HALL OF POETS INTERNATIONAL EZINE, JUN-JUL 2016 by DrPrerna Singla

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions coordinator”, at email address below. hallofpoets@gmail.com Although every precaution has been taken to verify the accuracy of the information contained herein, the author and publisher assume no responsibility for any errors or omissions. No liability is assumed for damages that may result from the use of information contained within. The magazine is not for sale and can be downloaded from HALL OF POETS community on Google Plus or HALL OF POETS page on Facebook, or asked for a copy by writing to us on: hallofpoets@gmail.com Editor-in-Chief: Dr. PRERNA SINGLA Joint - Editor & Owner: PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA Associate Editor- SEEMA TABASSUM. COVER PICTURE: IMMA BRIGANTE EDITION: TWELFTH (JUN-JUL, 2016) **DISCLAIMER** ................................................................................................................................. HALL OF POETS Digital magazine is the property of Hall Of Poets community on Google Plus and is protected by the International Copyright Laws. The poems/articles are published under the name with which the poet/writer is active in the Hall Of Poets online community. The publisher (Hall Of Poets), authors and contributors reserve their rights with regard to copyright of their work. Although Hall Of Poets considers its source reliable and verifies as much data as possible, Hall Of Poets makes no representations, warranties, express or implied, as to the completeness, accuracy, or appropriateness of the information, data, advertisements, graphics, authenticity of profiles/poems/articles, copyright infringement or responsibility of any other content contained in any Hall Of Poets digital magazine or webpage, including but not limited to the Hall Of Poets online community, blogs, and other email newsletters, and any other social networking platform produced, owned or managed by Hall Of Poets. Each member/artist himself/herself takes full responsibility of the authenticity of their work/ profiles. Content produced by Hall Of Poets may from time to time include technical inaccuracies or typographical errors. Graphics used are under fair use policy and not for commercial purposes; the artist/designer claims no right to own the graphics that are taken from the internet. The content of each poem/article is the sole expression/opinion of its writer/author and not necessarily that of the publisher. No warranties or guarantees are expressed or implied by the publisher’s choice to include any of the content in this volume. Neither the publisher not the individual author(s) shall be liable for any physical, psychological, emotional, financial or commercial damages, including, but not limited to special, incidental, consequential or other damages. Readers are responsible for their own choices, actions and results. The advertisements/ advertised banners on the Hall Of Poets magazine have no influence on editorial content or presentation. The posting of particular banners does not imply endorsement of the product (so) or the company selling them by Hall Of Poets magazine or its editors. Hall Of Poets magazine may contain links to websites operated by other parties. These links are provided purely for promotional purpose. Such links do not imply Hall Of Poets magazine’s endorsement of material on any other site and Hall Of Poets magazine disclaims all liability with regard to your access of such linked websites. In case of dispute, Jurisdiction of Gurgaon (Haryana), India applies.

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From the editorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s desk

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KASHMIR

My Sigri burnt the beams of Wood And my hut turned to coal Devoured the foundations rut Kept my house standing in cold.

The dunes of snow turned crimson red Soaked in blood of all The singing breezes screaming dead As corses turned to corpses old

Aura that witnessed tip toed steps Echoed with shots and roars The friendly faces turned fiend Bullets the very allies hold.

And my Sigri burnt the beams of wood My hut just turned to coal.

ÂŠ Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 2016

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PRAYER TO THE MASTER! The master weaver weaves The strings of truth and lies In a web of life, disguised As he does, he smiles O ye Master weaver! Weave my web with a golden thread Paper thin yet resilient Sturdy yet emollient

The master potter pots The vessels made of clay clods Moulded on the wheel, of life As he does, he sculpts the pods O ye Master potter! Chisel my clay with your sharpest nail Hardships and struggle yet Of the sculptures I become the best

The master Gardner tends The beautiful blooming gardens Blossoming in seasons, of life As he does, he weeds plantains

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O ye Master Gardener! Tend the garden of my life with love Weeding out the negativities Let fragrant it blossom.

ÂŠ PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2016-01-31

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HALL OF POETS Wishes you all

Very happy

And blessed

Eid-Ul-Fittar

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The Massimiliano Raso Interview with Dr. Prerna Singla (Chief - Editor Hall Of Poets) English Translation By Anca M. Bruma

MASSIMILIANO RASO

Photo credits: Imma Brigante

Dear readers, Today we have with us Massimiliano Raso, artist from Formia - Italy, the Vice-President and Art Director of Pablo Neruda Cultural Association Italy. He has accumulated several degrees at the department of History of Arts in Naplesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Federico II University, Foreign Languages and Literature at Naples University Lâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Orientale; dance hip hop and Jazz at IALS (Entertainment and arts studies centre) in Rome; Digital Journalism and

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Social Media Marketing in Bari; Caribbean Dance at FITD (Italian Technicians Dance Sport Federation) in Rome; English language at the British Institutes school of Taranto; and a degree on Modern History on the historical aspects of the festivals in Italy. He is also Artistic Director of the “Festival KIBATEK 39” Italy, Global Poetry and ART Festival. Massimiliano Raso also collaborates with the editorial staff of RAI 1 of “Dancing with the stars” editions 9, 10 and “Dancing with the stars 11 on the road.” He has attended various art juries including the “FIESTA”, the “BOLOGNASAL SAFESTIVAL”, the “GD AWARDS”, the “NATIONAL FESTIVAL OF SONG OF THE GIRO D’ORO”, the “ART PHOTO CONTEST”, the reality “WE ARE IN SCENE ON THURSDAY”, the “CANTASHOW” To radio and television programs as an expert and Columnist. Photo credits: Imma Brigante

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Ciao Massimiliano, è un piacere essere con te oggi. Dr. Prerna Singla: How will you define “Dance” and the “Art of dance”? Massimiliano Raso: Dancing is like a magical ART! Personally I cannot imagine a world without the art of moving the body, without being able to dance and express yourself freely with the body and the mind that performs the steps and gestures. Dancing is also a little “how to love”, it is an innate feeling, a feeling of wellbeing that envelops you and gives you oxygen to breathe.

Dr. Prerna Singla: Please share something about your journey as one of the Founding member and art director at Pablo Neruda Cultural Association? Massimiliano Raso: Pablo Neruda CulturalAssociation is a “young” Cultural Association in Taranto / Italy, of which I am honoured to be part of, both as Artistic Director and Vice President, as well as a person who believes entirely in the power of the culture. I believe that in this historical period we should provide hope, especially to the young generation, to live in a better society, because culture helps to change the world indeed. In addition to some great projects, the cultural association also brought “The Global Poetry Festival” in Taranto / Italy on February 2016, under the name “KIBATEK 39”, where poets/authors from various parts of the globe were awarded. As well, the cultural association awards the excellence of different artists and various forms of art during Neruda Awards on June 2016, for the ones who see culture as an opportunity to walk together and make artistic dreams come true.

Massimiliano Raso

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Dr. Prerna Singla: It is said that Natyashastra or knowledge of act/dance is considered as one of the highest form of spiritual practice (Sadhna). Do you also feel so? Please share your views about this.

The Natyasastra of Bharata, presents the dramatic arts, with a detailed theory of the genre performative "Natja" in which dance and music are not just mere ornaments. Interesting is the fact that there is a lot of attention and dedication in putting in place this art form: the text describes four types of acting, from that relating to the movements of the body, speech, costumes and make-up and the highest, relative to the expression of emotions through slight movements of the lips or eyebrows. The dance, also in reference to Natyasastra, is very spiritual choreutic, not only in content but also in the feeling and in being dancers. We must search for the sense of beauty that leads us to the Divine feeling. As a dancer I find myself mirrored a lot in this culture. Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

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Dr. Prerna Singla: Please share your experiences at “Dancing with the stars”. What were the moments that you cherished there? I had the pleasure to collaborate at journalistic level, with the editorial stuff of the television program Rai 1, the most important TV channel in Italy. I interviewed many masters in dance, who were paired with the socalled VIP actors, singers, comedians, writing for the Giornaledelladanza.com newspaper, a leader in print media in Italy, providing critique articles about the art of dancing. In the last edition I interviewed the “queen” of Italian television, Milly Carlucci, the presenter of talent show, a great entertainer and a nice person. As well I interviewed the great dancers such as Samantha Togni or President of the jury Carolyn Smith, I shall say that all of them were very nice to me. It has been a growth and development experience for me on both levels: personal and artistic. Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

At the sets of "Dancing with the Stars" (Ballando con le stelle)

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Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

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Tell us about your life and life time experiences? I am a normal person who loves life with all its contradictions. I like to do sports and have many friends. Especially I try to devote lot of my time to my son Mattia, 5 years old, an exceptional child, he is my life.

