ISSUE -II MAY 2008
ALL SELECTED POETS AND POEMS
" Poetry is concerned with using with abusing, with losing with wanting, with denying with avoiding with adoring with replacing the noun. It is doing that always doing that, doing that and doing nothing but that. Poetry is doing nothing but using losing refusing and pleasing and betraying and caressing nouns. That is what poetry does, that is what poetry has to do no matter what kind of poetry it is. And there are a great many kinds of poetry."~
~~~~~~Gertrude Stein (1874-1946)
Print Version Of ISSUE-II
<-Click on the image to buy the print version of ISSUE-II May 2008
Publisher: The Enchanting Verses Group
Copyright: © 2008The Enchanting Verses
Paperback book $18.00
Printed: 84 pages, 7.44" x 9.68", perfect binding, full-colour interior ink
FROM THE DIRECTOR'S DESK:-
Finding pearls among the cold deserts of sands under unfathomable depths of waters has never been an easy job for divers.Yes, one may argue to pick all the sands along with the pearl oysters standing on the fact that the ocean sands too contain many other discovered or undiscovered minerals and wealths.But it is an undisputed truth that Pearls are unique to their look or quality that add up to their value in human minds.The poetries from different Poets from several corners of this Globe are like unmeasurable treasures in the sea of Literature, each one of which is a jewel in its own perspective.But our Editors were given the job of Refiners to separate the pearls from the other gems and they have performed their duty with eyes concentrated as per the choosing criteria as decided.We have sought for the pearls for this issue.For the next we may hunt for corals.Both are of utter value to us and its just a matter of time and mind set that determine which one to chose for which issue.
I extend my heartiest thanks to our Editorial Department consisting of Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya and Dinabandhu Nayak as Chief Editors, Mr. Partha Paul as Special Editor and the esteemed Editors of World Poetry for performing their job of selecting 30 poems from a massive mass of 2150 poem submissions with sincerity and diligence.
I thank our Chief State Representatives Dr. K.V. Venkataramana and Dr. Subhendu Kar for their cooperation and Dr. Jonathan Steve for handling the software details.
I also thank our Arts Adviser Andrzej Filipowicz who has provided us with his still life costly paintings for this issue.His paintings can been seen featured beside each poem.I also thank our Chief arts Adviser Dr. John Morray for designing the layouts.
In fine I would like to thank all the Poets who have contributed their write ups for this issue and congratulate the International award winners.Hoping to provide you with an aesthetic, informative, educative and peaceful reading.
EDITORIAL FOR ISSUE-II MAY 2008
Hiessenberg's theory of indeterminacy tells us that if we want to ascertain the speed of an electron we fail to locate the electron itself.On the contrary if we seek to locate an electron we cannot gauge its speed.Hence the Editors are in a fix.They know that total knowledge is impossible.And no doubt the observer conditions the object to be observed cannot but do it.True that every poem is a manifesto of how a poem could be written still we have functionally underlined those poems in the large that are written on the art of Poetry Explicit.But other poems also made their way into this anthology by dint of their sheer power and force.If we take into account the total population of 2150 poems that have reached us we can proudly say that tradition and modernity go hand in hand in the poetry of today.Skhakespeare, Wordsworth, Shelly, Auden, The Upanishads and The Bible wink through the gaze of the modern poets.And yet, modern poetry is so fresh and so direct in their appeal that they seem to enlighten the readers as to a reality which is beyond our ken.
Mr. Laurence Overmire has been awarded with the prestigious Enchanting Poet Award Certification for his contribution in poetry writing in the arena of English Literature.His poem "A Fall Before Evening" is featured below in this Issue.
Mr. C.P. Sharma has been chosen for the Editor's Choice Award-I Award Certification.Sharma's poem "Amazement" is an aesthetic poem which wonderfully depicts the creation of life.The poet has compared God with Earthly objects to give a fresh touch to his poem.The poem indicates one's amazement when he takes a look into his own creation that is how he himself has been brought to life.The poem provides an excellent poetic comparison.
