HALL OF POETS, ISSUE 08, DEC. 2015 by DrPrerna Singla

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Copyright © 2015 HALL OF POETS 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 noncommercial 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 Co - Editor & Magazine Designer: PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA Logo Design: DAIPAYAN NAIR Contributors: PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, SEEMA TABASSUM, YUMNAH RAZZAQ PUBLISHER: HALL OF POETS ISSUE 08, DEC. 2015 **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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CONTENTS AUTHOR/POET

TITLE

PAGE

OWNER’S WRITE

Dr. Prerna Singla

Days Of Yore

Pulkit Mohan Singla

Millions Of Children

GOLDEN CHAIN

Amit Shankar Saha

Anca Mihaela Bruma

Ayurveera Raja

Silence

Corner

Your Love...

When I Found The Love Footprints…

Soothing The Words 25

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Garry Spooner

Ode To Sid

Ishita Singh

The Wait

False Affection

Jed Wolfe

Darkness Clouds Every Corner

Karen Hines

All Seeing Eye

Kiron Krishnan

Unto The Fire

Mallika Bhaumik

Foggy Night

Discarded

Megha Sumant Sharma

A Journey Called LIFE

Nutan Sarawagi

In My Mother’s Eyes

Spent

Ode to my Father

A Border #

Partha Mukherjee

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Praveen Ranjit

Rahul Mall

Rainy Sarmistha

Queue

Be Humane

Time

At A Museum

Blending

Mystic Creation

Notebook Of Desire 65 Raja Anjana Kothapalli

Flute

The Beast

Soldier's Wife

Ravi.S.Ranganathan

Nocturnal Niche

Sanjana Bandooni.

" Memoirs Of Shores "

Reclusive Love "

Emotional Bite

Shyamal Kumar Majumder

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For An Astrologer

Dr. Sonia Gupta

Happiness In Life

Sufia Khatoon

Edge Of Love....

Sumana Bhattacharyya

O My Mind! O My Thought!

Tapeshwar Prasad

I Float Universes

Longer Jaws

Lost Paradise

Alone Beings

Sonnet: To Memories

Friendless Friends

Yumnah Razzaq

GUIDELINES FOR SUBMISSION

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Dr. PRERNA SINGLA A Gurgaon based Dentist, Entrepreneur, Poet/ writer with almost 12 years of entrepreneur experience, currently working as Creative Director at Lavita Palace (Gurgaon based banquet Hall), Owner/Editor-in-Chief Hall Of Poets International e-Magazine and global poetic community, Editor-in-Chief Impact 005. Recent Project: Roses & Rhymes (an anthology of poetry on love and life releasing globally)

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DAYS OF YORE Dr. PRERNA SINGLA

Such wast those cheaper times When dreams swam in paper boats And the ten cent coins Were the golden notes Determinations were filled with raised spirit We laugh'd at difficult times Our lending a cent & a brick So homeless couldst make shelter with those dimes Even in the dark hot summer nights We slept a pleasant sleep Enough wast her downcast eyes To get me crazy in love so deep Priceless was inner beauty of people Superficial beauty wasn’t that famous Even the things those wast little Had meanings magnanimous Of etiquette was politeness a sign More humble, moo simple was people’s coat

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Such wast those cheaper times When dreams swam in paper boats

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PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA B.Sc M.Sc. Interior Designing and Event Management.

Pulkit Mohan Singla is 25 yrs old, Gurgaon based entrepreneur/builder/blogger/writer working as Owner at LAVITA PALACE (a Gurgaon based banquet Hall) and PULKIT BUILDERS (Gurgaon based construction firm). He is also Owner/Co-Editor/Designer of HALL OF POETS International e-magazine and Global poetic community.A famous controversial blogger, he is also fond of creating art/painting and digital designs and sells them for business.

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MILLIONS OF CHILDREN Pulkit Mohan Singla

Millions of children Begging for food Millions of children Eating from the waste While millions of kids wasting it Throwing in the bins The tasteless leftovers

Millions of children Dying of thirst Millions of children Drinking from the gutters While millions of kids wasting it Overfilled bath tubs utilizing Unrequited surplus waters.

Millions of children With no clothes to wear Millions of children Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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Draped in rags While millions of kids wasting the silk Over stuffed wardrobes Hoarding outdated clothes.

Why Oh Lord! There is no justice To your blessings Innocent lives starving to death While millions of kids wasting it Born of silver spoon Exploiting the surplus

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RELEASING THIS JANUARY ANTHOLOGY OF POETRY ON LOVE & LIFE

This Valentines gift your beloved a rosary of romantic rhymes... FOR DETAILS: http://impact005.weebly.com

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AMIT SHANKAR SAHA Amit Shankar Saha is a poet, critic, researcher and writer. He has a PhD in English from Calcutta University. His works have appeared in many journals and magazines in India as well as abroad. He is the co-founder and coordinator of Rhythm Divine Poets group.