Dr. Prerna Singla: You are an expert at history of dances, tell us what according to you is the basic element in the origin of dance forms, that is common to all dances irrespective of countries/states or forms. It 'been said that "dance is the mother of all arts" and indeed it is. This form of art, cultural and traditional spread across the world and old as the world itself. The first choral events, however, were very elementary: reproducing the elements of nature, everyday life and rites. The dance is very similar on each place on Earth, of course with some differences according to various belief systems, customs and history of the peoples.

I believe, however, that from the way it is transmitted by means of the moving body, the way of gestures and steps (regardless of its geography) determine a large variety of emotions, nonverbal and many social meanings messages everywhere, in all world cultures.

Dr. Prerna Singla: Do you believe that love influences all forms of art? I believe that without love you cannot even dance. It is important to put strong passion in these body movements. The ones who think can dance in a detached manner, with no emotions they are not on the right “path” as they do not perform the right “content” of dance.

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Picture courtesy: Imma brigante

Dr. Prerna Singla: Who would you give credit of your success? I shall thank my parents for giving me this passion, this creativity, this versatile aspect of performing art. And of course friends and experts in the dance show field for giving me trust and confidence that I am able to do so. Dr. Prerna Singla: You have judged so many dance and art festivals and shows. As a jury on what unique criteria do you select the acts of the participants? It is not easy to give critical judgments. It all depends on which manifestation of art or entertainment you shall judge. Moreover, the art criticism is the subject of the academic study and it should be held by a person who is well-trained to provide such a professional feedback.

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Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

Dr. Prerna Singla: With increased incorporation of gymnastics into dance acts now-a-days, do you feel the essence of dance is somehow lost? Or has it improved?

Actually the historical, cultural and folkloric essence has been lost little. Especially in the twentieth century it has been given too much attention to the competitive side of the dance, creating too many difficulties for the dancers themselves, a time when many dances were â&#x20AC;&#x153;bornâ&#x20AC;?. It should be kept separate and distinct these two sides of the dance, one is sport the other one is art.

Dr. Prerna Singla: What advice would you give to our readers who wish to persue Dance and ART as their career?

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You need passion, strength and courage in life! You shall never give up, even in front of your personal adversities. If you really think you can pursue a goal that is not venal, as in the case of the dance, then you have to go all out and get going without getting tired.

I have been a student of dance for about 12 yrs.There are some controlled aspects of a dance, while some are uncontrolled. As dance originated, it represented cultures, beliefs, festivals, mythological stories, love, and even destruction (Tandava). In the world of poetry and music, how important do you feel is the dance today? I noticed that dancing is like poetry, each movement represents a â&#x20AC;&#x153;wordâ&#x20AC;?. I believe there is a strong intimate connection between poetry and dance itself. I would even dare to say that you cannot separate these two art forms. The body movements, winding steps, the gesture of a hand, if they cannot be counted among the verses of a romantic poem, then they are irrelevant. Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

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Dr. Prerna Singla: What is KIBATEK all about? Please share your experiences from KIBATEK 39.

Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

The KIBATEK is a Turkish Literary Foundation, founded in 1998 in Turkey/Izmir with the participation of 12 countries. KIBATEK carried out international activities/festivals in 41 countries in the past 18 years, through literary communication and cooperation. KIBATEK proposed in 2015 to Pablo Neruda Cultural Association to organize its first edition in Italy, the 39th in the world, of Global Poetry and ART Festival, in Taranto (Italy).We brought 22 poets from every corner of the globe. During gala day, all the awarded poets performed their own creations with artistic interludes like dance, singing and music. It was a marvel experience; it seemed like living a fairy tale. As Art Director of the festival, one of my major responsibilities was to provide great performers, quality singers, musicians, dancers, the entire artistic platform. I shall add that it was one of the most extraordinary life-experience!

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Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

Dr. Prerna Singla: Some people say that good dance is about the correct moves, while some say it is expression that enables the spectator to understand the theme without even knowing music or words, while some others say it is rhythm and repetition. What do you say? It is not easy to have the correct dance movements; it takes time, dedication and constant study of this art. The body does not lie. Vittoria Ottolenghi, one of the major Italian dance critics said that dance is an ambiguous art compared to other forms of art, when the dance is finished, there is no continuation. I always prefer few technical details, but the harmonious ones, lots of knowledge as basis as well listening to your own body. One body move will not be the same in Time and Space.

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Massimiliano Raso with an Artist .

Dr. Prerna Singla: You wish to pursue intercultural exchange between the East and the West. Tell us more about your dream? The dance could be born anywhere in the world. Or, maybe the World itself created the dance giving to the human beings the opportunity to express themselves through dancing. More than ever now, it is imperative the intercultural exchange between West and East, between an Occident which “looks” towards a future more and more hectic and an Orient eager to give “space” to its own creative and artistic evolvement. My dream is to see a great brotherhood between different nations, without borders, with no hurdles. I dream of a world full with Peace, Harmony and Serenity.

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Picture courtesy: Imma Brigante

Dr. Prerna Singla: Do you feel that the West has still a lot to learn from East and vice versa? If yes, what do you feel the two cultures need to learn to initiate a cultural bonding?

The news coming from the East, at times do not reflect the entire truth. There is still much to be done for achieving common and indivisible goals, either from one side or another one. I believe it is not that difficult to have and live in a globalized world under a mutual understanding of harmony and cultural connectedness. We are ONE human race and we need to come to this understanding and acceptance. And embrace this reality.

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Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

MASSIMILIANO RASO

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Dr. Prerna Singla: What are your future plans in life? Artistically speaking I have had the most wonderful satisfactions of my life. Soon I shall dedicate my efforts for the second edition of KIBATEK â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Global Poetry Festival in Italy, to Pablo Neruda Awards, to the cultural association with all its artistic manifestations, to carry out my dance shows activities and journalism about dance as I truly enjoy writing. For the future, I wish to have more tranquility.

Picture courtesy: Massimiliano Raso

What is your success mantra? Success is something that touches various spheres of life of a person. We can feel satisfied with little and still consider that we attained the success. We can achieve high levels in our career while living in less favorable conditions. However, the true wealth stands in being happy with what life gives to us, feeling good about yourself and of course with others.

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Picture courtesy: Imma Brigante

What do you think about Hall of Poets International ezine and what message would you give to our readers? I often follow “Hall of Poets” as I consider it as being a dynamic and optimum magazine. I wish to the readers of this magazine, lots of serenity and happiness and most of all the HOPE to live in a peaceful world. And of course, to keep reading “Hall of Poets” magazine.

Massimiliano Raso Vice-President and ART Director: (Pablo Neruda Cultural Association – Taranto / Italy) Dance critique and instructor http://massimilianoraso.webnode.it/

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P.S. ~ The questionnaire is copyrighted and the intellectual property of HALL OF POETS. The first publication rights to the interview rest with HALL OF POETS. The interview can be reproduced only with prior explicit permission of HALL OF POETS and the interviewed. A clear bold mention and ping link to the original interview along with the name of the original interviewer, Dr. Prerna Singla, as well as the interviewee must be made when reproducing the interview in part, as an excerpt or as a whole. English Translation By Anca M. Bruma. Picture courtesy Massimiliano Raso. The individual artists are mentioned in the Photography. HOP claims no copyright to the pictures in the interview.

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JOHN by Helenka

"Congratulations! You have a daughter!" said the nurse in his direction through the slightly open door.

"How is my wife?" His question bounced off the already closed door. John felt pride and happiness.

After an hour the doctor came to see John.

"I congratulate you heartily. You have a beautiful, healthy daughter. The weight is 3200 grams. Big baby despite the slight figure of your wife. There were minor complications during childbirth but it is all good now."

"When can I see my girls?"

"In a few hours. Please go home now, eat something and get rest. You have spent all night at the hospital. Visiting time is at four p.m. Goodbye."

John stood for a moment watching at the window and

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wondered about what the doctor just said. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to see Barbara and his newborn daughter. They came to the hospital at two a.m. Barbara was so weak, in so much pain, and he could not help her. He was walking down the stairs, his right hand in his trouser pocket and propping his leg. Since he could remember, that way was easier for him to walk.

The sky was so blue - A promise for a beautiful day. When John came to the main street the town hall bell was just striking eight o'clock. He went to the church to thank God for a happy delivery. At the bridge he had to stop for a while. He already felt so tired. He watched a barge filled with coal then he ascended to the grocery store for milk. In the bakery next door, he bought fragrant, warm bread rolls. Very slowly he climbed to the third floor. It was there where their nest was. He set the water for coffee, spread a roll with jam, and finally sat down in a cosy armchair. The smell of chicory coffee filled the entire flat.

