ISSN-0974-3057
The Enchanting Verses
International Presents
ISSUE -VIII December 2009
ALL SELECTED POETS AND POEMS
"Our poems will have failed if our readers are not brought by them beyond the poems."
[Muriel Rukeyser (1913-1980), U.S. poet. The Life of Poetry, ch. 5 (1949).]
"Suppertime I float toward you
from the stewpot
holding poems you shrug off
and you kiss me like a mosquito."
[Anne Sexton (1928-1974), U.S. poet. "The Wedlock."]
EDITORIAL
From where does poetry come out? Prick your skin with a pin and see if poetry comes out. One will prefer medicine or bandage than writing poetry in this case. When one feels sleepy does one prefer poetry to sleep? No. Poetry cannot be the grain of one’s mind. Poetry is present everywhere around us in the form of hills, Lakes, Rivers, roadways, so on and so forth. We have just been appointed by the Lord with pen and paper to jot them down. Not everyone gets this appointment. It doesn't pay cash to one but buys peace and satisfaction for the wandering brain which may be distressed sometimes, sometimes nostalgic or sometimes angry. It is not a way out for an escapist, but a way to prepare oneself for a philosophical way to face odds or evens. Feelings and ways of perceiving the occurrences in the world create the intake of the same matter in a different way for each single person. Poetry is a testimony to this very fact which makes the same theme, may be rain, to be presented in several ways by different poets. Sometimes the poets who could capture the thought of the greater fraction of the population come in the limelight whereas others remain in light darkness waiting for the sun. This in no way undermines the work of any poet. He remains the king in his own kingdom of presenting thoughts. Variety has been a specialty of this journal since the beginning. This issue too abounds in variation of themes and writing styles.
In this issue:
Dr. Stephen Gill has been awarded the Enchanting Poet award.M.V.S. Sathyanarayana has been awarded the Editor's Choice-I Award
Sunil Narayan has been awarded the Editor's Choice-II Award
Dr. Sunita Tanwar has been awarded the Editor's Choice-III Award
~~~o~~~
In this issue:
Dr. Stephen Gill has been awarded the Enchanting Poet award.M.V.S. Sathyanarayana has been awarded the Editor's Choice-I Award
Sunil Narayan has been awarded the Editor's Choice-II Award
Dr. Sunita Tanwar has been awarded the Editor's Choice-III Award
~~~o~~~
This ISSUE of THE ENCHANTING VERSES is dedicated to Elizabeth Barett Browning
An English poet widely read by her contemporaries, Elizabeth Barrett Browning was born the eldest of eleven children in Coxhoe Hall near Durham. The family moved to Hope End in Herefordshire in 1809 where Elizabeth spent her childhood. An avid reader, she was educated at home where her father gave her access to his classical library. Her first volume of poems was privately published when she was 14.
She suffered from ill health for most of her life. Her mother died in 1828 and her father was forced to sell Hope End in 1832 during the Abolition movement with the result that the family moved to London. Ten years later Elizabeth was more or less an invalid, but used her confinement to write Poems (1844) which was celebrated by all and which led to her introduction by letter to the poet Robert Browning. She also became a good friend of Miss Mitford at this time. On 12 September 1846 she clandestinely married Browning, and moved immediately to Italy. They settled in Florence, in Casa Guidi where in 1849 she gave birth to a son, Robert Wiedeman Barrett Browning.
Her health improved greatly during her years in Italy, allowing her to travel throughout Europe. By the time of the publication of Aurora Leigh, a poem dealing with the restrictions imposed on women by Victorian society, she was firmly established as a poet of distinction. In fact, most of her work expresses her concern for the liberal causes of her day, including the cause of Italian nationalism. The Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850) altered the conventions of the love sonnet by the use of a tone of playful humour. In the last years of her life she was influenced by the popular interest in spiritualism. The Poems Before Congress (1860), although written in her final years when her health was deteriorating, are said to contain some of her most forceful and beautiful lyrics.
She suffered from ill health for most of her life. Her mother died in 1828 and her father was forced to sell Hope End in 1832 during the Abolition movement with the result that the family moved to London. Ten years later Elizabeth was more or less an invalid, but used her confinement to write Poems (1844) which was celebrated by all and which led to her introduction by letter to the poet Robert Browning. She also became a good friend of Miss Mitford at this time. On 12 September 1846 she clandestinely married Browning, and moved immediately to Italy. They settled in Florence, in Casa Guidi where in 1849 she gave birth to a son, Robert Wiedeman Barrett Browning.