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SILENCE Amit Shankar Saha

Born in the late seventies The disposition of silence Born too late to have nails pulled But not too late Born with an unconscious Collected in situ Sedimented Compressed A silence turned to stone Generation of blood-letting Hung from the toe Generation of letting-go Shot in the back A generation terrorized The politics of voice Some voices could not be muffled Because they were not born in throats Until the next

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CORNER Amit Shankar Saha When I build a strong will I also build a hard heart, But I do not build a corner For regret. So when regret visits me I do not have a room to give her, On the bed we sit And start to cohabit. Before long regret becomes me And I become she, I paint a corner red, She paints a corner blue. I will the heart, the heart wills me, A pale line parts my house, The corners slide, I cry, Still she does not reply. ******

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ANCA MIHAELA BRUMA Educator, lecturer, performance poet, eclectic thinker, mentor with staunch multi-cultural mindset and entrepreneurial attitude, Anca Mihaela Bruma considers herself a global citizen, having lived in four continents. Her eclecticism can be seen in her intertwined studies, she pursued: a Bachelor of Arts (Romania) and a Master of Business Administration (Australia).

The author labels her own writings as being “mystically sensual”, a tool and path for women to claim their own inner feminine powers. She uses poetics as a form of literary education, self-discovery and social engagement.

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YOUR LOVE... Anca Mihaela Bruma

Your Love, suffocated my semantics.... And my inner alphabet was maximized by the unspoken words and Life's crescendo! I sentenced your sentence in a Place, where your Verb collides with my lyrical enunciation... A surreal abbreviation! And Time serenades in Silence a sonata of Present Tense, counted by a metronome, on the edge, of a timeless Hour!... ©Anca Mihaela, 9th May 2014

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WHEN I FOUND THE LOVE FOOTPRINTS… Anca Mihaela Bruma

When I found the Love footprints I recessed… from Life… Ceased my earthy sojourn…

I stumbled no more Between so many lexicons of forgetting… Lost the cryptic utterances Of what could, might or should be, The Truth… or False!...

I am not seeking the finding As I do not find the seeking… Still… You see yourself outside you, I see you inside myself…

When Love footprints were found I stumbled no more between dots, I just sniffed One thousand years in one day, And quarters of heavens were built Inside my cathartic calibrations…

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The eyes of a thinker And the feeling of a knower, A hearer of unknown traces, The multiples within simplicity And eternity’s dips Of these countless realities.

When I found the Love footprints The absence became present, And…I know: I am pre-sent to BE In this everlastingness fate Which sounds like a formula.

No heart geometrics, No inner alphabets… Simply, A sense of nothingness Inyour everyness…

Future selves Or… Secret second selves, Connecting derivative patterns

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And mathematical probabilities In a Pythagorean sphere of harmony.

******

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SOOTHING THE WORDS Ayurveera Raja

What to tell if they laugh when one's heart is tender Dividing is the method To end in a zero Sometimes a number Remains after division That does not want itself to fall to divisor. Should remain as remainder how much the quotient be. As quotient tries to increase Remainder should too increase. If a division has no remainder It stops at a zero. Then the dividend is killed It is resolved to a number The factors stop somewhere Multiples do not. Subtraction may stop somewhere Or even reduce to negative. But addition does only increase If addend is positive. Integration is difficult It is many times impractical But, let us use the rules To do the integration The natural laws That God himself has ordained Unintegrable functions they do not come for exams... Unity in diversity is better Diversity in unity is never so. A bundle of sticks is stronger Isn't that what is known? Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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Rites and rights to speak and hear writes and writes to wear and tear. Make the hand grow Not the useless nail. Make your mind broad Not the useless mane. Rivers shall flow Only when there are waters water drops cannot Flow by themselves. Let us maintain the flow Of the polluted water So that it is pure By flow God ordained If you separate water And store them in buckets Due to stagnancy They will lose purity. And the polluting dirt Still remains there. Choose between thus : Division or integration? © Ayurveera Raja. (In support)

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GARRY SPOONER

54 years old, New Zealand based poet. I have been writing poetry on a regular basis for only a few months but this poem is one of my older writes

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ODE TO SID Garry Spooner

I held a very dear friend of mine , for the very last time. I was with her as she passed, from here to there,

Te Aroha no te Kuri goes beyond, such is the closeness of the bond I remember well , when we first fell , for each other , You a shaking, frightened little thing and I would someday be your everything. Your favourite sport, to chase a ball and to bring it back just out of reach barking wildly , As if to teach, c’mon and get it if you can but first well play a wee game of dog versus man, But only in jest for you knew your place, we knew your smile and we knew your face, And your favourite place to gambol and play out at the inlet , on your marks, get set . Out of the car come on let’s go! But the sobering fact is your time has now come, with pills now no longer easing your ills, It’s gutting to watch, knowing you soon won’t be here but the pain that you feel will soon disappear. But sadly that means that you’re going away And the worst thing about it , today is that day , So it won’t be long now till you depart, and we with heavy heart will mourn your death And return you to the earth.

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Goodbye, Dear Sid you’ve been a faithful friend, and we have loved each other to the end.