He did not go to bed. He was in the chair and just covered his legs with a plaid throw. Fatigue reigned over his body. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how it happened that he found his luck; how he met Barbara and believed he fell in love.

In his childhood there was no indication that he would have

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his own home and his family. He was one of those kids who in the fifties caught polio. He began walk independently very late and it was only thanks to the persistence and perseverance of his grandmother. She carried him on her back and brought him to school. She was carrying him up and down the stairs. Stubbornly she told him to practice. Nothing was able to deter her. She repeated always that since she survived Siberia and the long way back home, nothing could stop her now.

In the primary school he felt very lonely. At the beginning the kids teased him, laughed at him, but his grandmother quickly solved the problem. He was the only disabled child in the school. No one understood him, no one knew how he felt lonely. His escape from the surrounding world into books. He read a lot. He read everything he could grab. Quite soon he began to wear glasses. Thanks to a wonderful teacher who had real passion, he got easily through to high school.

In high school there were two other boys his age, also with paralysis of the legs. Both were less fortunate than him. They moved on crutches. Then he began to fully appreciate what his grandma, Angela, did for him.

He finished high school as a best student. Exams in to the university were a mere formality.

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In October, at the start of the academic year, he met Barbara. She was a pretty, petite girl with long raven-black hair. She was a little bit confused. She came to study in Opole from Kedzierzyn. And from the very beginning she treated John with great, unfeigned affection.

In the second year of study, he buried his grandmother and a few months later his mother. His younger sister, right after graduating from high school, got married and moved out. For the first time in his life he was completely alone. When he returned home, a strange feeling of emptiness filled his heart. Just Barbara's friendship helped him survive a difficult period of mourning.

He could not remember how and when they became a couple. But he remembered very well the first time she kissed him. He remembered how in October, after the start of the fourth year of study, Barbara moved into his flat. She lit up his life. She brought with her joy and love.

Meddlesome neighbours wagged their tongues at them. Once their gossip reached Barbara's ears. With delight she vented herself on the one of them. She knew that it would be passed on later.

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"Ms Willow! You should be ashamed. Why are you pushing your nosy nose into our lives? Who gave you right do to insult me and John? I do not wonder that your husband left. I am not surprised that you have no friends. I warn you today for the first and last time. I do not want to hear again any rumours; otherwise you will bitterly regret it. My advice is that you start to see the man, not his disability. Good-bye!"

And this finally just broke off the Hydra's head. All gossip stopped for good.

John graduated as a best student again. Immediately after the graduations, he was offered a job in the City Hall. Barbara was proud of her diploma, too. She found a job in the library.

More often they talked about marriage. Barbara's parents were horrified by her choice, but when they saw how John loved her, and cared about her, they began to accept him though not without resistance.

Two years after the wedding, Barbara and John announced that they were expecting their child.

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At four P.M John was back in the hospital. Dressed in a white coat was waiting at the door of the ward to meet Barbara. He could not wait to hug his new treasure and kiss Barbara. And thank her once again, and certainly not the last time for everything she gave him.

The door finally swung open. A few impatient fathers tried to break through at the same time.

He found Barbara while feeding the baby. She looked beautiful as Madonna with the Child.

John froze motionless, staring at his luck, and now great double luck.

******

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श्द -धारा (१३ ) हमारे ज़माने मं ***************************** गज ु र ज़मान क दाद ू गज ु र गए , स्तानव बरस की उमर पाई थी , सरकार पपंशन दत -दत थक गई , स परू ा करत: ्या करं ,म त आई थी। दाद ू राइमरी मं ' एक्टं ग -हडमा्टर' थ , "लिपपकीय -रटु टवश "एक्टं ग ही करत रह , अपन ज़मान की बातं मं ख ए रह , यादं क सन ु हर हवामहि गढ़त रह। दाद ू उमर क साथ-साथ सनक गए थ , उनक जस बढ़ ू कुछ ऐस ही रहत हं ,

अकिवर ,"यस -सर "कहत, मंड ु ी टहिातहं , सनकी ,झ्की ,बम सम ,पत की बात कहत हं। ि ग चंक ,जब दाद ू अपनी वसीयत कर गए , "मरी ककताबं वजन मं पचास ककि तक जायंगी" फ्कड़ गु ु जी नआखखरी वसीयत मं लिखा-"पॉिीथथन बन ह,रदी मं अ्छी कीमत िायंगी। ." आग लिखा-"बचा ्या ह इस गरीब क पास जमीन सरकारी ह ,अपनी त हवा ह ,पानी ह ,

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हवा मं थ ड़ा जहर घि ु ा ,पानी ब ति -बंद ह गया , य इंसानी तररकी की म् ु क़मि ननशानी ह। हमारा ज़माना यहाँ तक पहुँच चक ु ा,

लसर फूटन िग हं अब पानी क लिए , गहरी सांस मत ि ,्यादा रदष ू ण जाएगा , अरसा बीत गया ,नदी का साफ पानी पपय। गठरी बांध रखी आि -औिाद क लिय , ि ग सात प्ु तं का इंनतजाम करत हं , पानी की ्यास ,हवा का ज़हर भि ू गय ? भग ु तना बटा ,हम त सफर करत हं। स च ,स -पचास साि मं ्या ह गा ? बची -खुची हररयािी साफ ह जाएगी , तव सी तपगी, माँ धरती की छाती , पानी आंखं मं ,हवा ब ति -बंद आएगी। पीढ़ी -दर पीढ़ी ज़माना बदिता रहता ह , सब बातं क बहादरु हं -जान -अनजान मं , काश ,आन वािी न्िं क त हफ़ा लमिधरती ,रहन िायक बनी ,हमार ज़मान मं ।"

Keshav dubey https://keshavdubey.blogspot.in/

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INDIA IS BURNING! Hey look! Our mountains are on fire !! The tapestry of greens all torn and mangled Hundreds of hectares, a smouldering graveyard! Hey silly, it’s up in the North.. A trifling little thing.. What does it have to do with us? Good heavens! Can’t you see, Those blazing flames torching the skies? ‘Black carbon’ from the smog and ash Sends mercury soaring; Melting the glaciers, Polluting the rivers, Just as we speak! ‘Black carbon’ you say ? Never heard of it ! It should be nothing of consequence What does it have to do with us ? Look at those whimpering fawns, suckling the teats Of a dead mother who braved the fire ! Those charred nestlings in agony, Forced to be left behind by a scalded soul ! The palette of colours smudged grey, An eerie silence drifts through the valley Oh ! The raging inferno has spared none ! Your words make me sad ! Don’t you have anything better to say ?

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After all, it’s so far away… What could we have done ? Cupidity of ever widening infrastructure, The dams and the mines; Quixotic plans of phenomenal growth, Ruthless patrons of unabated habitat loss ! Rise in tiger numbers, More fiction than fact, the experts claim ! Whilst it is this that the truth bemoans: More tigers were poached in a single quarter, Than the whole of last year ! You heartless creature !! Millions die of hunger here And you choose to cry over a striped cat ? It’s just a minor little fact, What does it have to do with us ? The worst drought of the decade is here Drying the wells, parching the land; Even the fortune of the monsoons Impotent to quench the thirsting land ! Killer heat waves on a spree, Sweltering cities and blistering villages see Unprecedented spike in temperatures as never before ! Oh yeah ! Just a minor bother, Summers are hotter this year ; Let’s buy an A/C , all shall be fine !

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Our metros have turned, Gyrating concrete jungles Gagged with dust, Choked with lethal fumes of exhaust; Lakes fed by sewage, spew up toxic foams No noteworthy drainage systems in place, Floods, a disaster-in-waiting ! Oh yes ! That is so true ! But what can we do ? As we speak the seas are surging Inch by inch, The rising tides gobble up the shore; The land we call home, Yours and mine, is waning forever ! Like a house of cards, Our world is crumbling down! Oh please ! please Let us do something ! Oh well ! Perhaps we were held up In denial, a tad too long! For I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t breathe, my friend, Do hand me that bottle of fresh air !! Stranded by Natureâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fury Plans of millions will go awry

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Who will save us from Her wrath ? “For Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” !!!

Rekha Padinjattakathu #WorldEnvironmentDay

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OH MRIGNAYNEE!