Her health improved greatly during her years in Italy, allowing her to travel throughout Europe. By the time of the publication of Aurora Leigh, a poem dealing with the restrictions imposed on women by Victorian society, she was firmly established as a poet of distinction. In fact, most of her work expresses her concern for the liberal causes of her day, including the cause of Italian nationalism. The Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850) altered the conventions of the love sonnet by the use of a tone of playful humour. In the last years of her life she was influenced by the popular interest in spiritualism. The Poems Before Congress (1860), although written in her final years when her health was deteriorating, are said to contain some of her most forceful and beautiful lyrics.
Award Winners
The Enchanting Poet Certification
This award goes to Dr. Stephen Gill for his contribution in the field of poetry.
Editor's Choice-I Certification
OUR HOUSE MAID’S DAUGHER
I looked one more time at the scar
On her pretty forehead
Our house-maid’s sweet little daughter
She is just four years old
Endured many scares and black scars
Along with mother, so bold
Facing tantrums of sot-father
She is just four years old
Today came she with news to share
With puerile fervor told
“Becomes bride my father’s sister”
She is just four years old
“He is as strong as a wild boar
Good groom; not a drunkard”
Shocked; saw those deeper inner scars
She is just four years old
By M.V.S.SATHYANARAYANA
I looked one more time at the scar
On her pretty forehead
Our house-maid’s sweet little daughter
She is just four years old
Endured many scares and black scars
Along with mother, so bold
Facing tantrums of sot-father
She is just four years old
Today came she with news to share
With puerile fervor told
“Becomes bride my father’s sister”
She is just four years old
“He is as strong as a wild boar
Good groom; not a drunkard”
Shocked; saw those deeper inner scars
She is just four years old
By M.V.S.SATHYANARAYANA
Editor's Choice -II certification
My Hushed Story
Sitting in the dark and not saying a word
I just count the seconds
No movement, time is frozen
Literally, it is frozen or pretty slow
My breaths become slow and my heart cannot be felt
I wait for the moment to pass, for it feels like the wind
You know?
Come and goes at random, you never know
If not being able to have an ego was hard
I couldn’t even speak
I gave myself up to the thing I chose not to name too long ago
No way to come home so no point in crying
Looking at those happy people with tears streaming from my eyes
All they see is a blank stare
They can’t feel the pain in my lungs, my arms anywhere that hurts all the time
It sits till the flesh hangs loose from the bones
If I cannot speak then it is beaten out of me
My body isn’t what bruises, it is my heart
Cannot access any feeling but what has been there for many years
Not pain or a deep longing to break free like a slave
The thing, a large black hole, devoid of any life
It follows me with no shame
I won’t give you my body, you try so hard to steal from my family
I gave you everything else!
It’s never enough to just feel
It’s never enough to just be
By Sunil Narayan
Sitting in the dark and not saying a word
I just count the seconds
No movement, time is frozen
Literally, it is frozen or pretty slow
My breaths become slow and my heart cannot be felt
I wait for the moment to pass, for it feels like the wind
You know?
Come and goes at random, you never know
If not being able to have an ego was hard
I couldn’t even speak
I gave myself up to the thing I chose not to name too long ago
No way to come home so no point in crying
Looking at those happy people with tears streaming from my eyes
All they see is a blank stare
They can’t feel the pain in my lungs, my arms anywhere that hurts all the time
It sits till the flesh hangs loose from the bones
If I cannot speak then it is beaten out of me
My body isn’t what bruises, it is my heart
Cannot access any feeling but what has been there for many years
Not pain or a deep longing to break free like a slave
The thing, a large black hole, devoid of any life
It follows me with no shame
I won’t give you my body, you try so hard to steal from my family
I gave you everything else!
It’s never enough to just feel
It’s never enough to just be
By Sunil Narayan
Editor's Choice-III Certification
CHORAL ON EARTH
Long long ago, once upon a time,
That’s how every story begins and so also the story of mankind.
The story of splendour ,beauty and glory of Mother Earth
The tale of divine nature and the nature of man.
The story of man’s efforts to conquer nature
Don Quixotic approach forgetting his stature.
The earth was a vast expanse of ice-
quiet, calm, celestial white.
Nothing stirred, no life, eternity in time.
Beginning of civilization as per the scheme divine.
Then the sun shone bright, giving birth to life.
Along came man with his supreme intellectual might,
The birds, the meadows, the beautiful flowers,
The earth drenched in loving dew and showers.
The bounteous beauty pure and sublime
Dazzled man, stirred his passions and desires.