I held a very dear friend of mine, for the very last time . I was with her as she passed from here to there. © Garry Spooner September 2013

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ISHITA SINGH My name's Ishita and I am a school going teen. I have always enjoyed reading comics and novels and loved writing poems, but coming in contact with Hall Of Poets has opened new opportunities of putting my poems on a big level and receiving views and corrections from some really brilliant poets here. Except writing poems, I am good at studies (I have received trophies and gold medals for that), I like playing guitar and making people happy!! And I am a big foddie, which you can tell once you meet me!

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THE WAIT Ishita Singh

Eyes Dried up with tears Faith Crumbled under fears Standing on the terrace Perplexed , wondering Whether it's you who I see Or just an illusion of destiny. Fingers crossed testing my fate Going through a never ending wait I hear those footsteps A familiar smell Even from a thousand miles, I could tell. Two hearts beating fast As faces exchange glances I wait for you You wait for me I don't know how long it will last. Then you turn away Like an ordinary stranger, unmoved I waited for an explanation But you didn't even look. Is that how it's supposed to end? I really doubt. Maybe there was something I couldn't see Behind your indifferent pout.

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FALSE AFFECTION Ishita Singh

Silver pearls, silk cloth Flowing gowns, polka dots A clown in disguise Well suited guys Witty smile In cunning style. "Who are you? So beautiful too" "Well, thank you, But that's a witty remark 'Cause you know it's dark!" Selfish people Selfless time Sweet cake Or a bitter lime? Veil on people's face Going through a tarnished phase Do you, do you understand them? Do you find yourself a gem? Because if it's true You know you are right Be calm, take a bite. Beautiful liars.......dumb tries Erratic life....... full of strife. Never be in influence Of a stupid sigh Don't feel wrong Because you know it was a lie. Change your perceptions Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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Don't have preconceptions Fake people, Fake smiles Have fake life of fake dials. Just Fly away, soar Turn and slam the door Do what you feel is right After all, it's your life. Ishita Singh ©copyright 2015

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JED WOLFE I am a 49year old single male. I worked as a security specialist for 20+years Personal protection being my field These days its back to what I enjoy The building and construction industry Driving big boy toys e.g. earth movers Bull dozers etc Basically I’m a kid who hasn't grown up. I rescue dogs and still ride a skate board I have a passion for hunting and these days writing... Design ©PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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DARKNESS CLOUDS Jed Wolfe

Darkness clouds every corner of our passion Linking every touch to tormented rapture Ravens caw each word spoken In vain To love yet to linger in frustrated silence Turning to bitter romance The ghost of our memories Weak lonesome havoc Sentiments fill my mind with longing Yet a desire to close The tattered pages of our chapter Firey indeed as we cross lanes untraveled Rolling in deep wonton hunger Kisses sting like barbs Lush red lips,moist,baying at the moon Fingers pulling ginger locks Our combined craving hops The dripping trail of midnight melancholy The earth might stop rotating Canndles may stop melting My heart may stop beating But i will never stop loving you. .... Jed Wolfe ÂŠ 2016

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KAREN HINES

Born and raised in Central Florida. Married over 20 years; have 1 son, 2 grandsons. Honest, kind, loyal, but outspoken. I believe in Dragons and collect them with a passion. I love sports, nature and critters, so I basically live in a zoo.

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ALL SEEING EYE Karen Hines

The clouds parted, Solemnly. In the wake Opened the all seeing Eye. The tears poured forth, Pooling into a great Sea of sadness. Filled with sorrow; Filled with pain; Filled with agony. The agony of Man. No longer did the Eye Behold beauty Or pride. Man had forsaken All he was given. Raped the land; Polluted the air; Displaced the animals; Turned on his brothers And sisters Alike. Now the world must be Cleansed; Start anew. Hope for the Future. All will be Determined When the sins are Dissolved. The tears of the Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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All seeing Eye Will flood the Earth And a new day will Dawn. Karen Hines Copyright Dec. 2015

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KIRON KRISHNAN

Kiron Krishnan is a student of electrical and electronics engineering from India, who writes poetry as a passion.

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UNTO THE FIRE Kiron Krishnan

No, this wind shan't be the wind; For it has blocked my path. No, this lamp shan't be the lamp: For that did make me blind. Why shall it occur to me? It didnt occur before; The wind blew, and the lamp went off; The Fire reached heavens. The people in the village asked me : what's the way; Dumb was I. Alas! O good! My eyes opened! I saw the whole there. And all the people did see thenWe saw our way at last. We moved until the end reached; There I could find none. Not my people, not even others could I see o'er there. Why? The answer came from sky: At once was I shocked again. "The wind of death blew; The lamp of life extinguished" So came the supreme answer; From the lamp unto the Fire I entered... © Kiron Krishnan 2015.

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MALLIKA BHAUMIK

The writer had been a student of literature and completed her masters degree in English literature from the University of Calcutta. She is fond of reading books, both fiction and non-fiction. She writes poems too, and contributes to some popular online poetry groups. Her other interest includes music, cooking and travelling. She is particularly interested to visit places of historical interest. She lives in Kolkata with her husband and two sons .