Oh Mrignaynee! Thy visage epitomizes the transcendence of timeless beauty If only thy eyes flutter once The bees lose their direction And the breeze its aim

Thy eyes hold countless stars Yet to be discovered If only thy eye-lasses flicker once The ships lose their navigation And the fighting men their aim

Oh Mrignaynee! Thy one glance Has the power to enslave proud men From Afghanistan to India And Pakistan to Spain

Avijeet Musafir Das

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WHERE PROMISES WERE MADE TO BE BROKEN

With the breeze she was taken, All her emotions got awaken, Later she realised she was all broken .. She never received her love token. Her smile was stolen. Like a shooting star she was all fallen. She closed her eyes.. she saw life WHERE PROMISES WERE MADE TO BE BROKEN Ankita Patnail

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MIRZA GHALIB

Mirza Ghalib. Picture from Google Images.

Dabeer-ul-Mulk,

Najm-ud-daulah

Mirza

Asadullah

Baig khan "Ghalib", (born December 27, 1797, Agra India— died February 15, 1869, Delhi) the preeminent Indian poet of his time writing in Persian, equally renowned for poems, letters, and prose piece.. Is in URDU. Born into an aristocratic family, Ghālib passed his youth in luxury. Subsequently, he was granted a small pension by the British government but had to struggle against penury and hardships. Recognition finally came in 1850, when he was appointed

poet

laureate

the

last Mughal emperor, Bahadur shah II. Ghālib’s

best

poems

were

written

Ghazal (lyric), Masnavi(moralistic

three

mystical

forms:

parable),

and Qasidah (panegyric). His critics accused him of writing

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obscure

and

ornamental

style

Persian

incomprehensible to the masses. His verses affirm Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s omnipotence

while

questioning

the

misery

the

phenomenal world. Mirza Ghalib is considered to be the most famous and influential poet of the Urdu Jagat. The popularity of Ghalib is not consolidated to India and Pakistan only but he is renowned across the world. His Ghazals are placed as most difficult and considered to be placed at the depth of Urdu literature He was a person who worked regardless of day to day livelihood, he spend life either on patronage, credit or generosity of his friends. Ghalib wrote his ghazals in Persian as well as in Urdu but his Urdu ghazals were much more popular. It is believed that he started his writing work earlier at the age of 19. As his ghazals were comprised of highly Persianised Urdu, it was hard for vast majority of people to understand his urdu ghazlas without extra effort aah ko chahyay ik umr asar honay tak Kaun Jeeta Hai Teri Zulf Ke Sar Hone Tak Daam Har Mauj Main Hai Halqa-E-Sadkaam-E-Nahang Dekhe Kya Guzre Hai Qatre Pe Gauhar Hone Tak Aashiqi Sabr-Talab Aur Tamanna Betaab Dil Ka Kya Rang Karun Khoon-E-Jigar Hone Tak Ham Ne Maana Ke Tagaaful Na Karoge Lekin Khaak Ho Jaayenge Ham Tum Ko Khabar Hone Tak

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Partav-E-Khoor Se Hai Shabnam Ko Fanaa Ki Taalim Main Bhi Hoon Ek Inaayat Ki Nazar Hone Tak Yak Nazar Besh Nahin Fursat-E-Hasti Gaafil Garmi-E-Bazm Hai Ik Raqs-E-Sharar Hone Tak Gam-E-Hasti Ka ‘Asad’ Kis Se Ho Juz Marg Ilaaj Shamma Har Rang Main Jalti Hai Sahar Hone Tak ***** References https://urdupoetry.wordpress.com/2012/02/26/mirzaasadullah-baig-khan-ghalibs-poetry-ghazal-collection/

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Mirza-AsadullahKhan-Ghalib

HOP claims no copyright to the content and that the content is posted for educational purposes, under ‘fair use’ policy as specified by the Copyright law .

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BEING POETRY Article by Sheikha A.

Poetry is transportation. Where many definitions have been and continue to be penned about explaining or stating what poetry is about, each one being substantial in its own, my idea of poetry is meditation. I started writing poetry from my teenage years, being heavily inspired by the classical poets like Byron, Gibran, Rumi, etc. leaning on the spiritual and philosophical hills of expressing, and the idea of finding a connection with the universe’s expanse with the current situations of my life always found me contriving towards greater or deeper meaning. Poetry is not meant to be dissected – even though, it is for various academic purposes, but as a personal stance, I prefer to live the verses like natural breathing. To leave the mysteries of a poet intact, without depriving the author of their secrets, poetry can be understood, embraced and adopted in its purest form which is to be simply read and accepted. The art of expression is free, whether poeming, painting, song writing, sculpting, collaging, crafting, etc. the basis remains one, and that is ‘discovery’. Allowing a creation to emerge from your mind and soul is a true release of energy. Most creations have found much criticism in being either positive or negative in its form, but if society does set barriers of expressions for reasons of curbing controversy or harmonizing ethics, and if we grant them for being correct in their enforcements, the beauty of an artist is in breaching those boundaries and attaining their expressive freedom through surreal, subtle, or even metaphysical forms.

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Art is a vessel that can accommodate the bad, good, ugly, dark, evil, graceful, beautiful, and compassion all into one. It can hold each of those elements together in aesthetic cohesiveness

whether

fragmented,

refined,

coarse

absolute. A person should never stop expressing, even in non-artistic

methods;

one

can

create

and

build,

the

important aspect of it being in action. Dormancy can lead to several deaths of a single idea that can produce a sense of stoicism leading a person inwards into their own cyclones, which ultimately results in destruction. It can be argued that the most active minds could be the most destructive too, which is true, but there is always an immanent suppression of some kind towards or about some system that bred like a sore, never having found an outlet for releasing. Creative expression is a study of psychology in itself. I have been able to comprehend many poems much better now including those that I studied during school years from having first understood character and behavioural sciences of conduct. Most times, we were asked to study into the background of classical poets in our education system to gain insight about their life and experiences which lead them to write what they wrote, and understand the social and political hardships that influenced their writing. The romantic poets of those eras, too, had some element of imbalance in their writing that extended beyond just the faรงade of separation culminating from unrequited love.

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Every piece of expression, in any genre or form, has a hidden

story

–

the

unknown

and

the

unknown-able

regardless of the deepest meditation or thought we subject it too. Poetry, for me, in particular, has always been a telling of

secrets

without

offering

too

many

details.

The

metaphysics of it is in about being attuned to the allures and curiosities of the higher realms, and wanting to understand how our life can affect the whole, or vice versa. There is an undeniable coercion of self-discipline by and on oneself, to sit amid the whirlpool and increase the ratio of patience as the whirlpool rages from the harshest to mildest mode, eventually dying down like a mist settling on the ground around us whereupon we sit. It is in that short lived moment where the whirlpool takes a break before gathering dust into swirls is when we see the light or epiphany or truth or answer, or whatever it was we sought. In my writing of poetry, I have oscillated between various styles of writing, becoming easily enamoured by words I read from emerging or established writers, looking at artworks or reading about people’s lifestyles, preferences, appropriations, tendencies or even opinions, and always wanting to find an association or a way to relate to be able to co-exist even in the massive or smallest of differences, and looking for a balance of respect that can run mutually, if not in acceptance of another’s culture or religious representations, but in understanding their way of life, is what every form of Arts should ideally be about.

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Poetry is one form of arts that is most intricate because of its tool – which is words. A poem can actually fail if it doesn’t deliver its image or essence. The same could be applied to other forms as well, but poetry has a duty to submit. To be able to arouse, captivate, invoke and evoke all through

written

renditions,

connotations,

suppositions,

presumptions and alterations, all of this using words. Words are studied, and in many cases worshipped. Words are like a mass of clay in a potter’s wheel. Through words births the written act and form of poetry. My poems have dwelled on many subjects, but mostly a search for belonging, emancipations, spirituality and love – finding a connection between the latter two. Only recently, since the past year, that I began to wallow in the dark arts, and the evil that motivates people towards degeneration that I’ve written many poems trying to depict every possible side of it, and continue to discovering newer facets through watching real life cases and experiences. Of late, I realize I may be subconsciously mingling the dark with the nuances of love and spirituality because upon reflection, I tend to surprise myself with what I wrote. Poems that are written from meditation – driving to your centre, closing that sphere and banishing the outside from entering – are ones you truly write uninhibitedly. It is also difficult to achieve that sphere, but poetry is its ongoing process, one I am continually striving to attain. *****

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ART OF POETRY Poetry is the art that can neither be learnt nor taught but it is expressed in varied forms; sometimes in a proper pattern while sometimes feestyle. Since ages there are various forms that originated and became popular as the Poetic forms. In this section of our ezine, we will bring for you the beautiful poetic forms. DIAMANTE POEM Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a style of poetry that is made up of 7 lines. The text forms the shape of a lozenge or diamond. The form was developed by Iris Tiedt in a new poetry form [The Diamante] 1969. Structure : This poem is written using a set structure 1: Beginning Subject 2: Two describing words about line 1 3: Three doing words about line 1 4: A short phrase about line 1 A short phrase about line 7 5: Three doing words about line 7 6: Two describing words about line 7 7: End subject

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Article introduction by: Dr. Prerna Singla References: Wikipedia: Diamante poem. Disney:

https://ohmy.disney.com/news/2013/04/04/disney-5th-grade-poetry/

HOP claims no copyright to the content and that the content is posted for educational purposes, under â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;fair useâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; policy as specified by the Copyright law .