Mr. Rajaram Ramachandran has been chosen for The Editor's Choice-II Award Certification.Ramachandran's poetry "A bud crushed under the foot" reveals a social concern that has been like a black spot upon the word "Love".The poem has been written in simple language and a story has been used to depict the theme.The poem also highlights out the devastating "Gun Culture" that has abounded in every corner of the modern world which has resulted in bruising and peddling of human sentiments.
Mrs Kathleen Walker has been chosen for The Editor's Choice-III Award Certification.Walker's poem “To Be Free” describes about how she writes her write ups or poetries specifically.She had played on words and poetic elements with sheer expertise to present and portray the theme of the poem.
Other poets who have been selected for this issue are Pradeep Mohanty, Pramod Khilery, Terry halvorson , Eric Adams, Abha Sharma, Durlabh Singh, Konye Obaji Ori, Rita Pal, Anna V. Epelbaum, Mula Veereswara Rao, A.A.Shamsolebad,Rani Turton, Reem Elwy Yaseen Hammad, Tuna Biswal, Paul Butters,Aashish Ameya, Namie Elisha, John Celes, Vijay Kumar Gupta,Annie George, Malini Kadir,David Taylor,Amitava Chaudhury,T.A. Ramesh,M.Swaroopa Rani,SengKai Ong.
The Enchanting Verses International
When I Die
When I die my skin and bones will mingle with the earth
Ambiguity in Poetry
Ambiguity in Poetry
We Welcome Andrzej Filipowicz as our new artist and arts adviser
<--ART BY ANDRZEJ FILIPOWICZ
Polish still life painter Andrzej Filipowicz (born 1974) is one of the most vibrant artists living and working in Europe today, better known by the stage name Phil.
In the year 2000 he was awarded the hon'ble "Art Prize" from Sachssche Kulturstftung Dresden in a view of art-probation to Kunstlerhaus Schloss, Wiepersdorf, Germany.Since 1995 began actively take part in the international pleners and exhibitions. He took part as a young artist in plener Lack in Poland, where masters of Polish modern art Jan Wolek, F.Starowieyski, E.Dwornik, Andrzej Kacperek and others by support Semper Polonia Foudation were also presented . His important exhibitions were presented in Jan Paderevsky museum in Warsawa; individual exhibitions also were presented in Dom Polonii, Warsawa and Krakow and other cultural centers. In his picturesque works traces pertaining to modern impressionist painting. He has actively taken part in work of the biggest Polish Diaspora on the East.
In the past years his works were shown in corporative collections: Zemper Polonia, PKN Orlen, Sachssche Kulturstftung Dresden and in the private collections of many countries of Europe, in America and Australia.
His paintings though still but seem to breathe fresh which enhances when we take a deeper view into his arts.His paintings surely uncovers new dimensions in the aesthetical and materialistic arena of arts.He has joined as the arts adviser and artist of The Enchanting Verses International and has provided us with thirty of his marvelous paintings to be displayed beside each selected poetry so as to enhance the depths of thoughts by mixing ambiguous arts with ambiguity in poetry.
His paintings can be viewed featured beside each poetry with its respective name displayed above.
We dedicate Issue-II of The Enchanting Verses International to Rabindranath Tagore
A Moments Indulgence I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
Greatest writer in modern Indian literature, Bengali poet, novelist, educator, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913. Tagore was awarded the knighthood in 1915, but he surrendered it in 1919 as a protest against the Massacre of Amritsar, where British troops killed some 400 Indian demonstrators protesting colonial laws. Tagore's reputation in the West as a mystic has perhaps mislead his Western readers to ignore his role as a reformer and critic of colonialism.