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FOGGY NIGHT Mallika Bhaumik

City wrapped in a foggy shawl A faint lullaby... In my balcony I stand To watch a tired day sigh, As the last tram hums by. Vigilant neon lights Keep awake through sleepy night Stray dogs curling up in corners Empty deserted roads, Illuminated billboard-Plush homes, where colours last Painted life of gaeity, Highlights in contrast My grey ,vengeful past Hollow in its nudity.... Mocking me with its emptiness Encroaching into my present Have I remained trapped in time? Nothing owned And none to belong? Only a suspended gloom, Only a nagging wound, Only a promised doom. ©® Mallikabhaumik 2015

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DISCARDED Mallika Bhaumik

Why do I have a fetish for lonely things? Discarded Abandoned Forgotten? Somehow they come very close to me Your half used perfume bottle, My lingering presence... In your fragrant earlobes, naval, Now a decorated tombstone The favourite birthday coffee mug Pink pout around its rim Clasped in Cosy wintry evenings Stands stoically near the sink. My fat moss green dairy, old confidante Witness to turbulent emotions; Now life prosaic, linear, static.... In attic, gathering dust. Love built in cuckoo's nest Flies in light year's speed Forlorn ,soiled 'welcome' doormat Cries hollow and deep, 'Finite life ,infinite love' Looks perfect as an online quote Lonely bars hear screams unheard A dead man walks back .. to live with the discarded souls.

©® Mallika bhaumik 2015

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A JOURNEY CALLED LIFE Megha Sumant Sharma

In this unusual world You are a unique pearl Your name is different Do not be diffident The path is exemplary Your humour is extraordinary Let the breeze flow And take some important vows Just as the trees give shelter You can spread tons of laughter Just as the winds give you wings You can fly from within Let go varied kinds of sarcasm Just surge ahead with optimism Life is not about the destination It's a journey of self realisation © Megha Sumant Sharma 28th dec 2015

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NUTAN SARAWAGI

I am a designer. I love to colour words in the colours of verse. I have MA in education. I feel strongly on women's issues, I wish I could set the world right for them. I write mainly on women and children, extremely concerned about children of war.

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Trilogy of ode to my mother

In my motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes Nutan Sarawagi

As I wait for my past to catch up with my past Reminiscing in the present of a past gone by past In which I live to still dwell Of my life gone off so fast Which I once loved In it to be lulled In my mother's memories In her lullabies loved Singing to the night In a voice so soft Ushering in the night In her tresses so dark As the moon appears in her eyes Bringing in dreams of twilight In her hopes to dispel All my fears of the night I now lie waiting for the dark In hopes bemoaned As I lie fearing the dark In the stealthiest of the night When they will take away her life To sing the lullabies of life Stealing the darkness of the night I will lie awake Wondering of that night When she put me to sleep In my cold life Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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Singing in her warmth To take away the fears in my eyes I cry helplessly to her now To take away her fears of her dying life To once again quell the fears in her eyes In the falling tears of my life Which just no more wipe In her crying eyes To quell the fears in my eyes I can't look her in her eyes to meet her dying eyes If only they would take away my fears replace my life with her life

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SPENT Nutan Sarawagi

In her flowering love, I grew in her love like a flower, blooming in her love In the seed of love she planted in me to sow the seeds of her love in me in her love to hold her, in my love of me Watering me, as I grew stronger in her love each day which knew no bounds, in a love to be loved! No holds barred, in its love to be loved! Then one day she turned away in her love a storm of love suddenly blew over my love On that hot summerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s day stifling my love in her anger, she stormed out in her love Leaving me alone, broken in my love I was left alone holding her, in the heart of my love in flowers dried, wilting in me, in my heart broken in me! Her lips no longer mine, in her love lost, no longer seeking me! Waiting for her to touch me in her warmth to once again feel the touch of her warmth! In the pieces of my heart, broken in me I looked at her again to find my love in me In a heart sung in our love, her words whispering in me! In the agony of her love, I could not wait anymore In the dark night, as I rode to her love, at her door If only to believe me, in her love for me I pulled out my dagger, to prove her love for me Shielding me in her love, sheathed in her love Hiding her love, as I looked into her eyes to love me Not finding it, I plunged the dagger in me! In it to kill her love in me, that no more looked for me In my love I lay in her feet spent, swept in her love, my blood curdling Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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calling out to me! To pick me up in the drops of blood left in me In me to drink the last drop of her love, left in me to drink her love in me her love no longer seeking me!

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AN ODE TO MY FATHER... In the words of my mother Nutan Sarawagi

As I nuzzle in you lost to you the mysteries of old age unravel in you you who shunned me all my life now waiting to caress me as if I was your last life love was going on strike! I wonder what all those years had meant to you now that you turn again in them to me were they love or this is love perplexed, I turn again to look at you I see in your face the passage of time of days gone by when you held me as if you were mine now trampled crumpled ravaged by age old time even the clock cannot turn them back in time if only I could be young once again to touch you feel you the same once again as you were once mine untouched by time!