Inspired by Aphrodite, increased his flock,
Started ravishing Mother Nature, more and more he sought.
The resources started depleting, the earth shivering.
The mother earth’s robe of ozone layer, tattered and shrinking.
The quest to own and conquer earth
Made foolish man forget the cycle of death after birth.
Mortal is the man, wants everything in this life,
Leaving behind a trail of destruction for the coming lives.
It’s not the environment that stands shorn of it’s splendour and honour.
It’s the man himself; on the verge of extinction.
History teaches us lessons galore,
Noah’s Ark a grim reminder of biblical folklore.
Halt, please stop, pause and ponder!
Don’t wage war against nature. Stop this plunder!
A small speck are you, intelligent, superior, arrogant man,
In this God’s divine scheme of things so grand.
You will be washed away by melting ice.
Without a trace on the sands of time.
Everything will be over, the beautiful earth in sight.
Everything will be over, brooding silence will prevail again……
The earth will be vast expanse of ice
Quiet, calm, celestial white.
Nothing will stir, no life, eternity in time.
Again the beginning of civilization, after the wrath divine!
By Sunita Tanwar
Long long ago, once upon a time,
That’s how every story begins and so also the story of mankind.
The story of splendour ,beauty and glory of Mother Earth
The tale of divine nature and the nature of man.
The story of man’s efforts to conquer nature
Don Quixotic approach forgetting his stature.
The earth was a vast expanse of ice-
quiet, calm, celestial white.
Nothing stirred, no life, eternity in time.
Beginning of civilization as per the scheme divine.
Then the sun shone bright, giving birth to life.
Along came man with his supreme intellectual might,
The birds, the meadows, the beautiful flowers,
The earth drenched in loving dew and showers.
The bounteous beauty pure and sublime
Dazzled man, stirred his passions and desires.
Inspired by Aphrodite, increased his flock,
Started ravishing Mother Nature, more and more he sought.
The resources started depleting, the earth shivering.
The mother earth’s robe of ozone layer, tattered and shrinking.
The quest to own and conquer earth
Made foolish man forget the cycle of death after birth.
Mortal is the man, wants everything in this life,
Leaving behind a trail of destruction for the coming lives.
It’s not the environment that stands shorn of it’s splendour and honour.
It’s the man himself; on the verge of extinction.
History teaches us lessons galore,
Noah’s Ark a grim reminder of biblical folklore.
Halt, please stop, pause and ponder!
Don’t wage war against nature. Stop this plunder!
A small speck are you, intelligent, superior, arrogant man,
In this God’s divine scheme of things so grand.
You will be washed away by melting ice.
Without a trace on the sands of time.
Everything will be over, the beautiful earth in sight.
Everything will be over, brooding silence will prevail again……
The earth will be vast expanse of ice
Quiet, calm, celestial white.
Nothing will stir, no life, eternity in time.
Again the beginning of civilization, after the wrath divine!
By Sunita Tanwar
Questions on Poetry
(From the Smart Guys!)
By Dennis Siluk Ed. D.
On a radio program last year I was asked several questions, and at a presentation I was asked several, a few the same. It seems to me lots of people are asking questions about poetry nowadays, and one of the questions was:
"Why do I write more poetry than anything else?"
Well that question seemed to be kind of repugnant to me, so I asked "Why not?" And he said, "It doesn't sell, and there isn't that big of an audience out there!" There I sat with my wife, and the radio commentator, and thought, and I'm sure he thought he had me stumped, I saw that smirk on his face. And then I said,
"Why do you have me on your program then, and why did you tell me, several universities are listening, and did you realize in the past several years more and more books of poetry are being sold every day, poetry has had its comeback, and it is not over."
Well as I said that was one question. Then at a presentation, I was asked another question, and it seems people are not asking questions to learn, rather to see if they can burn you - in this case me. To show how smart they are. Anyhow, the question was asked again,
"Why poetry? I mean, what is so special about it, it's not a big seller, and folks don't read it, and most people write it as it pertains to them."
Such questions, can't anyone come up with something more provoking, original, so I thought at the time: I said,
"First, if you can write poetry well, you can write anything well. It is the highest form of writing, or is supposed to be. Secondly, I repeated what I had said the first time, "Go check the bookstores; they've got large sections of poetry." There is art and skill in poetry. And third or forth, poetry is a little story the author is telling you, and yes, they have to condense it, and most often go according to a style, and it can be often times only read by someone who has experience that you have, but then so is prose in a way. It is just that prose is smoother to read. And if you use a lot of adjectives, you might be getting into poetic prose and you don't even know it."
