day.
Keep your eyes and mind open and sway.
In the snuggle of your pet
Or meeting someone you haven’t for a while met.
In the rustling of leaves.
Or when you brightness and sunshine receive.
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).
Arpita Priyadarsini
Time has passed
And along with has also passed
My will to live and trust
I find a very weird connection
Between me and this time
That has no relatives whatsoever
I ask time
Why it has been a constant
When all I wanted was for it
To pass away as quickly as it can
But it lingered around
And scratched the scars
Over and over again
Just to make sure
That I sink into the depths of misery
Time is a sorcery
Painted in blue and grey
Constantly looking for it's witch
Who's named after memories
And It's mistress
Who's named after solace
Along with the myth
That's named after mysteries
I look around and find none
But myself
Looking into the exact cracks
Lying wide open
Since ages
And now that
Wings have started growing from them
I feel a weird sense of attachment
With those cracks
Being wide open and oozing out misery
How do you define love
If not by the remnants of it
And how do you define time
If not by the sorceries of it
I no longer look for life
I look for time
That has been constantly destroyed
By the exact shareholders
That it has provided it's equity to
And I laugh
I laugh at the helplessness of time
And the aftermaths of it
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.
Bipin Patsani
So beautiful the world was
and life in general
so easy, warm and amicable
for the ordinary folks
who knew no pretensions!
What made it torn apart,
what wind, what game
of give and take
swept all our dreams to dust,
our pillars of peaceful coexistence
succumbing to rust?
That this business
of seeking support
would turn our home
to a battlefield
and the winning craze
would metamorphose our life
to a public pandemonium,
we did not know.
The more money we make
in our selfish self-righteous zeal,
the more we break ourselves
as we break our homes
leaving fraternity at stake.
Everywhere we see
the mad race for space.
The unfortunate plight
of push and pull
we see everywhere
as people swap self esteem,
swap support and thorough fare
for free feed, feasts and favour.
Bipin Patsani
The flavour evaporates,
the taste is lost
and nutrients disappear
when non-issue spices
with some unhealthy
unwanted ingredients
are added maliciously
to capricious cooking.
And that is what comes
to the voiceless plates
of the blind hapless lot
who have no choice.
A country burps.
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.
THE FLAME FOR YOU IS NEVER FOR A FADE OR FINISH.
Bhanu Prakash Sahoo
I went out of favour as you framed your future.
That frightening feel as I gaze at my face in the mirror.
Flawed and unfashionable as you found me watching from the fence,
My non fallacious eyes remain still so very fond of you,
be it that rare and faint glance.
Your imagery floods all flanks of my faith and fortune fomenting my consciousness,nothing short of the blaze of any blast furnace.
Bhanu Prakash Sahoo
Tongue translates the tribe to which I get traced.
Triggering the impression I get tagged with, across the terrestrial spread.
Tongue is the token of my tact and talent to terminate tensions sans tirade,
traversing across traps to topple my tranquility,
that very swift and tailor-made.
To talk at moments when I would have kept mum,
measures up to as much a breach of modesty as that of my masked morality getting manipulated under some morbid dread.
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.
N. Rangamani
It's been long since I played with my (paper-) mate...
Oh, I feel I'm in jitters...
Yearning for your fingers ...
Help me soon with your thoughts for a date?!
N. Rangamani
Will you give me in writing, clear and legible,
With any ink that is indelible?
....and let's reach an accord,
that be kept as record...
THAT YOU`D NEVER, EVER DESERT ME!
N. Rangamani
Don't drive me mad, and crazy...
Ain't I one of the main tools or sources of your basic literacy?!
I'm mightier than a sword, your forefathers knew,
And you're now obsessed with all hi-tech gadgets new?
You need me for all the cheques and sundry instruments,
You bank on me for those legal documents,
Related to dear properties that matter still...
Yet, ignore me all other times, at your will!?
Once you're proud to adorn me in your shirt pocket, premium.....
Will you keep me shut in a glass case and leave me in a museum!!?
N. Rangamani, a resident of Chennai, graduated from IIT Madras; superannuated after more than thirty-five years of service in (Aircraft Maintenance) Aviation. He has revived his writing passion post retirement. He likes to write and puts it to action, sometimes. He writes in Tamil and English. Contact: rangkrish@gmail.com
Pankhuri Sinha
The sight of a handsome
Most handsome dog
Unkept, Saliva dropping
looking faithfully for his
Past owner not another master
looking as in sniffing every nook and
Corner! With belief in hope
And a look of faith
Running up and down
The stretch of the beach
breaks my heart!