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PARTHA MUKHERJEE

Born 31st August 1957, brought up in Kolkata, West Bengal. He Passed university level with English as fonding subject. Started Working in Indo American company as senior executive in international department. Presently involved in teaching to students of 11,12 board students and Hons. Writing Poetry is his passion.

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A BORDER # Partha Mukherjee

Theism and Atheism Romantism and Satirical Elgebathan and Victorian A line of difference between Agonists are credulous Like to balance The border highlights Two extremes . Romantism Divine imagined carnal Leaves a border in Satirical In Sheridan's bumpkin Elgebathan scandal of Rich Blendia's locks raped A border to Emergence, Victorian ruled. Between stands Donne dawned. Line phase is Poetry of transformation Epitomised. © sarathi 25 12 2015

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PRAVEEN RANJIT

Professor Praveen Ranjit is a creative writer who gets inspiration from nature to social issues and enjoys writing poems on love, life, compassion, happiness, human relations nature’s beauty etc. At a very young age he developed his writing skills, published poems in various anthologies and periodicals and received many awards of excellence. He was a professor in the Department of Commerce, St. Albert’s college, Kochi, Kerala from 1981 to 2014

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QUEUE Praveen Ranjit

We are in a queue At the door of death Move forward every moment A few men enter each moment All are getting closer Soon your turn will come It will snatch away your body Wealth, position and prestige Surrender everything to the divine Before death grabs you Death can take your corpse only Never touch the eternal in you.

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BE HUMANE Praveen Ranjit Consider never me as human being If I ignore my fellow beings So many are there suffering too much When many of us are live in luxury.

Raze my pen and tear my papers If not break my silence when have violence How can I sleep in my palace When my fellow beings sleep on foot path.

How can I eat food so sumptuous If I never share my food to the needy Let us unite and raise our voices Everyone has the right to live here.

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RAHUL MALL

Rahul Mall is a passionate poet, writer and an artist who hails from the Kathmandu Valley, capital of Nepal. Currently residing in Kolkata, India hr has recently achieved his Bachelors Degree in Commerce. Having featured in certain magazines he is a budding poet and an artist. He believes that a paintbrush and a pen are the greatest weapons known to mankind.

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TIME Rahul Mall

I propose us to suture To take our every step in harmony. I propose to be your master, But you muster away faster.

I propose us to make the rounds, Twice- twelve; about the bounds. In a day. Everyday. Together. Astride. But you mistake it to be a Guinea And us its participants, The result an innocuous debacle, And the constant effort to get better, Catalyst to my demise.

I propose to hold you in my hand, wrap around my wrists. And as I lurge to make a tight grip, You turn slimmy and make the slip.

Now I grow slow and slower And on my every round, I meet you at your next round. I was to be your master, But you seem to have turned the table around. Turning me into an abject follower. And as I walked closer, You tick-tocked your way out. Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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Tick -tock, tick-tock... Tick-tock...

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AT A MUSEUM Rahul Mall

The old are gone, Buried under their tomb. Kings besides their queens And ladies from harems. But their blood-stained clothes dried, To withhold the sands of time. What art they patronized! In ivory their scriptures inscribed. I walk out of the museum, Look over the horizon. Shades of blue and yellow- only within my vision. They are gone, lost in time, As I here lose my rhyme. Alike we shall be lost too, Some day, one day, not today. For I have yet 'something' to do, For my flesh shall burn to ash, And bones carbonized to fossils, And in them I hope someone inscribes, Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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Anecdotes of my life. Someone...

Readers, allow me to bid adieu, For I have 'something' to do. Something....

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BLENDING Rahul Mall

When a Persian speaks Hindi, English and one another. A trinity- fresh product, Influenced by each other. A new tone, in a different manner. A new language or evolution of former? Neither. It's a blend of four corners Each trespassing their abuts. In new tongue - same old blabber.

Languages and humans alike, Blend undiffered, across contours unified. With the current of the sea we sail, To the meets of two races we hail. With every new meet a new change, Occurs a cultural, traditional blend. A red teeka on the white face, The African in a monk's trance, The Indian on the streets of France. Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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Languages and humans alike, Accustomed to the constant change.

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RAINY SARMISTHA

Rainy Sarmistha is a hotelier by profession. her passion towards poems brings here to this lovely platform to serve her poems . She has a keen interest in exploring and experiencing the true inner feeling of own self, that is contributing her poems in various groups which is related to various other talented authors. she believes in the inner feeling is the only way to experience love and happiness .

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MYSTIC CREATION Rainy Sarmistha

Oh gorgeous universe You are the essence of Sublime creation I walk along with you till the dawn break into dusk The dark veil of the night Slowly whispering the truth Of the sight.. The longing sky stares At the mystic earth The silence of the nature Silently listens her own words My contemplation was skysurfing alone With a drift of wind Like a falling leaf Oh Universe Hide me in your Scented glory far from the fake and furry I pray for all the creations Who are slowly forgetting The beauty of nature..