Rhyming poetry didn't come into existence until the 10th Century, where many folks think there has to be a rime or a reason you don't use a rhyme schema in your stanzas.
Anyhow, I just wanted to share a few 'questions' I received from the smart guys. You all know them. There are a few reading this right now saying, "Whose he think he is!" (This is not a question, rather a statement). But you good folks, go buy your poetry books, read your best poets, write some, and put the smart guys where they belong, left alone in the back row where they will be asking dumb questions for the rest of their lives-to get attention and so the world will know how smart they are.
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Dennis_Siluk_Ed.D.http://EzineArticles.com/?Questions-on-Poetry-(From-the-Smart-Guys!)&id=1152791
"Why do I write more poetry than anything else?"
Well that question seemed to be kind of repugnant to me, so I asked "Why not?" And he said, "It doesn't sell, and there isn't that big of an audience out there!" There I sat with my wife, and the radio commentator, and thought, and I'm sure he thought he had me stumped, I saw that smirk on his face. And then I said,
"Why do you have me on your program then, and why did you tell me, several universities are listening, and did you realize in the past several years more and more books of poetry are being sold every day, poetry has had its comeback, and it is not over."
Well as I said that was one question. Then at a presentation, I was asked another question, and it seems people are not asking questions to learn, rather to see if they can burn you - in this case me. To show how smart they are. Anyhow, the question was asked again,
"Why poetry? I mean, what is so special about it, it's not a big seller, and folks don't read it, and most people write it as it pertains to them."
Such questions, can't anyone come up with something more provoking, original, so I thought at the time: I said,
"First, if you can write poetry well, you can write anything well. It is the highest form of writing, or is supposed to be. Secondly, I repeated what I had said the first time, "Go check the bookstores; they've got large sections of poetry." There is art and skill in poetry. And third or forth, poetry is a little story the author is telling you, and yes, they have to condense it, and most often go according to a style, and it can be often times only read by someone who has experience that you have, but then so is prose in a way. It is just that prose is smoother to read. And if you use a lot of adjectives, you might be getting into poetic prose and you don't even know it."
Rhyming poetry didn't come into existence until the 10th Century, where many folks think there has to be a rime or a reason you don't use a rhyme schema in your stanzas.
Anyhow, I just wanted to share a few 'questions' I received from the smart guys. You all know them. There are a few reading this right now saying, "Whose he think he is!" (This is not a question, rather a statement). But you good folks, go buy your poetry books, read your best poets, write some, and put the smart guys where they belong, left alone in the back row where they will be asking dumb questions for the rest of their lives-to get attention and so the world will know how smart they are.
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Dennis_Siluk_Ed.D.http://EzineArticles.com/?Questions-on-Poetry-(From-the-Smart-Guys!)&id=1152791
Special Contribution
by
Rajaram Ramachandran
This special contribution made by Mr. Rajaram Ramachandran features the poetry in his latest book The book Swami Vivekananda. The book is excellent in its simplicity and possess the capacity of reaching out to a large audience or readers from several sections of the society.The book very nicely and poetically depicts the idealistic life and religious journey of Swami Vivekananda though separate chapters.The poems from this book has been included as a special contribution for this issue.
The poems can be found in the following file named Part-I and Part-II
The poems can be found in the following file named Part-I and Part-II
| part_i.doc |
Book Review
Of Memory Rain by Latha Prem Sakhya
Latha’s poetry book Memory Rain is as good as a light short novel in verse if arranged suitably. She has not been professional in her writing but to a large extent personal presenting her stages in life through chapters of her outlook towards the world and in turn the outlook of the world upon her life. She has skillfully summarized it all. Centuries have given birth to so many poets who had their own special ways of writing poems. Latha specializes in life poems which is evident from the beautiful opening poem in the book- Down Memory Lane. The poem can be clearly interpreted upon two levels- one applies to her personal life which can be understood from the beginning four lines-
“Going down memory lane,
I came to my old homestead-
Where, for seventeen summersI was nurtured.”
The other level is for the world in general in which the homestead can be taken as the earth and the poetess as humanity itself that is marked with remembrance and nostalgia. The pull that she gives at the end of this poem is like pulling out a thorn from a wounded heart.