"When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose touch of the one in the play of the many." (from Gitanjali)
Rabindranath Tagore was born in Calcutta in a wealthy and prominent Brahman family. His father was Maharishi Debendranath Tagore, a religious reformer and scholar. His mother Sarada Devi, died when he was very young - her body carried through a gate to a place where it was burned and it was the moment when he realized that she will never come back. Tagore's grandfather had established a huge financial empire for himself, and financed public projects, such as Calcutta Medical College. The Tagores were pioneers of Bengal Renaissance and tried to combine traditional Indian culture with and Western ideas. However, in My Reminiscenes Tagore mentions that it was not until the age of ten when he started to use socks and shoes. Servants beat the children regularly. All the children contributed significantly to Bengali literature and culture. Tagore, the youngest, started to compose poems at the age of eight. He received his early education first from tutors and then at a variety of schools. Among them were Bengal Academy where he studied Bengali history and culture, and University College, London, where he studied law but left after a year without completing his studies. Tagore did not like the weather. Once he gave a beggar a gold coin - it was more than the beggar had expected and he returned it. In England Tagore started to compose the poem Bhagna Hridaj (a broken heart).
In 1883 Tagore married Mrinalini Devi Raichaudhuri, with whom he had two sons and three daughters. He moved to East Bengal in 1890. His first book, a collection of poems, appeared when he was 17; it was published by Tagore's friend who wanted to surprise him. In East Bengal (now Bangladesh) he collected local legends and folklore and wrote seven volumes of poetry between 1893 and 1900, including Sonar Tari (The Golden Boat), 1894 and Khanika, 1900. This was highly productive period in Tagore's life, and earned him the rather misleading epitaph 'The Bengali Shelley.' More important was that Tagore wrote in the common language of the people and abandoned the ancient for of the Indian language. This also was something that was hard to accept among his critics and scholars.
In 1901 Tagore founded a school outside Calcutta, Visva-Bharati, which was dedicated to emerging Western and Indian philosophy and education. It became a University in 1921. He produced poems, novels, stories, a history of India, textbooks, and treatises on pedagogy. His wife died in 1902, followed in 1903 by the death of one of his daughters and in 1907 his younger son.
Tagore's reputation as a writer was established in the United States and in England after the publication of Gitanjali: Song Offerings, in which Tagore tried to find inner calm and explored the themes of divine and human love. The poems were translated into English by Tagore himself. His cosmic visions owed much to the lyric tradition of Vaishnava Hinduism and its concepts about the relationship between man and God. The poems appeared in 1912 with an introduction by William Butler Yates, who wrote "These lyrics - which are in the original, my Indians tell me, full of subtlety of rhythm, of untranslatable delicacies of colour, of metrical invention - display in their thought a world I have dreamed of all my life long." His poems were praised by Ezra Pound, and drew the attention of the Nobel Prize committee. "There is in him the stillness of nature. The poems do not seem to have been produced by storm or by ignition, but seem to show the normal habit of his mind. He is at one with nature, and finds no contradictions. And this is in sharp contrast with the Western mode, where man must be shown attempting to master nature if we are to have "great drama." (Ezra Pound in Fortnightly Review, 1 March 1913) However, Tagore also experimented with poetic forms and these works have lost much in translations into other languages. Especially Tagore's short stories influenced deeply Indian Literature, and he was the first Indian to bring an element of psychological realism to his novels. Tagore wrote his most important works in Bengali, but he translated his poems into English, forming new collections. Many of his poems are actually songs, and inseparable from their music. His written production, still not completely collected, fill 26 substantial volumes. At the age of 70 Tagore took up painting. He was also a composer, settings hundreds of poems to music. Tagore's song Sonar Bangla Our Golden Bengal became the national anthem of Bangladesh. He was an early advocate of Independence for India and his influence over Gandhi and the founders of modern India was enormous. .
THE ENCHANTING POET INTERNATIONAL AWARD
<-The Enchanting Poet Title and International Award Certification goes to Mr. Laurence Overmire for his excellent contribution in poetry writing
Painting Evening Venice
A Fall Before Evening
Can I pull a poem out of the air
Like a magician
Or must I labor like Hercules
To topple the temples of the Gods
Into golden dust
I don’t have a feeling for these slaughtered words
My mind half sleeping
Becomes its own allusion
A sacrifice too great for holy assurance
Break with me the rhyme of
Find in the silent space between
Light and shadow
The pregnant thought that gives birth
To a language all its own.
by Laurence Overmire
The Editor's Choice-I Award Certification
<-The Editor's choice-I award goes to Chandra Prakash Sharma for best poetry submission in The Enchanting Verses International.