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NOTEBOOK OF DESIRE Rainy Sarmistha

Yes an empty notebook And the blank pages Of my heart Held the ink Of his affection The floating memories Of the time Was knocking At the door Of my mind The water of desire Is flowing As a treated decorating option Yes the curious wishes Was getting along well With the cautious imagination Every strokes of my pen Tells the tale of love And the strong nib Makes it feel Like love is Turning the Pages of my soul..

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RAJA ANJANA KOTHAPALLI

Sri Sai Latha is the pen name of Raja Anjana Kothapalli. She is a poet, fiction writer and blogger from Hyderabad, India. An Engineer by qualification, Anjana had worked as Senior Software Engineer in Capgemini and also served as Assistant Manager in Andhra Bank.

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FLUTE Sri Sai Latha (Raja Anjana Kothapalli)

Hollow with holes I am piece of wood Just a tiny stick Play me rightI am your breath You’re my voice Play me rightI am your music You’re my song Play me rightI am your soul You’re my life Play me rightI am your flute You’re my artist Hollow with holes I am piece of wood Still a tiny stick

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THE BEAST Sri Sai Latha (Raja Anjana Kothapalli)

Huge trees aplenty Fresh water ponds Bugs, birds and beasts Nature at its best A forest so green Golden silk coat Spotted in white Curved shiny antlers A sight to behold Dear O’ deer Go back to herd Run for your life Behind the bushes Is an inhuman human A hunter- ready to strike Poor pretty thing Killed for a sport Skinned for a rug Beheaded for decor Who is the beast?

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SOLDIER’S WIFE Sri Sai Latha (Raja Anjana Kothapalli)

Your words- I’ll comeback The mantra I repeat Day and night Awake or asleep Your letter I rereadWar is near its end Soon I’ll comeback Take care of kids I kept my promise Please honour your word Comeback home dear Your near seems too far My beloved better half Bravest man I ever met It took half of my courage To let you go that day With rest of the courage I await your return Day and night Awake or asleep

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RAVI.S.RANGANATHAN

A retired Senior Bank Manager, dabbling in Poetry because of my sheer passion for it. I believe everybody is a poet at heart. I do write on all topics that catch my fancy. I live at Chennai with my devoted wife. I am Blessed with a daughter who too is a Bank Officer and lives two streets away with my son in law and their 3 year old lovely little son. Our grandson is our proud and prime past time. I live a contented life and in the words Pope ‘In health of body, peace of mind/Quiet by day/Sound sleep by night’.

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NOCTURNAL NICHE Ravi.S. Ranganathan

It is in night that I hear nights, every night... And it hears me in my whispers; waking my own realm While secrets keep knocking its doors. It is in the night that I make the world a stage And write my painful pieces on earth Till my pensiveness gets unfurled. Reflections of soul’s tears and fears Begin to break away for dear worth. In every atom of light my night shines. I dissolve my faults In thorn ridden confines Till flowers awake, delighting in designs... Closely consuming nights and nights I create my own nocturnal niche Where my being resumes its smile.

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SANJANA BANDOONI I'm Sanjana Bandooni. I'm from Gajraula, small town in Amroha District, Uttar Pradesh. I've done my schooling from St. Mary's Convent School, Gajraula. Now I'm pursuing B.com from M.K.P P.G College, Dehradun. Starting from the childhood I always dreamt of that I want to be a writer. To conquer my dreams I started writing short poignant rants and then turning those rants into large paragraphs efficiently. I'm a voracious reader who loves to read more and more things.

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MEMOIRS OF SHORES Sanjana Bandooni Quite seas Sweeping in blue waters, Waves flowing in the form Of memories.

Gulls were flying High in the sky, The sudden numbness is enchanted By the craving urge.

Like the two upsurging waves, Colliding with her ramblings. Shores reminds of her, The beauty of smile.

Serene and calm as waves, Busy empty minds. Finding her way through minds, Longing for the intimacy, that resides there.

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RECLUSIVE LOVE Sanjana Bandooni She always seemed to be cheerful, Like a dawning spring. That blossom always in sunny days, Where once we fall in love.

There is a dew on the grass, Nothing speaks of her warmth. Dawning days in her kohl eyes, Heat of molten sunsets.

Her blossom petals drops, I traverse this path alone. Her bare footprints covered, Snow is the form of my tears.

That fall like snow, Tracing those memories alone. And I sit on our bench waiting, Alone here.