Breaks my heart
Even in the beauty of the
Portuguese Riviera!
But one has to always let go!
And allow momentarily
At least, to be drenched
Be swept by the waves bigger than oneself
Crashing around one 's tiny
Existence ! The dog continues and heavens
Be blessed , is greeted by
Other happy still owned dogs
for a moment his mouth is shut,
he wags his
Tail, once twice more!
A kiss almost happens!
Darkness standing on the
Horizon, after a glowing sunset, just got bearable!
But the evening pink will
Be gone, so will be this pet dog,
All others, vendors
Shopkeepers, and there
Will be the night, and dark
Sea crashing on the stones !
Ah! Such parting
Pain in such beauty divine!
I freeze on the ground
Can I do something?
Can anything be done?
How old is the strap on
Its neck !?????
The dog runs on looking!
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.
Tophan Khillar
In a half-wounded room,
A lonely bed rests, cradling its dreams,
Opened books lie still, whispering their tales.
No one comes, no one goes-
Silence lingers, heavy,
Like an unwelcome guest.
Far away, intimate hearts beat,
Connected by threads of memory,
Yet distanced by time and space.
Still, it's fine-
For the wind, too, visits briefly,
Kissing the walls before slipping away.
Uninvited, the hum of mosquitoes
And the dance of flies
Mark their fleeting stay.
On the wall, portraits of dreams
Hang delicately,
Silent witnesses to the room's solitude.
And somewhere nearby,
In the chill of winter,
Someone brews tea.
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.
Sachit Mishra
If I were the wind
Would you still remember me?
I've searched for long
My place and found,
It is none, it was none
And now I am tired;
I could be a grain,
Left behind on time's shores,
Would it matter?
Would it matter?
If I were the wind,
Flowing and fleeting,
If I cannot churn
A moment's worth in your eyes?
But
If I were to drift away
Into the faint beckoning
Of a distant thunder,
Would you still remember me?
Or would it all be a dream?
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.
Dr. Protiva Rani Karmaker
Have I ever told you to take me
To the Great Wall of China
And to enjoy the majestic beauty of it?
Have I ever dreamt to visit
The grand Taj Mahal of Agra
And walk through the lanes with loving eyes together?
Did I ever ask you to buy costly diamonds or jewellery
To adore my love for you
And to prove your worth to me?
If ever I dreamt of anything from you,
It is your respect and true love.
As hours will fly, flowers will dry,
Only true love will never die.
So dear, let us rebuild our tie
With the divine beauty of mutual faith,
What can only be achieved and never can we buy.
Dr. Protiva Rani Karmaker
Have you ever seen the right colour of sorrow?
Is it red, black or blue or other?
To me, the red mountain stands as a healing natural wonder,
The red rose as the symbol of love and romance for the dearer,
The red shares as the essence of an auspicious harbinger.
But my heart aches with pain and misery to see the red blood of nearer,
To acknowledge defeat by fate by an honest life soldier,
Or to view suddenly the morning red sky by a young sailor.
Is the colour of sorrow black or blue?
To me, black adds a touch of elegance to outfits,
Peace in sleep, beauty in hair and eyelids,
Striking and lovely canvas to the artist.
Though horrific is the dark side of human nature
What harms the societal norm and grandeur.
Then is the colour of sorrow blue?
To me, the blue sky is the epitome of joy and beauty,
The blue attire reflects attraction and looks witty.
But the blue pain of separation from the nearest one
Speaks of utter depression and fragility.
Then what is the right colour of sorrow
Is it the pale face of a child suffering in war?
Or the jaundiced colour of people suffering from hunger,
Or the deep cold and calm face of a dead mother to the child?
Is there any colour of sorrow that seems to you right?
Dr. Protiva Rani Karmaker is an accomplished writer and columnist for national dailies, renowned for her contributions to education, youth development, and literature. As a professor and first director at the Institute of Modern Languages, Jagannath University, her expertise spans literature, education and research. She has authored twelve books by Bangladeshi renewed publishers, 01 book by Indian publisher, 22 journal articles and 200 columns. In recognition of her exceptional work, she received the International ERUDITE SCHOLAR 2022 award from the Council for Teacher Education Foundation (CTEF), India, and the International Award of Academic Excellence and Leadership 2024 by the Council for Educational Administration and Management (CEAM) India.