Painting Raised Food
Amazement! (I met Kabir)
This morning when in trance,
At my body I had a glance,
Me, its composition amazed,
How deftly are the elements caged! ! !
I met a potter, the Earth,
At the wheel she had berth;
Carving the pots so fine,
No artist can ever design.
Its every piece was unique,
Built with a perfect technique.
She had designed a cage,
Nine exits she did stage.
The Fire provided it the fuel,
The Water did keep it cool,
The Sky did its limit provide,
The Air bird was there inside.
The Air fanned them all,
Them in their places install.
The world suddenly became alive,
It was at the Marine Drive .
The bird inside cluttered and danced,
Its all activities I glanced.
Finally, Life bird flew out,
From my trance I came out.
by C. P. Sharma
The Editor's Choice-II Award Certification
<-The Editor's Choice-II award certification goes to Rajaram Ramachandran for notable poetry submission in The Enchanting Verses International
Painting Love Ode
A bud crushed under the foot
The day's newspaper shook my heart.
I can only shed a tear on my part.
A heartless father shot her daughter.
It was like an animal slaughter.
Her love for a boy was the cause.
She married him as her choice,
Not with her parents' consent
That led to their utter dissent.
Her father, to teach a lesson,
He invited the boy in person,
For a talk in a public place,
Just to break their alliance.
Her mother became serious,
Her father became furious,
When the talk failed at last,
As the kids stood steadfast.
Father had in his pocket hidden,
A pistol normally forbidden,
Two or three rounds he shot,
And gave the boy a chase hot.
The boy escaped with a wound,
But the girl fell dead on the ground,
Her life sucked up by bullets three,
From the pistol that flew free.
Oh God, when this gun culture,
From this earth will disappear?
Why a father kills his daughter,
O'er such a simple love matter?
What for he bred her for years?
Had their eyes dried of tears?
Many lost lovers history has seen,
Now one more added, fresh and green.
by Rajaram Ramachandran
The Editor's Choice-III Award Certification
<-The Editor's choice-III award certification goes to Kathleen Walker for notable poem submission in The Enchanting Verses International
Painting The Introduction
“To Be Free”
To be free
the poem writes me
thoughts spill into print
no effort at all put into it
at times a burden on paper to bear
no control for creativity there
words roll onto the keyboard
effortlessly, waves of ideas soared
making their way to the screen
my fingers know what my thoughts mean
liken to birds ascending into their bliss
the words connect and teach me this
I cannot control it anymore than stop breathing
I pray my prose to others have meaning
for if only a few my gift does touch
even if only a few would please me much
by Kathleen Walker
"Featured Poems from Selected Poets"
Painting Last walk
A budding poet learning to express
Pouring the images of the conceived world;
The sensibility maturing with years
The abstract becoming concrete and the concrete abstract;
Shares with the world the inner core of mind
Some drop deep with him
The rest read and don’t mind.
What is it?
Is it Wordsworth’s overflow of Powerful Feelings?
Or Eliot’s Escapism from a Personality
Or just a passing thought eager to take birth
Groomed and nurtured with words
Rescued by Coleridge’s Secondary Imagination
Constructing, Deconstructing, comprehended
By modest and learned souls,
Thus matter converted to flux
Imparting admission to the creator and the created.
by ABHA SHARMA
Painting Night walk
A man fills the chalice
And breaths spills out to wet
The easel of the artist.
Lying unattended, uncared on floor.
A man speaks the pidgin
And words laid out themselves
In the open to get dried.
The torrent loves the courtyard.
A man tastes the sweat
And hours find themselves hung on the wall
Gathering dust of shibboleth.