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EMOTIONAL BITE Shyamal Kumar Majumder

In this prosaic morning Caught some words Incoherent Tried to make coherent Played like a blacksmith. In the forge of mind To rein them Scorched Beat Tempered At last snapped my pampering emotion. And prostrated. Suddenly Another emotional engulfment To be perched An attempt to enliven... For another emotional bite

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FOR AN ASTROLOGER Shyamal Kumar Majumder

Seeking for an astrologer What gemstones are being deficit For the fingers of our world? Amethyst? Agate?Or emerald? What gemstones are being deficit? Is that why our housings so vulnerable? Have we got any security in true sense? We live on the mercy of a few people, mostly villains. But we experience Food and appetite are in concomitance As diseases and drugs Sorrows and smiles and so on. We believe it heart and soul. Who or how have ensconced our key of happiness Who is disturbing our happy concerts? Has anybody here to emendate our wrongs? Has any perfect astrologer to determine our appropriate gemstones? Such scrimmages , such type of vulnerability Suit no more. ÂŠ 19 Dec,2015. Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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DR. SONIA GUPTA DR. SONIA GUPTA (BDS, MDS) hails from DeraBassi, near Chandigarh, India. Though, a doctor by profession, yet poetry is her passion. She started writing in 2006 and her journey of poetry continued afterwards.Her many poems got a place in various Hindi magazines and English anthology books. Recently she became an established poetess after getting her two Hindi poetry books published. Her three English poetry books are releasing soon. Besides poetry, she is fond of paintings, singing, cooking, knitting, designing, stitching and embroidery too!!! Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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HAPPINESS IN LIFE Dr. Sonia Gupta

To be happy in your life You need not have to find any reason!

Happiness is not only in gaining Any name, fame or appreciation!

To cherish your happiness You need not have to wait for a big occasion!

Doing your jobs of daily routine Working heart fully for your passion!

Staying along with your loved ones Sharing their every pain and emotions!

Respect your every relation Throw away your fake admirations!

Being happy in others’ happiness Is also a source of smile and compassion!

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Thanking lord for all his blessings Bowing your head in all his decisions!

Just be pure by your soul inside Accept whatever is your situation!

Always live with your deeds Growing as a better human!

Happiness is not only a word It has a profound connotation!!!

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SUFIA KHATOON Sufia manages *Our World Our Initiative*, a social and philanthropic initiative on Facebook which Focus on helping old people, children and orphans who are forced to beg or earn on the Streets, connecting them to world.

She has been featured *India Positive, CNN IBN*, Femina, Telegraph, Times of India, Taaza Tv various online portals, magazines and websites for her efforts.

A curator and artists she has exhibited her works in eminent galleries like Chemould art gallery, Birla art gallery, Academy of Fine Arts, Mirage Art gallery, Shrimati Art gallery, and so on in Kolkata and appreciated for her art. Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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10 years experience in writing as a reporter in newspapers. Runs Being bookworms an online blog which focuses on writers and books related events.

Her short stories and poems has been selected and published in four anthologies Seasons of love, Myraid Tales and Life sundae, her story was appreciated by Fusion team clearing first and second round and she had won Fablery sci-fi first round for novella writing..her poem appeared in Heart only whispers an anthology of poems presently working on different projects.

She got chosen for Grapevine anthology contest of 25 strokes of Teen life She is a young enthusiastic who loves to write pain and create. Writing for her is survival without which she would lose her vision.

Her poetry has been selected for various national and international anthologies namely Magnitude by IIA, Umbilical Cord by Rejected stuff, Milange by Poets corner, Kaafiyana of Delhi Poetry festival, Create2inspire initiated anthology The Dawn Beyond Waste , Avadh Literary Festival anthology 'Lifenaama"and many more.

She is the co-founder of Rhythm Divine, a poets' group in Kolkata which focuses on promoting poetry, organizing creative writing workshops and featuring poets live on radio. It's about poetry reaching out to people and poets evolving.

Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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EDGE OF LOVE.... Sufia Khatoon

If love was more than feelings, More than undesired and unusual things. Could you still know love? To stand on the edge of love And jump into endless space. Like the world meaningless When mind is senseless, It would find and lose itself. A step more and the earth sinks into oblivion, Speculating over the cases of love. Love, so much love Confused and refused, It travels in nonexistent zones To know if love was more than feelings.

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SUMANA BHATTACHARYYA

Sumana bhattacharyya is a multilingual Indian Poetess with passion towards Hindi and English Poetry and is fond of Music as well. She is well versed in English, Hindi and Bengali languages. Passed from Calcutta University, she has completed spoken English course and Secretarial Practice.

Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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O MY MIND! O MY THOUGHT! Sumana Bhattacharyya

O my mind ! O my thought! O my soul ! O my God! My pen depict you My words turned as you! My poetry is only Meant for you! Rest of the world I forgot Only for you! I recall my name and Only a few! Where I captive myself in a room Where no flowers to bloom! My life is at the brink I am now a missing link ! My minute turned as hour Hour turned as day! The world appear as lazy What do u think I am crazy?

Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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TAPESHWAR PRASAD

Tapeshwar Prasad was born on 26th October 1969 in Pathankot, Punjab. A Graphic Designer by profession. Presently he works as an Asst. Librarian at St. Xavier’s College, Digha, Patna, Bihar (India). Married to a beautiful woman with two loving daughters and a son. His schooling was from K.V.S. Jorhat (Assam), Sarsawa (U.P), Halwara (Punjab) respectively and graduation from Punjab University (Chandigarh). Painting, sketching, reading and music are some of his part time hobbies. Awarded BIHAR WIBHUTI SAMMAN for his social work.