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FUNNY LOVE STORY By Anjali Kullu

Period. I was in a state of period; no not in my regular cycles. One of the saddest and lonely point of my life when I came across my Knight (just my lame imagination, his attitude was more of a Romeo.) He is someone who is fun like a badass and just a little crazy. So, how we ended up together was more of cosmos and mystery or say science than some fairytale love story. Hence, how things startedâ&#x20AC;Ś

Picture courtesy: Anjali Kullu

I had an event (I was into part time events: I badly needed money back then) at Hyderabad, so, by the time I was done and landed back to Bangalore it was damn late past 12.30am. So, I live in south of Bangalore; getting back to my

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room this late was not an option when you stay alone in not so safe area. Hence, relying on my friend I called him to receive me. It was for the first time I went to his room (my friends are mostly boys, when you are into civil engineering the chances to have girl friends are always near to zero.) It was a cozy flat, one hall, a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom made up Sattu’s space (we christened him this name.) After freshening up I went to sleep in the bedroom having a large king-size bed. The bed and the room belonged to Sattu’s elder brother who was in office then that I learned about.

After being assured that his brother won’t show up I shut the door and slept without a blanket. Though being directed to take blanket from the cupboard, my etiquette didn’t allow me to peek into other’s cupboard. Hence, I slept without one despite freezing. I usually can’t sleep in a new bed but that day I simply dozed off. Being a dream lover unfortunately I had no dreams. Waking up right on time to go to class, unexpected: there was blanket on top of me while I feared the worse. I rushed to the washroom to look for any misdeed. But everything was perfectly fine; after freshening up I started to leave for my room when I learned that Sattu’s brother was already here. Wondering still about the blanket I left never once meeting his brother.

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Picture courtesy: Anjali Kullu

So, after a month we are here, in my room – me and Sattu’s brother. I remember one instance trying to login into the Wifi at Sattu’s place, asking Sattu for the password (wasim*****) my next question being, “Who is Wasim?” Giving a stare Sattu answered, “My brother.” They were brothers-cum-roommates since school days. There I came to know his name was Wasim though funnily I never called him bhaiya (brother), never felt the need to. He was our senior as he had passed from the same college. There at my place, it was the first time that I saw his face clearly. Okay, the thing is I don’t eye men, no matter how handsome a guy is until unless they turn me on. And Wasim, oh boy, he is handsome! But I never bothered to look at him.

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Picture courtesy: Anjali Kullu

I usually went to Sattu’s place for group study during semester exams; sometimes stayed back before the exams. Occasionally cooked dinner for us, one such night I prepared bhindi ki sabji (Lady’s-finger curry.) We all sat to eat even Wasim; as I removed the lid from the vessel, all eyes fell on me, making me ponder on my mistake. Once the food was served and tasted I got my first compliment from none but Wasim – The food is delicious reminds of my mother’s (Now this statement was for real or just to impress, I am yet not sure.)

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Picture courtesy: Anjali Kullu

So, coming from there, how this man ended up in my room! Huh, not mere coincidence, the previous night as usual I was at his place studying with friends. One of my friends, Sameer, had always hit on me from the start. Sameer was high: planned to hump me that night almost getting touchy. Now this I hate in men just because I am your friend or have only boy friends doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t make me consent your pervert ways. Things went out of hand when he accused me of being at Sattuâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s place plus letting no one to sleep with me. This raged me, I stormed out of the flat at 3am in the night; none of my friends came forward neither to stop nor to say sorry. I went straight to my room, bruised internally. Almost crying till morning, I slept around 10am and by the time I got up it was late evening.

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Bringing food from a small restaurant I came back in an hour. The place where I lived was one room cum bathroom – kitchen attached space, but big enough for one person. Situated in top floor of the building it had a huge terrace and down below was occupied by army of men. Luckily, nobody ever bothered me, and though not safe I still lived there so as to keep my pockets from burning. I was still broken from last night’s incident, what was more upsetting that I didn’t have any friends to confide with. All my friends left me when I needed them the most while I was always there for them. I unwillingly finished my dinner and got busy cleaning my room. Picture courtesy: Anjali Kullu

By exactly at 1am I got a call from an unknown number, hesitant I picked up the call. It was Wasim. We shared pleasantries and then he self invited himself. I, at first,

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denied that it isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a proper time to meet; he agreed but he added he has no place to go. So, I gave in to his request directing him my place. He came at 3am with one of my friend and bid him goodbye. That was awkward fearing his intentions I still let Wasim into my house.

But the first thing he did after shutting the door was shout at me for not relying on him for the previous night that I went off without once informing him. He was angry because it was too late and unsafe for a girl to leave at 3 in the night. He was furious and sorry that he couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t sleep whole night. He heard everything what was going on and feared for me but was helpless as I never once informed him. I know this sounds stupid but this is what happened after talking for an hour or so he slept in my cozy little bed. And I had to sleep next to him; funnily, he cuddled dozing like a baby. Picture courtesy: Anjali Kullu

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Love is more of science I feel, his smell was so arousing, it reminded me of smelling his towels and liking it. The smell, the

profound

aroma

that

lingered

always

gave

Goosebumps. As a matter of fact the night I came from Hyderabad it was Wasim who put a blanket around me. It was all meant to be but I feared the consequences because I didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to be in love but fate always have different plans for me. And so the lousy lamb did fell in the trap. Talking of science, he theoretically proposed me in three days of knowing me while I took around fourteen days to accept his love. Fearing the fate, I did fell in love. The cupid did get us falling for each other. Somehow, we connected and still rolling together funnilyâ&#x20AC;Ś ******

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DONE SOMETHING DIFFERENT & UNUSUAL IN LIFE?

Share your shocking story with us and we will feature your story in the Hall of Poets International ezine. Send your entry at: hallofpoets@gmail.com Website: www.hallofpoets.com

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PASSAGE A Garden-lily caresses my gaze; It bequeaths a pristine glory on me The ubiquitous moon cannot Out-shine its glow that smears My courtyard

Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s this bit of moon; this shredded legacy And nuptial bliss bestowed upon me That I bask under its illustriousness

The voluptuous moon, frustrates your Inane awkwardness, that you inhale Among crackers, matchboxes Among festivals and rituals

You travel deep, deep down among Throaty silences and mindless fissures Till our breath mingles in an explosion.

I inhale your skin among fresh mint and banana

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Syrups and lozenges, your apricot skin allures me Among untrodden ways

Your eyes are gateways to gardens of babylon.

Deeya Bhattacharya, 2016

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IN QUIETUDE

Yellow pansies are a tell-tale of memories-they look into my face and buckle me up-I cannot explicate the difference in timescape-flitting from one dungeon into another-inelegance reverberating in my nerves. Ensuring my hurried scampering from one dungeon to the next, they spell mistiness. Far away the marshy swamps resound with the croaking of wild frogs-their bulging throats full of venom-an eeriness slowly engulfs me. Eeriness is misnomer I should rather say uncanny it is. Thoughts dwindling unbelievably I fondle for your warmthwarmth that once lingered upon my virgin skin in quietude. Deeya Bhattacharya, 2016

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HALL OF POETS ARTIST OF THE MONTH

Dorina Costras

POEM AT TWILIGHT (ART BY DORINA COSTRAS)

About the painter Dorina Costras - by Anca Mihaela Bruma The moment I set my eyes on Dorina Costrasâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; paintings for the first time I knew her work was the perfect kind of artistic expression I had been looking for in terms of paintings.