URBAN MUSE HOUSE TO HOME - A JOURNEY
Baldev Samantaray
Walls criss cross each other
with perpendicular delight,
With smugness of perfection
and clinical symmetry
They hold each other
in their arms
as if nothing has happened,
It’s only to carry the roof
and to contain the absurdity of space
The chiselled garden outside
look up to coffee table book
with anxious eyes
longing for appreciation
It’s only the flutter
and chirping of errant birds,
when they home in
searching to feed upon
shade and clutter
the leftover filth,
that surprise and awaken
They come at their will
unheralded and uncharted
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.
Lopamudra Mishra
I still believe
I believe in having a space of my own
My own land of fairies
Where I can fly and dance together
I am full of wanderlust
And I believe in my power to fly high
To pierce the clouds and travel higher
Near the moon and touching the stars
I need two wings for this
To catch the blue clouds in my hand
To present them to you
So that you can see the beauty beneath them
I need the sun on my skin
I want to feel the glistening warmth
Then only my skin can differentiate the warmth vrs cold
I still believe in fantasy
Myself as Alice ,Rapunzel, Cinderella
Little red riding hood and living among the gorillas
My fancy keeps me happy and keeps me moving.
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.
Sreedharan Parokode
It illuminates the igniting
thoughts and lives with one
even does not know.
The person knowing not about the capacity of creation of myriad
forms moves round in search of the potentiality.
Rapid action turned slow
and steady to become fruitful.
The force is not brought but seen everywhere and
the only way to catch it is,
made possible only with a quenching heart.
It gives opportunity to all
accepting its term and time.
Procrastination may help
for a loss only.
Odds and awesomeness
may prevail but to move with an unchanging will is inevitable..
The spark surrounds and embraces the capable..
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.
Swatilekha Roy
Who to share my sorrow with?
Should I confide in the poet's verse, or the storyteller's tale?
Or perhaps the tears of a fellow sufferer, or the malicious gossip of a cynic?
Why would I squander my sorrow in indulgence?
In times of anguish, sorrow becomes a weapon.
Swatilekha Roy
We search, but can't find
Losing ourselves, hiding behind
Each other's desires, unaware
Our hearts numb, hearing only
The story of dew on green grass
Deciding who's searching, life slips away...
Time is fleeting, its rush overwhelming
Swatilekha Roy , She is a bilingual poet,Lecturer ,F.A degree College ,Cachar Assam.She is creative and passionate nature photographer too
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi
Tonight the rains will not bring tears
To wash your tormented soul,
The stars will not shine on the mourning lake,
turned black by impregnable sorrow,
The moon will sit on the mountain peak like a grieving widow
Darkness will descend on the empty town,
gone for a funeral procession,
Shadows will chase moving streetlights
Drawn by mysterious forces,
Trees will sway to the sad music
Played by unknown artists.
Tomorrow morning the town will wake
To a vacant mood gone sour by a soulful music,
No one will rub the sleep off their eyes
The sun will roam in the sky
Like a truant office-goer
Running away from the maze of devious files,
Buses will ply without knowing their destination
Shops will open without their goods,
Roads will wait for the crowd like grave, unsmiling mannequins,
Noone will know where they are
Which land they are heading to.
Amidst all this, vacant souls will roam around
Fleeting from one bus stop to another,
Unsure of which bus to board
Looking for some place where their journey will end,
Who will guide them,
The priests, the saints, the preachers?
All have gone into silence
Like mountains gathered for a celestial conference.
The soul seeks answers,
In an empty town gone on
a never-ending trip of mourning.
Dr. Mrutyunjay Sarangi is a retired civil servant and a former Judge in a Tribunal. Currently his time is divided between writing poems, short stories and editing the eMagazine LiteraryVibes . Four collections of his short stories in English have been published under the title The Jasmine Girl at Haji Ali, A Train to Kolkata, Anjie, Pat and India's Poor, The Fourth Monkey. He has also to his credit nine books of short stories in Odiya. He has won a couple of awards, notably the Fakir Mohan Senapati Award for Short Stories from the Utkal Sahitya Samaj. He lives in Bhubaneswar.
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