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I FLOAT UNIVERSES Tapeshwar Prasad

I float universes To birth inside you Yet you gap a void To empty the rush Dream often comes Wide awake Yet you flake my eyes With drops of icicles I hold my steps Lest I worry you not Yet mire are my act To see your cry

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LONGER JAWS Tapeshwar Prasad

Dab lightly The letters from The frosty windowpane, To gauge The measure of love Breath to breath

Many facts Remain unknown To a face in the mist, Still silent birthmark Choose oneness By every streak of finger mark

I withhold luxury Life after life To quarry upon The golden mines; Some more dead have risen up To read your script by longer jaws

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LOST PARADISE Tapeshwar Prasad

O the muted gloss of my gravest floss Chime not, tinkling thy smile; Wonton I ask ‘me’ to clone my face And hid ‘myself’ behind By the same blind alley Through which my tears flows

O yonder, mantle of yore; A silent bellow Breezes warmth, To every drop Of sweet salty tears From my cursory face

O ye The ballerina Of my dancing cusp; I possess every point To quell the force Into thy bellicose poise

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I have known From every fallings of my eyes The thaw of universe In each drop, abandoned; On the lost paradise Bruised, and bruised again

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YUMNAH RAZZAQ Yumnah Razzaq Is a 17 year old poetess. She started writing early in life and got her first poetry book “Regrets” published in Pakistan, of which she received a lot of appreciation. Earlier, she wrote for” Teens ink” online. She has several poems published in online and school print magazines. She studied at Beaconhouse school system as a science student. She hopes to inspire by her words. Yumnah grew up reading Sylvia Plath, Lewis Carol and William H Davis. Currently she shares her work at “Hall of Poets, Google+ community”.

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ALONE BEINGS Yumna Razzaq

Mobile flesh and blood, Sentimental hearts perplexed, Bony frames in flood… Of rash traffic of this world; With ironical life they blessed, Jigsawed with intense sand mould.

Leading breaths in dismal graves, Countless raports they embrace, Storing mortality in caves; Blowing off flames, cheers efface But visionary sockets, so brave! Paths to the teary tops they trace.

Alone beats, thumping wholly, Hormones in blood swirling slowly, Not red but deeply… White they are in cages coldly! More the vile -less the holy; In depths, they are lonely...So lonely..!

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SONNET: TO MEMORIES Yumna Razzaq

Today we surmise like diamond and live at war With the past that haunts our cerebral layers. Those years that are locked, in key-less drawer, We loiter as if chained with memorial stairs.

Recollections- Flutter, like a wingless fly; Hover in numbness over Golden drapes. And when the vision fell on the sky, They tinge the iris with traceless shapes.

Ecstatic graffiti bliss the soul and madness Lurid in glum; while those evening teasBring seasonal shift and exclusive fondness. Tears fell- By the glimpse over sun blue seas.

Memories are terrific like iron balls They beat in life like flaming stars.

ÂŠ Yumna Razzaq, December 2015 Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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FRIENDLESS FRIENDS Yumna Razzaq

The sunlight gets torturous, madly lethal The self mourns over the yearly hoards; Which lingers elegaicly over the dour sequel And guards the mirth from dominating the vibes. While the scorn lumbers in through the doors Cold light and grey haze ruptures all the stipes.

Darkness – “Hi! I’m here among the cracks”. Paving my grave it rests by the tomb. “Will seal your soul till nothing lacks”.

It plucked the selves fictive bones and veins, The somber tongue fall quite in gloom… Consuming over the resurrecting chains.

The alone landscape stared and gazed Self eyed a friend; it bewitched me Loneliness – “Hi! I’m here, don’t be amazed” It embraced my starving brain and thirsty heart. Design ©PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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“I’m your friend in untenanted wicked glee” We friend-less-friends-befriended against thwart.

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GUIDELINENS FOR SUBMISSION FOR THE MAGAZINE: 1. All submissions must be unpublished and your own original works. Check for consistent spelling of names, terms, and abbreviations, including figures & captions. 2. SUBMIT YOUR ENTRIES ON THE EMAIL ADDRESSES PROVIDED BELOW OR BY FILLING IN THE FORM ON OUR OFFICIAL WEBSITE. EMAIL: hallofpoets@gmail.com Website: http://hallofpoets.weebly.com 3. You are required to submit your entries as Microsoft word document via email along with your name, Photo, category for which you are writing, copyright name & year, a 50 word Bio-data, email address, Facebook or Google plus profile url so that we can connect to you. 4. Religious proselytising, offensive, demeaning, harassing, pornographic content will be discarded. Kindly do not submit any content relating to this. IF YOU HAVE ANY DOUBTS, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO WRITE TO US.

Design ÂŠPULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 Powered By: LAVITA PALACE, Sector-10, Gurgaon, Haryana, India.

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