Guffaws rules the ruled.
by Pramod Khilery
Painting Morning Venice
All say it is the game of Divinity
You can not act without His grace,
But I say it goes against His dignity
B'Coz His grace is only meant to impress.
By Pradeep Mohanty
Dream. A violin I
A prayer for those
From the darkest part
of my heart
to the sharpest point
in my mind
you consume me
taking control I fight the feeling
of you driving this body down
lifes road, ,
but you will not
take my soul
cancer will not let me
by Terry halvorson
Painting Roses after a rain
How now my pain grows
my heart bleeds at every beat
growing in pain every second I wait
i ask my self what should i do
revenge, death, and hate
what now do I do
but let the pain take its course
my one true love
was everything but true love
she has cast a spell on me
sending me deeper to my hell
drive me mad let all know
thy soul has left
for thy soul's pain is far worse
then hell's fire of death
this is how i feel
the pain drives me to write
to write my inner thoughts
so that my soul
dosen't consume my outer self
yet do i avenge my soul
to kill and beat thy enemies
thy enemies who hath beat me
is it just or is it wrong
this i ponder though the days
through my black hearted day
with daggers of false love
how much must one man suffer
to find his one true love
isn't that just or is it not
I am confused by love
why does it play games
why does it do what it does
why must it beat me down
is it a lesson, a game or
loves way of killing me
telling me that i have no love
no love in this world
is no one good enough
am I not good enough
must I die so sad and alone
so forgotten and lost
this is what drives men to suicide
to wish they never excited.
by Eric Adams
Painting Night city
Secret of the Sun
Raised by the bare bones of nature’s grace,
my home held hands with the feral forest,
where nature hid her gold.
I have heard palm trees whisper their stories
I have listened to the silent full moon quietly teach
lessons of those who had lived.
I know of the green secrets of the earth
Soft voices of searching roots that sprout forth, cluster
around my hut to tell.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I understand the tongue of the wild.
I have swayed to the blue songs of humming birds that fill the
tree branches with their nests.
I have had breakfast plucked ripe off the tree
and lunch caught right from the river.
I have aimed a stick in the forest and secured supper.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
where nature’s breast milk flows from palm trees
and every suckle leaves a smile on wrinkled ebony faces.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I have seen rains held up at the summons of wooden carved gods.
women foretell events of the next day, and men
hear voices of elders long dead.
I am from the bowels of Africa
I am carolled to dreamland by
crickets, frogs and fireflies
that mime nature’s song at night fall
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I am the dark secret held by the sun
by Konye Obaji Ori
Painting Dream. A violin III
I am the
Springtime of leaves
And song of brunt
Where the water arms
The earth’s ploughed
Moon’s soft crust.
Of nursling plunders
Shrouded to announce
To the world at large
Of amorphous mass
Of feelings & sensations
Into significant forms
In a universe of values
Echoes of inner stance.
I am the
Spring sap of the leaves
And song of meadows brief
Scars of earth
Peeled and ploughed
With bloods of
Moon’s dried crust.
I am the visibility of the day
I am the invisibility of the night
I am the spring sap of the leaves
And the echoes of winter’s last rites.
by Durlabh Singh
SLEEP TIGHT CANDLELIGHT
Sweet darling, when all the days
Have deserted you on earth,
And you fly with the angels of heaven
To dance with sleeping satellites,
Will we see you with firelight sunsets?
Will you play ball with our dreams?
So we may skip with your smile
And clutch your toys for the stars.
Our hearts will drown to reach you
When heaven’s angel dust has blessed you,
You leave us today sweet darling
For all the valleys of time.
On earth our eyes shall seek you
To capture your childlike laughter
That echo for all our tomorrows
Sweet baby remember we love you
Take our love and cloak yourself,
For when you face troubled waters
And all has deserted you
It shall armor you like the knights of valor
Today, tomorrow, forever
So sleep tight candlelight
Until we meet one day in starlight
by Rita Pal
Painting Sleeping angel
Transparent and tender is air,
Slightly shuttered by sounds of bells,
And one can feel like through one's hair
In brain's poured the magical spell.