The poems like “Growing up”, “Fortress”, “Airy Dreams” follows and one gets stuck again at the poem “Will You Remember Me?” which is excellent in ambiguity. The poet once again induces the thinking reaction among readers making them feel of their existence. The poetess shows her expertise in enriching the poems with rich poetic elements in some of her poems like “A Winged Being”, “Hurt” and so on. One of the master qualities that a Modern poet should posses is that of maintaining economy of words while writing poetry. Not going into much analysis, if a look is taken at the poems “Love”, “Magic Spell” “Rootlets”, “Woman’s Love”, “Evanescent Passion”, “Flotsam” etc. in the book , one will surely agree her panache while maintaining the economy of words. Latha has also used natural elements and comparison of life through them which has rendered additional quality in her poems. Her poem “Magic in the Air” is a masterpiece and supplies a fresh poetic air to inhale purity.
Four splendid lines from this poem are:-
“The sunken eyes of the parched earth,
Gaping amidst the cement jungle,
Reflected the fear and sorrow gripping my soulMourning the death,
of ceremonious festal dawns.”
The poem “Wild Furies” is a like a story poem that portrays the might of nature upon innocent lives breaking the boundary walls of love and faith. Yet in the ending para of this poem Latha introduces a tremendous poetic imagery and says that nature and calm nature when she writes:-
“The golden glow Of the unperturbed dusky sun,
Fingered and stroked
Caressingly the protean waves,
Calming and soothing
To lead them away
To be tethered in the cavernous stables
In ocean depth.”
The way the poems in this book has been presented one by one offers a sail to the readers who once takes the sail will row from “Down Memory Lane” to “Aria” and after the journey say nothing, but take a deep breath and smile as if he has recognized some secret of knowing life.
“Going down memory lane,
I came to my old homestead-
Where, for seventeen summersI was nurtured.”
The other level is for the world in general in which the homestead can be taken as the earth and the poetess as humanity itself that is marked with remembrance and nostalgia. The pull that she gives at the end of this poem is like pulling out a thorn from a wounded heart.
The poems like “Growing up”, “Fortress”, “Airy Dreams” follows and one gets stuck again at the poem “Will You Remember Me?” which is excellent in ambiguity. The poet once again induces the thinking reaction among readers making them feel of their existence. The poetess shows her expertise in enriching the poems with rich poetic elements in some of her poems like “A Winged Being”, “Hurt” and so on. One of the master qualities that a Modern poet should posses is that of maintaining economy of words while writing poetry. Not going into much analysis, if a look is taken at the poems “Love”, “Magic Spell” “Rootlets”, “Woman’s Love”, “Evanescent Passion”, “Flotsam” etc. in the book , one will surely agree her panache while maintaining the economy of words. Latha has also used natural elements and comparison of life through them which has rendered additional quality in her poems. Her poem “Magic in the Air” is a masterpiece and supplies a fresh poetic air to inhale purity.
Four splendid lines from this poem are:-
“The sunken eyes of the parched earth,
Gaping amidst the cement jungle,
Reflected the fear and sorrow gripping my soulMourning the death,
of ceremonious festal dawns.”
The poem “Wild Furies” is a like a story poem that portrays the might of nature upon innocent lives breaking the boundary walls of love and faith. Yet in the ending para of this poem Latha introduces a tremendous poetic imagery and says that nature and calm nature when she writes:-
“The golden glow Of the unperturbed dusky sun,
Fingered and stroked
Caressingly the protean waves,
Calming and soothing
To lead them away
To be tethered in the cavernous stables
In ocean depth.”
The way the poems in this book has been presented one by one offers a sail to the readers who once takes the sail will row from “Down Memory Lane” to “Aria” and after the journey say nothing, but take a deep breath and smile as if he has recognized some secret of knowing life.
Translation
Rossette
In one packet, poet can shove
Sorrow, anger and love
Before an ocean of impatience
He can stand straight and proud
And slay the fist villain of world
With his word-swords!
When the pennant of peace
Is stampeded under oppressive iron hooves
He can nail those ugly feet
With his spiny weapon called pen
History can flow as long as
Sweet smiles are kept alive
For love there are no measures and
limits to hinder
In one rosette, entwined all great
Florid nations
Permeating.sweet scents
Of amity and fraternal feelings
When shimmering in every heart
Love pure and alive
Gallows become galore of garlands
In humanity’s neckline
Don’t you see between each drop of water?
There is a strand called love,
That makes it known as rain shower
Let that rain of love fill
Our hearts-barren
With eternal peace and happiness
Telugu Original:Perugu.Ramakrishna
Translation: M.V.Sathyanarayana,Nellore
In one packet, poet can shove
Sorrow, anger and love
Before an ocean of impatience
He can stand straight and proud
And slay the fist villain of world
With his word-swords!