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There is a dynamic balance in Dorinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s compositions, which reflects how she sees the universal equilibrium between the two primordial forces: ying and yang, feminine and masculine, the higher and lower self, above as below. Her canvasses express a new revitalized energy with images that vibrate with strong saturated colors, and the main focus seems to be a moving spirit expressed through bright, glowingly exotic colors. Her paintings are characterized by grace and fluency developing the theme of divine influx as an expression of sacred femininity and sensuality, an interaction of divine forces within the human being, celebrating the wonders of life. Feminine beauty is the central landmark in her work, eternal and everlasting within a musical world. Dorina Costras, from Romania, is a prominent painter, a globally recognized artist whose works have been displayed at many exhibitions, and whose artwork has featured in various art albums and on book covers.

what the artists says: "I like to transpose on canvas inner states, to interpret and render them... I paint from imagination and I have some favorite themes but the main character, in all of them, is the woman. I alternate between them depending on my mood and inspiration of the moment." (by Dorina Costras) Dorinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s website: http://www.decorative.ro/

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ANOTHER KIND OF RHAPSODY (ART BY DORINA COSTRAS)

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DREAM TRAVELLER (ART BY DORINA COSTRAS)

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HEAVEN FOR TWO (ART BY DORINA COSTRAS)

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IMPOSSIBLE LOVE (ART BY DORINA COSTRAS)

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IMPOSSIBLE LOVE (ART BY DORINA COSTRAS)

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IN THE LIGHT OF KNOWINGNESS (Inspired by Dorinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s art â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Impossible Love) You complete the sentence within my highlight, Turn me into prose and decipher my twilight, Depict my silences with stars and moonlight...... I was in the future!... Yet, you see my sidelight... I recreate the metaphor in you and jostle for the limelight, And every meter, lament and line raise its own sight, The verbs of your palm, I bring them to the eyesight, Our fingers build unknown languages into the headlight!... Let us burn in pages, as a song in a firelight! Embrace me with your eyes reflection and insight! As curator of curves I will build in you a stalactite, Casting and recreating each breath in the candlelight! I see in you an overture... An image to ignite, I leave an empty line to place your significance to recite! Your whispers on soft petals, give Love another sight, And the sum of my heart grows inside a crystallite! I forget to put commas and full stops overnight, Historia bivalente has been brought to the spotlight! As a fraction of our Existence is perplexed into the sunlight, And a chorus of dreams repeat psalms under starlight!... Rhymed lines and hopes bloom and reunite, Your punctuation takes the form of kisses and light,

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Until we destroy the language and leave the spaces bright, And I can see you frame by frame with its own height!... I martyred myself in You!... What a delight!... (Anca Mihaela - 25th March 2014)

SUNSET KISS (ART BY DORINA COSTRAS)

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I AM NOT THAT!... I AM THIS!... (Inspired by Dorinaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s art â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Sunset Kiss.) I am not described by these epileptic diagnosis and eternal midnights... half dreams and stamped lives... I am not this tattooed persona, and not the lies justified by your own mouth!... I am not the coagulated rhythms of your googled thoughts, and not the paragraph in which ONCE you loved me!... I am not your Life Story filled with anxious antonyms and unlearnt lessons... I am not these epidermic proclamations of your reiterated assumed pains...

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I am not the maze of your intricate conversation filled by holographic nemesis and self contradictory promises! I am not your reflected misread images and scribbled immature emotions, which... u collect for a white procession... I am not your days and nights on which you spread your ink as a fraction of MY Existence!... I am not your double "I"-s and sampled love. I AM THIS tantalizing Verb called "To Love"! And.... I cannot be dethroned from your Life Song!...

Anca Mihaela Bruma

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A GIANT LEAP TOWARDS THE VISION OF UNIVERSAL FAMILY

On the human family tree, we are all cousins. united by blood and emotions Our genes, our bodies are all the same, albeit separated by great oceans We share the same outlook, that should bind us in a deep connection There is every reason that we are all one and there is truth in this conception

Yet, humans are divided in their minds by race,religion, caste,and class, Causing never ending strife. hatred, and incalculable human loss Ethnic cleansing, religious wars, racial conflicts poisons our mind Fighting our indomitable human spirit and vision of universal family behind

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This anarchy, this malice ,this avarice, this fanaticism, this extremism is spreading like cancer To live and experience the beauty, the immensity and mystery of this universe, we must workout an answer Each human deserves equality, respect and inalienable right of belonging to one home, one Universe If all of us take a small step, this will prove to be a giant leap towards making world as sweet as as a verse

We believe proudly that we have accomplished many things, wealth, fame and power Yet, all these things never brought us neither inner peace nor world peace, still we cower Let us tame the animal within us to shun violence , greed and unquenchable hunger for money Accept the worth of all fellow humans and encourage the ability of all to promote harmony

K.Radhakrishnan/2016

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BURNING The enchanting fire grate lay beside.. Immortal with metamorphic passions... Passions - that drove both of us.. Lying together on the comfortable bed.. I espied it burning.. Burning precisely in both of us.. With that shimmer in your eyes, ink brows and manly curls... Instincts played.. My head in the hollow of your shoulder I melted into your body.. My hands cafunĂŠd you.... You leaning on me ... Stimulated by the idea of heightened pleasures Thus, pushing the sides of my gown.. With the last fastening undone.. You placed pecks on my bareness.. While your hands cupped my bosom.. I shuddered, Beneath the light strokes.. Reluctant to leave the pleasure of your hands.. Unerringly my fingers made its own way ... to your fabric down below desperation had already started its search for the sheltered pearl of my womanhood... Rectifying the completion of ecstasy The temporal thoughts evaporated at the sound of sensual requests.. I grasped the sensation of welcoming a loved one home..

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We both lay contended, your head in the hollow of my shoulder... My hairs sweeping your chest We remained silent.. Neither of us wishing to speak... Vaishalivasshu sarkar

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THE SADDEST TREE The saddest tree Almost cried In the arms of widowed earth And an orphan bird In love with the broken skies The pains swam back To the unfertile heart As i go round and round Of the saddest tree... What you did to me Is what autumn does to green trees Damaged and fading When the silence gets too loud.. And my skin is cultivated with loneliness The orphan bird Under the broken skies Is my souls companion On the dented scratched path.. Towards your promise.. Where there is not a patch of sky.. Till nothing's left unseen...

Urooj Murtaza

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THE FLOATING STONES

REVIEW BY Dr. PRERNA SINGLA

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“The floating stones” is a collection of 57 poems written by Tanni Bose. The poems variedly present a rainbow of thoughts by way of scenarios and stories that are both heart touching and mindfully profound. In her poetry poet expresses the essence of death by way of leaves, Essence of beauty by way of Sculpture carved in Marble, Faith in the smoke from burning incense, Opponent in the fear she fights with, the universal fact of impermanence

the

dying

Gulmohar...

She

has

beautifully used nature to express her thoughts. In the poem “Dry Leaves”, poet expresses the dying of a leaf when it goes through the last phases of its life and metaphorically using the same, she expresses that she would like to die a death with which even the traces of her disappear rather than a life that is lived in sadness and pain. Her poem “The Artist” presents a beautiful thought carved into a poetic story saying that beauty lies in the eyes of beholder. It is a soul that is more beautiful than the external appearance. It is the nature that is more attractive than a pretty face... and when met with a marvel like that, the world wonders who carved the beauty of it.

Rating: 4/5

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Verses that touched me:

Days and months pass, the mind covers ages He takes refuge in the Lord and now his thought changes. (The Refugee)

Fear, be fearful of me I will capture your pride and steed. (Dauntless fear)

They want to abide by your side But land up with my company beside So, I am the winner and ever will be Since they say, “I am the world and the world is me.” (Sorrow)

Trivial is dust to our minds We don’t count on them (Dust)

MY FAVOURITE POEM: THE SEVEN SISTERS

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR Mrs. Tanni Bose works as an educator in Aravali International School, Faridabad now. She was an English Teacher at Tendruk Higher Secondary School of the Royal Government of Bhutan hails from Kolkata, West Bengal. She was born and brought up in the steel city of Rourkela, since her father was a SAIL employee there. Writing was always a passion for Mrs. Tanni. However, 2008 became a defining year in her life since she could publish a few of her works in the school magazine and made a self-discovery that she was indeed in romance with literature. It formally bloomed in 2012 when her first anthology “Dawn and Dusk” was published. Her readers, including critics confessed that a new breeze in poetry writing is here to blow to soothe and to ruffle too, of course. Her passion for reading and writing assured her a berth in the Writers Association of Bhutan and the Edu Talk where she thinks aloud to make the readers ponder, delight and at times wrinkle their brows. Her writing in facebook and her blog “A Grain of Faith” are being followed by many. Her articles in “Student Digest and Norzam Speaks” both publications in Bhutan are well taken by readers at large. She also contributes regularly in the international journal by Ciberwitnet.com “TajMahal Review”

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She has represented Bhutan as an official delegate in the SAARC Literary festivals in Thimphu, Bhutan in 2013. She was a delegate in the FOSWAL Literary Festivals at Agra and Jaipur in 2015 and in Delhi in 2016 February as well. “Floating Stones” is her second work of poems, ringing the inescapable paradox of existential pulls and pushes. The poetess here is swayed by multiple senses and sensibilities, reflected in these poems. Her third Book “The Molested Clay” is also ready for printing. Writing apart, Mrs. Bose loves reading, music and her students. Love given reciprocates. After all – books support her; music heals her aches and her students adore her. Life then becomes poetry to her. *****

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ALI ALI ALI...MISS THEE First Boxer known to me? Muhammad Ali, first book read, although I had Malcolm X, didn't feel ready so instead, I read the other M, his autobiography gave me laughter and a better understanding of him. Favorite character in fight night 3? you know the answer? Muhammad Ali, if I cornered you expect a speedy flurry, I was fast with the buttons like him with the feet, in the game he felt like a butterfly and definitely stings like a bee; My brother would be Frazier, Thrilla in Manila, rematches until the early hours, I would be the winner, giving him Ali combo showers. Muhammad Ali he was tall and wise like a tree, down to earth with his roots, he knew his history.