If one looks at car's window steady,
While sitting behind a wheel,
Can see then Russian History Lady,
Who is walking around these hills.
In palette of late autumn sounds,
In symphony of gold and blues
In frame of the river and clouds
Appears incredible view.
Forgotten are logic and reasons.
One can't now fight any more
The notion: Invisible Kitesch (1)
Is coming right up on this shore.
There is no strength to resist the magic
Embedded in this spell's crystal
One can only feel why nostalgia
Is coupling with this name Suzdal!
by Anna V. Epelbaum
Painting The puppeteer
I am alone when
single star shines
in the sky !
becoming soul's clone
is a feeble atone !
Thought waves whirled
in the mind ocean
Past casting shadow on my
necessary to reach heart's altitude
Enjoying rapture roof
Is ecstasy 's proof
Solitude is soul's 'solo'
Without it heart is hollow
by Mula Veereswara Rao
Painting Dream. A violin VI
Artisan of Words
I am an artisan of words
Which I sculpt, chisel and fashion the way I can
I am a creator of worlds;
I pour my emotion into the poems I write.
I breathe life into them, blow them skywards
And finish them only when they sound right.
These remnants of thought without reason
Will remain on pages season after season
Long after I'm gone; when my task is done
The love, the longing, the pain
Will be evoked then by somebody else
Who in turn will remember and write again
To create another slow soft song
That people can read and draw into their hearts
Then pillowed by words, cushioned by dreams
My poems will ride high the moonbeams
by Rani Turton
Painting Evening still-life with roses
I couldn't hear your voice
I didn't have even one choice
A heart to heart talk
So wordless so true
Painting Eternity suite
God compensates me
I thank god for meeting you,
Your speech urges me to go.
I haven't a father, I dreamed to have,
But you existence make it true.
How civilly you behave,
This is remarkable in all you do.
In addition your golden advices,
Which make our faith grow.
And your huge science,
Which makes your eyes glow.
A dignified modest man,
And like you there aren't two.
And the best is your fairness,
Which is not like the snow.
by REEM ELWY YASEEN HAMMAD
Ode to Aashu
O Ashu, My pen hesitates to record down,
You remain an experience in me to crown.
Those moments of prosperity we shared;
Are cunningly implore me like a mad.
Hands betray me to limit those experiences;
Indeed, it limits to feel the reverence.
Your widowed shelter, pines those blossoming;
I visited once after your knock of returning.
You may encounter millions of events there;
I wish, Be honest to the laments of here ?
Remember that elegant statue that often infatuated me;
Gather that bold preview manifested in she.
She could tickle your hesitated desire;
But, never mingle fire with your perspire.
Never measure your silences there; who often mocks at the experience;
Always, treasure the experience that shocks our grievances.
Never betray your cunning there; who often welcomes shinning;
Always shine; even with out light in search of blossoming.
Never feel you are in Exile there, make your exile a hostile,
Always rhyme with your present; forget past events, all puerile.
Of course a taste of Joycian flavor; keep these buds healthy.
“Silence, Exile & Cunning” will make your path to the Acardy.
by Tuna Biswal
Painting After a concert
Above our Earth so high
The Hubble telescope now hangs
Beyond our vault-like sky:
An all embracing eye;
Now showing us the universe
In all her glory.
Those swirling galaxies give way to seemingly endless
Tracts of quasars, dust and gas.
Through Hubble we look back through time,
At remnants of the Big Bang:
The Birth, they tell us, of Creation,
That might be repeated,
Over and over again.
Yet, before this satellite was launched,
Or telescopes invented,
Just what did humans know?
What did the Aztecs know of England,
Or fourteenth century English folk know of America?
As technological advances have
Been swift, so our state of ignorance
Has been revealed for all to see.
For no-one knows The Purpose of Life.
Do We Live
For we will Die
Not Knowing Why.
Ask Christ they say,
He’ll show The Way.