When the pennant of peace
Is stampeded under oppressive iron hooves
He can nail those ugly feet
With his spiny weapon called pen
History can flow as long as
Sweet smiles are kept alive
For love there are no measures and
limits to hinder
In one rosette, entwined all great
Florid nations
Permeating.sweet scents
Of amity and fraternal feelings
When shimmering in every heart
Love pure and alive
Gallows become galore of garlands
In humanity’s neckline
Don’t you see between each drop of water?
There is a strand called love,
That makes it known as rain shower
Let that rain of love fill
Our hearts-barren
With eternal peace and happiness
Telugu Original:Perugu.Ramakrishna
Translation: M.V.Sathyanarayana,Nellore
ALL SELECTED POETS AND POEMS
GRANDMMA'S YAWN
My father's mother, I see for years
Sitting on the rope-cot,
Legs, knee joints swelled in rheumatism,
Eyes still glowing in pride,
Of her war veteran husband
Hanging on wall with sandal strip flowers, and,
her retired head clerk son.
She yawns so long-
Then we, the grand and great grand children
Who know counting from one to twenty,
Can easily win a contest to count her teeth,
Before she speaks aloud names of a hoard of gods.
Though sitting unmoved she knows,
Which khet* has less harvest this year
The women labourer carrying less wheat on head
My mother left unspared for slack in supervision.
In the soft night after early dinner,
When the pagal, bhoot and nocturnal fears,**
Freely come knocking our doors and windows,
We can well visualise her wavering scissors
From under the quilt, just listening
The names of gods so familiar,
Quite resembling to chowkidar's
Jagte Raho.
By Anuja Mohan Pradhan
MUDFISH STUCK
Ghostly apparitions passing through mist
Disappearing behind thinly veiled curtain
Mismatched bivalve pearly clouds grounded
Listening to good earth breathe
Sandalwood worry beads coming unstrung
Anchored to miracles keeping count
River wandering aimlessly overflowing banks
Crossover rowboat stranded without oars
Beached monster kelp garland wreathed
Blank stare eyelids peeled back
Rotten stench salivating rabid froth
Sunken driftwood surfeit swallowed whole
Forest stumps crumble leafy twitches
Bark stripped split trunk slingshot
Knotty crotch whittled close shave
Wishbone tug both sides lose
Every curse contains mixed blessings
Sneaking in backdoor left unlocked
Former life frame nailed shut
Horizon approaching some other sky
Phantom winged creature emerges unscathed
Exotic butterfly flutter worth netting
Lunar moth mistaken identity case
Moonlit serenade iridescent dusk evaporates
By Charles Frederickson
The Hourglass
So long and wide So significant and beautiful
When I started my journey to ride…
It was welcoming me with a broad smile so delightful!
I was clueless and scared
My eyes had nothing but an entwined jeopardy
I was really trying too much to fill in the courage totally emptied
My heart had no vision of the future journey!
Holding dreams in my palms
I put my feeble legs into the path
I was floating in happiness
When my walk went so smooth !
Suddenly that open road started shrinking
emerged into curves
a new phenomenon took birth
that I should continue with all my energy reserves !
My palms pained with burden of dreams
When the wild waves of darkness hit me back
I had to use the survival gear to face those violent swoops…
Still I had to repair the wreck !
As if I was dumped in the hourglass
Couldn’t come out of that perilous situation
And when I was totally out of it,
Again life turned it up side down!
Then I came to know the vital truth of life
That it’s an hourglass you are fixed in..
Even though you batter yourself out….you are again inn….
So just enjoy your journey quirking in the hourglass :-)
By K.Vijaya Bhanu
To a ‘Sal’ Tree in the Park
Tall it stands, and still, in
An anticipative silence.
Static, nobody knows from when,
Almost transfixed
Into the landscape.
Come toss it, make it reveal
Its anguish of a long mythic wait,
Stress of being forlorn,
Stray.
Gently toss it
Until it becomes a picture of
Vibrancy and laughter,
Into the frame.
By Uma Chatterjee
The Soul
I am speaking in your silence and
thinking in your trans
I am working even in your sleeps but
You can’t see me in your noise
I am very closer to My Father and
My Origin is That heaven
You can’t believe me and
You can’t accept my existence
Though you believe or not
I am in you of course!I am in you.