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Muhammad Ali you live in peoples heart, boxing was not much of a picture until you brought your art, 29th of October when boxing saw this star. Cassius Clay, god made him in his image and said "you cannot touch this face" so go gave him a good offense and defense with a unique pace. He had a child like attitude Kept his opponents confused, They really wanted to whoop him, But he's lightning in shoes. An icon of his time and he was wicked with the rhyme, he didn't only have a wicked punch, but had many wicked punch lines. So many wise quotes and experienced notes, serious behind the scene and could put on a show.

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I was never a boxing fan, but i could watch this man, his heart, his desires would speak through his hands. Muhammad Ali is poetry, so am I and I write this for him, now he's in heaven, boxing with legends, infinite rounds in a golden ring, Rest in peace to a boxing king. "The peoples champ, the greatest, Louisville Lip, thank god for your existence and you will truly be missed" Le Hornet

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FA LA LA Hold me one more time my love I am fading into an absent state of mind Falling from this abstract, ambient dream painted thereof peace an isolated hue Strange, I cannot bring myself to pluck flower petals from these flowers For, in time like I, will they wither in die So, I empathize…sympathizing to the point of vanity Caring in a way that may allow them to have but a few more moments to sing With those vibrant colour which add a verity of tones to this dying world…I mean It seems we tend to rush that which is meant to be Death looms, love is forever, and our consciousness fiends for them to sets us free Fa la la…la la…la fleur de dieu (The Flower Of God) The misplaced lullaby that wanders in my lost corrupted mind Kiss me one more time my love As I am aging, decaying, and declining to see the hope in tomorrow Yet, your lips…the gentle curves of your rejuvenating lips And the their passionate touch revitalizes my faith

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In that your beautiful face will be there when I awake within that un-promised morning Just like those flower petals I felt for, took pity on and dreamt about Thereby, If by the grace of God may you be my flower to which I could care for Thus, within these fleeting moments tied to time I would paint pictures dedicated to you Lacing emptying canvases with a sheen that mimics your vibrant esoteric glow Having your image to be the reason my quill floods a page with nonstop poetry All to make something like your essence everlasting As if you were to corrupted the mind of God As this lullaby has mine…Fa la la…la la…la fleur de dieu a perpetual ambient hue ~ Paradise’s Poet ~ (Tony) rarityofparadise.wordpress.com

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;I WOULD LIKE TO BE A CHILDâ&#x20AC;? I'm two years old and I have many wires on the arms they put them even on the head and sometimes on the legs, I don't understand what they're doing but I cry because it hurts. I was told that outside the world is beautiful but when do I go out of this box? I'm two years old and I have many wires, if I were a child they wouldn't do it they would cry out that it's horrible, you too would think the same. But a little mouse doesn't arouse pity and when I shout

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with pain nobody hears nobody listens nobody cries. I would like to be a child and yet I too have hands, legs, eyes and ears, have nose, mouth, nerves and heart, and yet I too tremble and suffer, I'm cold, I'm scared and I feel pain. I would like to be a child to see the world and forget a box and many wires. Gianfranco Aurilio

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“VORREI ESSERE UN BIMBO” DALLA RACCOLTA “INTORNO A ME” Ho due anni e tanti fili per le braccia anche in testa me li mettono e qualche volta nelle gambe, non capisco cosa fanno però piango perché fa male. M’han detto che fuori il mondo è bello ma quando esco da questa scatola? Ho due anni e tanti fili, se fossi un bimbo non lo farebbero griderebbero che orrore, anche tu lo penseresti. Ma un topolino non commuove

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e quando grido di dolore nessuno sente nessuno ascolta nessuno piange. Vorrei essere un bimbo eppure anchâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;io ho mani, gambe, occhi e orecchi, ho naso, bocca, nervi e cuore, eppure anchâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;io tremo e soffro, ho freddo, ho paura e ho dolore. Vorrei essere un bimbo per vedere il mondo e dimenticare una scatola e tanti fili. Gianfranco Aurilio http://www.gianfrancoaurilio.it/poems

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THE RIGVEDIC POETRY By Kiron Krishnan

KIRON KRISHNAN

The Rigvedic poetry is full of metaphors and exquisite poems that talk of the parallels between natural phenomena outside and the spiritual phenomena inside. Rigvedic poems normally do appear to speak about some natural symbol, until in the same poem you see one key left by the poet to decode.

That may be the usage of a known metaphor

symbol in Vedas, or the continued usage of the pun words. At a point, you realize that the poetry you are reading is too deep to be decoded from a single perspective. In a way, you are amazed at their stunning usage of the beautiful poetic language Sanskrit to weave their beautiful poetry. The poems of Vedas have a poetic metre in which they are written, and a subject on which they deal. The concepts of Vedic divinities are a notable one. As we read in the last article, the Veda calls the ultimate Reality, the One, as

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"who". It is this "who" who is the "one Reality" (ekam sad) or "That One" (tad ekam), and this Reality is just "spoken of as different" by the people. Thus Vedas are inclusive basically, and they never limit the concept of the Divinity. According to them, Divinity is infinitely mouldable, but all your descriptions still cannot pervade its greatness. It would sound something very funny and sarcastic - but on pondering over the lines, we do realise the pun in it.

The "who" is the question, and we

expect an answer for it.

It is the question that shows we

know the outward attributes or features of the person, but do not know his identity or inner Reality. For example, I say "who?" as a question only when I know something the "who" has done/effected or like the person is right before me, but in all cases I don't know the actual identity.

Such a

situation implies the limits of our brain, our own knowledge - we know something caused due to the person, but we don't know the identity of the person.

An unanswered who

simply shows the above qualities. It shows the incomprehensibility of the person, it shows that the person is beyond what knowledge can cover, it shows that the person is always beyond the reach of senses and can only be felt through the splendour he has left for us to question.

Though this idea seems a pessimistic one for a

seeker, in reality, it actually does promote the need for finding a cause that is beyond his knowledge limits.

The

final Reality is best described by a question, which needs to

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be answered by someone. Of course we have to seek, and get our answers from the same "who". The poetic beauty of the lines that use the who for the Reality is so exqusite. This is further used for the poem in the famous creation poem of Rigveda (10.129), and in several poems of Vedas. The who is the One Reality that actually knows everything. Thus, the spiritual sun, the Vedic symbol of Ultimate Reality has its bright lustre that prevents us from looking within. The bright lustre of the spiritual sun induces the question "who" in us, and the answer is but behind its golden lustre. Or sometimes, Veda calls it poetically, the origin of golden lustre, or Hiraáš&#x2021;ya-garbha. The sun as we experience is not the sun behind it.

In the beginning was the origin of Golden lustre, Manifested as the sole Lord of land, skies, water, space and that beneath He upheld the earth and the heaven. To the who, the shining one, we offer worship with oblations. Rigveda 1.121.1 The expression of the who as something to be found out through seeking is a typical seeker's philosophy that echoes in the beautiful pun of "who". The Vedic metaphors are present for every physical symbol, from land to sky. But the most basic of them is the couple of sky and earth. The sky is the symbol of "spiritual realms", while earth symbolises the

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"physical mind". The concepts of God, are born in our mind during the "spiritual dawn", and are born from the earth of our minds, and rise up as the sun to the spiritual realms. Our Self, one with the sun, traverses the spiritual realms upto the sky, and returns to the earth of mind during physical life. The Vedic sages considered spirituality to be complementing physical life, and not simply one shall be a healthy thing.

One should do his duties, both spiritual as

well as physical, this is compared with the sun rising and setting as per law. Even

beyond

this

metaphorical

symbol,

one

(Maitravaruni Vasishtha) tells poetically that he

poet

sails to

and fro in the sky with his boat of Self, the Sun. Thus most of the natural metaphors in Rigveda have a spiritual symbol associated. The poems become so wonderful as they begin to use pun words apart from these metaphors.