Ask God and He will too.
Ask Allah, Buddha,
Anyone you like;
And Me, I’ll tell you just to Hope,
For Love will see us through.
by Paul Butters
Painting Sleepy city
Cursed are the poets
Cursed are the poets
Without being in war
They got wounds;
Broken hearted they are
When a lover’s heart broke some where far;
Rain continuous haunting their eyes
When truth lost to lies;
Wrapped in the sleepless nights
They dreamed of the day bright;
With a hungry soul they wish bread for all
Instead of diamond, a flower, for which they fall
Penniless pockets and rich hearts
That’s all they carry with a pen mighty then sword
Whole life longing for lots of love and little care
Because God’s lonely children they are
by Aashish Ameya
Painting After A Concert
The tugging continues
as though it would not end
Fasten the ropes
tie together your clothes
the storm is raging high
tossing the canoe far and nigh
even the cock doesn't know
that day is soon to break
at his nervous crows
steer high, steer low
pull and push the three friends go
until shore is a foot away
run as fast as you can
through the woods and paths unknown
grasping blindly through the night
hoping to catch what they seek
falling down to rise again
and yes the butterfly tries
to remind us of our place in the race
but still through the darkness we plunge
especially those of us who chase the shadows
to burst into the sea of forgetfulness
luckily dawn appears
calming their fears
their treasure slipping away as darkness fades again
blinking once, twice
setting sail again
as though giving up the chase
but then the sun will set again
and trust the chase to start...
all over again
by Namie ELISHA
Republic du Benin
Painting The little girl with a mask
I twist and turn;
I fly so high;
With grace and poise;
Balance in dance!
I wear toe- shoes;
I'm on my toes;
I fling my arms
And legs in charms.
I leap off ground!
The world's dumb-found;
Stretching my limbs,
More than they go.
I'm dressed in white;
I'm strong and light;
Frightens me not.
I drop to earth,
How feathers do,
And autumn leaves.
I keep my weight;
I love my fate;
I use the Barre;
I am a star.
I move each part;
I bend and curl,
And twirl and dart.
I spin top-like;
I sing in mike;
I'm famous now;
To me, all bow.
I love my stance,
The style of dance,
But I am not
I dance to tune,
Stop in mid-air!
I've trained for years;
I've shunned my fears;
I've learnt the craft;
'Tis now an art!
I love my exercises;
I like my enterprises;
I am a ballerina now;
I am a ballerina, Wow!
by Dr John Celes
Painting Evening conversation
A commander with out portfolio
Life goes on slowly & slowly.
Time passes away rapidly.
When I grew form a child to a father
I did not know.
I surrounded by work, Work and work.
For money, I was running very fast as much as I can.
In this travel, I lost the true love of my beloved persons.
Now I become an old man,
“A commander without portfolio”
Young generation is doing all according to their nature.
Now I surrounded by the Loneliness & became a matter of joke.
It is the story of so many in this world.
by Vijay Kumar Gupta
Painting Raised food
At times,speech seems sombre
unnecessary and superfluous.
The caterpillar in its cocoon
needs no vocabulary
nor do the silkworms
struggling to weave
the fabric of comfort
in an all consuming aestivation.
Then each word will emerge
developed and transformed
a metamorphosis of a butterfly.
by Annie George
Painting Reflexions before a meeting
Shadows of Myself
He stood there seemingly just a shadow of himself,
they were all just shadows.
They moved this way and that,
collided, with an appearance of touching; moved on.
What does one shadow say to another?
Shady things that hide clarity.
They say I am tired, I am young, I am old,
I am lacking light.
Casting shadows in every direction,
as, self luminously, light shines.
There are no shadows without light;
all darkness? Merely shadows.
And light when it meets itself?
Just shines, and knows.
by David Taylor
TAKE ME TO THE STARS
Take me to the stars
I feel safe with you
I could jump through the clouds
Holding your hands
I hope you take the cue
I will fight with you
Each and every time
But I will be complete
And strangely fulfilled
That is the way lord made me
And try as I would
I cannot change
have the grit?