Up to believing your knowledge
you can’t see and experience me
I am very closer to you but
too far away to your knowledge and
Wisdom
Your Love and grace are my rewards
I f you train yourself to feel me or
to experience my existence
You will be very closer to Him and
to His Kingdom
It is a pity of the world
Trillions are living and dying
In the ignorance of my existence
I am same in all lives
No such huge difference
Between you and a worm
I can travel and leave your shell
at any second
There from that moment
you are just a junk of this earth
By Saktheee S Ravichandran
THE MEGH-MALHAR NIGHT
Gently, in the silent green darkness
I twirl the keys
Firmly, silently
The strings cry out in agony
Unheard.
In this green dark silence
There is an emptiness that grasps me
Every time I stop
And so keep trying...
The strings are tensed once more
And again I strike
The first jhankaar breaks the silence
To a thousand pieces.
The first dark note of Megh-Malhar.
The darkness is drenched
With a million notes,
The sitar's agony,
Pains within.
My fingers fall prey to them
As the strings stir
At the smell of blood
Drop after drop...
At the stroke of one,
The sound of water.
Drip drop drip drop drip drop
At second, the smell
Of water on the parched ground.
At the final stroke
They find me, my hands
My softly bleeding hands
Dress the sitar
And its agonized soul
Drinks garnet drops.
I sit in this green darkness,
The sitar rests.
Water sings.
By Shambhobi Ghosh
Widow
Pangs of silence on her face
Can sketch the loss she bears.
How much deep the tear drops
Only the void of separation
Can measure.
The loneliness she inhales
Only absence can sense.
The time so near to her,
A moment before,
Stretches so far away.
The touch so close to her
Becomes a dream
A moment after.
She awaits
At the cross road
As a stony passerby
Under a naked tree.
We gather
And share our sympathy :
A drop of consolation
For her oceanic grief.
By Dr P K Padhy
Wild Beast In Waiting
Take you on merry-go-round
Buy you pretty things around
Singing pleasant songs my fond
Recite moving poems to bond
You are dream of my dreams
Star of stars
Jewel of fortune
Spring of seasons
Rain of deserts
Green of droughts
Queen of nights
Tune of verse
You are my world
You are my lord
You are my life
You are my love
And you are truly spellbound…
Am eager to get you heaven
And hurry to meet you soon
All this my friend!
While keeping in me
A hungry wild beast
In waiting…
ByChandrashekar
TOWEL
Wiping softly
The unctuous darkened fatigue
Keeps the face afresh-
The Towel!
Wiping out gently and smoothly
The dark-frozen, silent and
Low-spirited be numbness
Caused by day-long restless work…
The Nature kindles
Tomorrow’s pageantry of Life-
Which secret pocket does it keeps in…
The towel of Light!
By MAKINEEDI SURYA BHASKAR
Sinister Mêlée…
The mystifying howl is irksomely faint yet vividly heard,
Akin to orchestrated footsteps of the undetectable command
As the new dawn illuminates a smoldering fire beyond the horizon-
“A sign of human activity-but an awful omen to the warlord”
Legions called into action, and for every step they take, matter is drawn from the ether,
Waiting for the final caravan of conquest and conquer;
Do the militias now turn their swords into ploughshares to suffer?
When their enemies-without remorse-silently creep up on them in silence,
However the distant shuddery sound of their battle cry is harmless;
But is the shunned “death-valley” an inescapable companion anyway?
With strident herons flying high above the maze-like island…so forlorn!
These shameless war-warriors! Heroes With-Out! Villains With-In!
Unlike them-the countryman is truly so fortunate nonetheless;
He marvels at the innate splendor of the single showy tulip in the bucolic wilderness,
Although now the heathen intimidate his terrain amidst his recoil in resistance;
The characters of men and women under this impudent sentence
On the uniformity of fate, however gay were the earlier scenes…
This sense of the seasons and mortality-more tragic in great cities
With mortals forgetting it is superfluous to go in chase of nature’s thoughts;
She comes of her own free will in the passing shadows of the seasons!
The boastful soldier…
The learned doctor…
Footing out of the masses for the qualities they assume beyond the galaxies afar;
The qualities they assume are those that most men admire!
Their hypocrisy, bravery and ingenuity survives more
Even in times of turmoil and war-with satirized lies and rumors
“Giving praise to bloodshed?”
Since when has the sight of blood been a derisory affair?
What a horrific carnival of double standards of power;
No laughing matter!
Doubtless criticism-sinister in origin with a false swagger
Sharper now in the modest gestures preaching feminism
For if modern elegant ladies adorn their bravura torsos in red fashion
Why give acknowledgment to this same reddened “color of death!”