For example, the

Nasadiya sukta, Rigvedic poem of Creation states that at the beginning of creation :

"Non existence / Unreal did not, nor did existence / reality exist then, There was no rajas then, nor the realm beyond it. What covered it, Where, In whose keeping, What, the cosmic water, existed, in depths unfathomed?" Here, the word in Italics is a Sanskrit word with two meanings - rajas which means both atmosphere and

the

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psychological quality of behavior with a small level of ignorance. This is the key we get to decode the subject of the poem, right in its opening lines. If we see the first meaning as air, we get the poem starting as talking about a timeless situation where there is no existence or non existence - there is no atmosphere or realm beyond it. The subsequent lines are presented as a question, for which we will see answers in coming lines : "At first there was only darkness wrapped in darkness. All this was only unillumined water...". But now lets think of the other situation - rajas meaning the psychological quality of little but lesser ignorance.

Then,

reading the first line, we are reminded of a totally ignorant situation where there is no distinction between reality and unreality. The next line again, compliments the above by telling that there was not even the rajas quality of lesser ignorance, nor the upper realm of pure knowledge in the spiritual man.

All that covered

was the question

"what/why" (kim, the Sanskrit word means both what and why). It covered it in the abode of "who", the Ultimate Reality.

As we see, "waters" represent the thoughts in

physical mind parallel to the vast sky. The poet now tells that the thought of what (or why) was the water (thought) that existed in unfathomed depths. Similarly, the poem progresses until the last portion,, with the same unbroken parallel meanings of spiritual and physical â&#x20AC;&#x153;creationsâ&#x20AC;?.

The whole poem is an

unparalleled masterpiece in Sanskrit poetry and its wisdom stands still unquestioned. In the coming days, as we have

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seen the basic poetic metaphors underlining the Vedic poems, we shall be looking further into this poem of creation in detail. *****

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ONE EVENING WITH ME

I place my thoughts on a thread of consciousness to design a garland of soul's memories. Whoa! Fire! Doesn't it romantically blend in? Fumes can only suffocate but burns are tattoos of loved ones, marks of memories on skins that never shed in a long lifetime. Seriously?

Dreams. Kisses have low boiling points: volatile gifts of summer get washed away in sophisticated machines while dreams yearn for rice between rails of fate.

Rituals. Aren't women divine? I loved a girl in twenties.

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People called her a witch for she worked even when she bled; when she bled every month, she offered prayers, better than men who were single shakers, who carried ova of voyeurism in selves, like the Satan who stays pregnant with bastards. Yet, they called her a witch.

Prosecution. I fight for my land that now rots in fouls but was once golden. I fight for my land: had I been born then I would have pride, then why not now? The soil still basks in the old spirit, only spirits have changed. I live for the goodness. Cuckoo calls find me. They search for you too. Poor wings! They cannot carry their calls over oceans and unknown marshlands! I can, but, send you records!

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But I won't! Haha! -Rupam Goswami

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~BE Shall I stand in ovation And applauds On thy style Shimmering, blinking Falls from sky Felt in depths Within Invisible from Naked eyes O my love, O my life How shall I describe Thy presence Smiling, dancing like Stubborn childs pride What comes next What future holds Let thinker decide O my love, O my heart How shall I define Thy nonsense Ah! Balouch Shivering, rattling like Withered leaf Attached to branch Yearns to be free

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Float on winds Fly with breeze Fall on the womb From where it be O my love, O my soul How shall I explain Thy grievance Asif Balouch (Asif Ajaz) Copyright June 9, 2016

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LOSS We spoke today; words silently popping up on the small cellular screen cradled in the palm of my hands Like a lifeline I wait, agonizing moments bound tight like rubber bands waiting for what I still don't know but I wait quietly pacing the cold kitchen tiles cursing the miles between us I wanted to find myself so I walked away from everything I knew, from everything true and all that I found was loss Priya Patel ~ June 7, 2016

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www.hallofpoets.com Interview with Dr. Aprilia Zank Theoretician of poetry, translator, poet by Anca M. Bruma

Dr. APRILIA ZANK

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Anca M. Bruma: I know that you yourself have done interviews with various well-known people. What is, in your opinion, the 'must' for an interview?

Yes, I have had the chance to meet and interview some renowned personalities such as the poet George Szirtes, winner of the T. S. Eliot Poetry Prize, David Amram, the multi-talented Beat Generation artist, Jennifer Phillips, artist and visual poet from New Zealand, just to name a few. One of the first things to keep in mind should be that each person is a unique personality, so you have to be well acquainted with his/her profile, background, formation and more, and ask the questions which are relevant for both the person

interviewed

and

the

target

audience

the

interview. Thus, you will be able to avoid boring, too conventional or even trivial questions.

Anca M. Bruma: You are a theoretician of poetry, a translator and a poet yourself. Which advice would you give to young poets, and... not only?

The first thing to tell them would be, “You are not the centre of the Universe.” – which means that they should avoid to concentrate on their own feelings, emotions and experiences alone, but should as well open their eyes to the world around them, with its beauty and glory, but also with its

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problems, traumas, threats and more. Only so will they be able to access universality as poets and creators.

Anca M. Bruma: Your poetry is experienced by some readers as highly metaphorical, sometimes even difficult to 'decipher'. Do you agree to this?

Yes and no! I deal with language in both my scholarly and poetic realms. Unlike other forms of arts, which have specific means of expressions (colours, musical notes, etc.), poetry uses the daily language to transmit the artistic message. In order to acquire an artistic potential, this language must be 'purified' from the 'daily routine' and chiselled into something new, something unique, which challenges us, mesmerises us, touches unknown chords in our souls, and delights us with exquisite aesthetic experiences. This is not possible unless language is stylistically moulded into new syntagmata by means of metaphors, similes and the many other figures of speech. It is my endeavour and concern to refine my poetic message in the same way in which a goldsmith polishes his jewels. That is why poets are also called wordsmiths.

Anca M. Bruma: You are a poet but also a translator of poetry. Poetry translation is a wide topic, of course, but if you were to

select

the

most

important

translation, which would this be?

statement

about

poetic

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You are right, one cannot deal with translation of poetry in just a few words, but I will try. Basically, when you translate poetry, and literature in general, you do not translate single words, you transfer feelings, states of mind, aesthetic

experiences

not only

from

a language into

another, but from a certain unique artist to an audience of many individuals. So it should be the aspiration of each and every translator to recreate the resonance, the impact, the poetic message carried by the original work.

Anca M. Bruma: Translation has many 'faces'. One of them is translation by visual means, more specifically photography. You are a passionate photographer â&#x20AC;&#x201C; do you see any or many touchpoints between poetry and photography?

Certainly! Like poetry, photography is, in my opinion, also an attempt at getting to the hidden core of things, to their mysteries or even essence. Talking in practical terms, there are workshops of creating poetry by using photographic images as prompts, or vice versa, photography contests in which photographers are expected to illustrate fragments of poetry or other literary genres with their images.

Anca M. Bruma: What is your experience with poetry festivals?

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I have both organised and attended literary festivals, so I am privileged to have a double perspective. I organised the Literary Festival W-ORTE at the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich, with many guests from abroad as well, and it was a lot of work, but also a very enriching experience. We had lectures, workshops, poetry readings and free time encounters, in an intensive interaction between poets, translators, students and teachers. We also launched a bilingual anthology of parallel translations of poetry. It was not only instructive and enjoyable, but also the

starting

point

true

friendships

and

further

encounters in London and other places. As an participant in literary festivals in Munich and London, I tutored and took part in workshops, readings and other activities which, again, were very enriching for all those involved.

Anca M. Bruma: What do you know about KIBATEK in general? Have you heard about this Literary Foundation before or just recently?

I was aware of the existence of KIBATEK, but not acquainted with it in detail. At present, the more I get involved with it, the more fascinating it appears to me. It has a great programme of activities and most creditable objectives â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a great platform for the promotion not only of literary excellence, but also of spiritual and humane values.

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Anca M. Bruma: What are your expectations from the KIBATEK 40 Global Poetry Festival?

I look upon this festival as an excellent opportunity of exchange at many levels: scholarly, poetic, cultural and more. It is also a great chance to meet people from various countries and cultural communities, to share my own professional and poetic experience, and to learn new things from the other participants.

Dr. Aprilia Zank Books

Note: Dr. Aprilia Zank has gained several awards for cover books. She has designed for the KIBATEK 40, the Global Poetry Festival in Dubai, the cover book.

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Other examples of her gained awards for cover books are illustrated here:

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