To take me on
Make it to the stars together?
Every smiling moment
The lord spares for us?
To add joys
To life's clouds
Making the skies brighter
Radiant with enthusiastic hue
A light hearted exchange
For a change
Away from sordid realities
Into fast traversing meteoric stars
To land together unto different lands
Where the grasses are greener
And air is less stifling?
Away from buzzle
Just you and me?
by Malini Kadir
Painting Evening Venice
The Perennial Philosophy
When the clouds are gathering in the sky,
And with fully spread wings the peacocks are dancing,
The rain is sure to come.
When the glorious morning Sun is coming up,
And the gentle breeze is moving the leaves of the trees,
People begin their work in a pleasant manner.
While the cool river is going through the serene land,
And the sky high towering temple is shining like gold,
Radha and Krishna dance in the "Brindhawan" garden.
Where the green leaves of the trees are shading the banks of the river,
And the beautiful birds are singing sweetly over the trees,
There the miseries of the men melt away in the melody of the Divine.
As the haunting melodies of the Divine Lord keep
The cows, shepherds and the maids in spell bound serenity,
The dappled dusk draws the day to a close.
Like the crystal clear water flowing in cascades,
The moving musical notes flow from the divine flute of the Lord,
And the dames dance around the Lord in their dreams!
In endless merry go round, the group dance of the dames go on.
Like the planets revolving round the Sun,
Like the Stars twinkling around the Moon in the Universe!
To overcome the big ocean of life in a easy way,
The Lord has come to the world from the ocean of Cosmic energy
To wake up men from the illusion of life and show them the way out.
Brindhawan is the beautiful place the Lord has chosen to preach
The perennial philosophy of Non-Attachment to overcome all woes
For all the men to follow faithfully on the path of Dharma.
by T. A Ramesh
Painting Trumpet Music. All I need is a Miracle
A Candle Light
We thank you for giving us a brilliant light,
We wish to receive from you a dazzling light,
But we never bother the worth of your light,
You lose your shape by giving us the light.
As the light of a candle stands by the candle wicks,
The prosperity of country stands by great citizens,
A great thinker spreads his light of knowledge,
To vanish the darkness of miserable occurrence.
It is more essential to utilize the value of success,
As it lights a candle in the lives of many victims,
The light of a candle disappears as the air blows,
But the intellectual mind lightens as tremendous.
The lives of children blossom by their education,
Their golden future lights like a scholastic vision,
To build up their country with the great wonders,
And prove their challenges as the victorious flowers.
by M.Swaroopa Rani
Painting The girl with the doggie
Last Self to Prevail Beyond Odd
Fall, winter, spring, summer,
Sadness, sorrow, joy, anger,
Hatred, greed, desire, lust,
None of those may last.
All dreads flooded with costs,
Tons can be blamed for a cause,
If one ought to be changed,
It'll be no others but self.
The bank of words is endless,
Same as the mighty of words,
Holy as it's evil,
Sanity holds the key to prevail.
A moment of thought,
Destine your life or not,
A slip of thought,
Affect all lives beyond odd.
by SengKai Ong
Painting Dream. A violin V
The body of our waking hours is now full of mucus.
A train on the bridge at my window,
countless heads in the moving compartments-
shadows in the river hide their sorrow.
Not far away, two parallel lines converge-
nothing lives alone,
converging ultimately into one another,
our love and jealousies,
our journey from the present into the past
to the unspecified moments of peace :
Day light cries in pain in the barren field,
it doesn’t want to be separated from darkness.
Lungs cracked, roots of decay spread in blood
and into the pancreas collecting mucous,
an eroded life is secretly searching for a hold
of the tiny memories of living.
Whose reflection I see in water, whose face is that?
Let her return
without accounting for our sins and virtues
for I am not interested any more.
Our moments of living are in perpetual tiredness,
And death seeks two interwoven bodies.
by Amitabha Chaudhury
©2008The Enchanting Verses International
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