The new world is finally shedding off the aged navel scar
Releasing the “Mother-Principle” instinct to be mothered and to engender
Are awakening sons of men along with their nations betokening universal grandeur?
These lions among ladies!
These foxes in the fight for freedom…
“The men of Marathon”
Ironists-commonly more “characters” than thinkers,
Irritated further by the hypocrisy than by the ideas of those they portray,
Blind to the verity that modern tolerance might seem to go further than that
As vengeful souls vanquish and oppress their enemies by craft and deceit;
…if they thought it was a sin, they would not argue about such a mischievous plot.
Finally money has a power above
The stars and fate to manage love:
Whose arrows, Learned Poets hold,
That never miss, are tipped with Gold.
By Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra
OCTOPUS
Man has become octopus,
entangled in his own clutches,
fallen from sky to earth,
new foundation was made,
of rituals, customs and manners,
tried to come out of the clutches,
but not
waiting for doom`s day
BY DR. RAM SHARMA
GARDEN OF EDEN
Here comes He with all regalia,
Driving away my age-old melancholia
Like the rain-clouds slaking the parched earth
He has showered His grace on my home and hearth.
How to repay this debt of eternity--
By doing something good for posterity.
Let this be our motto of life,
To remove the cause of all strife
The world then becomes a veritable heaven,
Exhilarating as the garden of Eden.
By Mohan Chandra Mehrotra
Architect of a new dawn
Humanity, entity of the universe,
glorious fragment of God, wire of energy fed with
the infinite love of the Prince of Light.
The evolved humanity will be the architect
of a new dawn and the smile of God
The divinity of humanity reflects
in the eyes of innocent children, in the look of light,
love and peace of wises, in the flourished meadows of truth
in the born day that smiles at the world.
Humanity, rainbow of auras,
which pulse of green, electric blue,
and orange waterfalls, the colour of illumination.
Humanity, the architect of a new dawn
flourished of hope.
Life, a hourglass that lets slowly slipping the gold
energy of knowledge and that measures
over time the experience flowing
between the wings of wind, at the tolls
of the Divine Heart.
Humanity, anchored to the great earth sea,
at the end of time will fly free between the planets
of the revelation of the infinite Universe
and reach the great energy of love.
Humanity, architect of a new dawn
flourished of hope.
by Elisabetta Errani Emaldi
glorious fragment of God, wire of energy fed with
the infinite love of the Prince of Light.
The evolved humanity will be the architect
of a new dawn and the smile of God
The divinity of humanity reflects
in the eyes of innocent children, in the look of light,
love and peace of wises, in the flourished meadows of truth
in the born day that smiles at the world.
Humanity, rainbow of auras,
which pulse of green, electric blue,
and orange waterfalls, the colour of illumination.
Humanity, the architect of a new dawn
flourished of hope.
Life, a hourglass that lets slowly slipping the gold
energy of knowledge and that measures
over time the experience flowing
between the wings of wind, at the tolls
of the Divine Heart.
Humanity, anchored to the great earth sea,
at the end of time will fly free between the planets
of the revelation of the infinite Universe
and reach the great energy of love.
Humanity, architect of a new dawn
flourished of hope.
by Elisabetta Errani Emaldi
Penning my Pain and Past
Crushing feelings hovered and scorched my innocent blood
My righteous wrath crowned the rancorously thorny path
Grooms’ parents whose cunning graceful eyes were set on me-
“Will you stand and walk?” I was generously asked
My bleeding wounds howled with crippling hurts
“Wanted to see how you walk” blessed purpose of strangers
“I wonder! I wonder!” came out of my despairs
Guests’ magnanimous demand tattered my naive heart
And flows of gloom swelled in my troubled streamed tears.
Still memories crawl through patterned and syncopated branch
As if in a choreographed cadence that split and perched
Flock of startlingly disastrous hush bred a new-born loath
Sacred benediction or sanctified elevation bestowed a load;
A stubborn heart surrendered to their condescending voice,
“You are well capable of doing that” oh! Tumultuous praise hoist
Some unpredicted shifts impugned my tremulous wealthy thoughts
“Was it a proposal of marriage or sacrificial offering of precious life?”
My dreams were frozen in their everlastingly sinful thought
As they stole my wisdom and courage that were never brought;
Injustices of those knowingly ignorants threw on my palpitating heart
My enliven abhor intuited their scurrilousness that--
Greeted me in labyrinthine path…
By Mousumi Saha
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