HALL OF POETS, ISSUE 07, NOV. 2015

HALL OF POETS

PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

HALL OF POETS INSPIRE & BE INSPIRED ISSUE 07, NOV.2015

NOT FOR SALE

POWERED BY

LAVITA PALACE SECTOR-10, GURGAON INDIA

HALL OF POETS, 913, SECTOR-15 PART-2 , GURGAON, HARYANA, INDIA. PIN: 122001 © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Copyright © 2015 By 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 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

Chief Editor: Dr. PRERNA SINGLA Co - Editor & Magazine Designer: PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA Logo Design: DAIPAYAN NAIR Cover Photo: PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA. PUBLISHER: HALL OF POETS ISSUE 07, NOV. 2015

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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CONTENTS TITLE

AUTHOR / POET

OWNER’S WRITE

PAGE

06

PASSIONI D’AMORE

Dr. PRERNA SINGLA

07

WHO KNOWS WHAT SALVATION IS?

PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

09

THE GOLDEN CHAIN

11

THE PAPER IS BLANK

GAURI DIXIT

12

AN ANATOMY OF THE SPECK

ARKADY SANDLER

15

OWEN HABEL

16

HOME

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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PROTEINS OUT OF BOUNDS

PRATIMA APTE

17

TISSUE PAPER SOCIETY

RENU VYAS

18

THE PROTAGONIST

SEEMA TABASSUM

20

KATRIN DAYAK

21

JUVENILE

BISMAY MOHANTY

22

ORPHAN OF LOVE

JED WOLFE

24

I WANT TO BE

HALL OF POETS MOST POPULAR POET ON GLOBAL PLATFORM AT THE BOTTOM OF STAIRCASE LIFELESS A SHARE FROM MY EXPERIENCE

25

SHUBHRO SEN

26

YUMNAH RAZZAQ

30

SARATHI LOKE NATH

32

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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GRATITUDE

AKSHAYA KUMAR DAS

34

PLEASE JUST LET ME BE

NUTAN SARAWAGI

37

URBAN NOMAD

41

BLIND

GUIDELINES FOR SUBMISSION

44

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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OWNER’S WRITE POWERED BY

LAVITA PALACE Sector-10, GURGAON INDIA

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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PASSIONI D'AMORE Poem © Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 2015

The amber bourbon Sloshing over The ultramine hues of the Dye on paper

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Washing over The rainbow floods of the Feelings that taper Fading over The new avenues of the Passions of love.

Poem © Dr. PRERNA SINGLA, 2015

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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WHO KNOWS WHAT SALVATION IS? POEM © Dr. PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015

The carcasses Black, white and brown Burried on the battle ground Awaits the scavengers To nosh their corpses And free them from their duties © Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Towards brutal oddities Some in the name of nation Some in the name of religion Who knows what salvation is??

For them maybe killing innocent lives For birds maybe clearing the Pieces of the scattered meat Feeding their hungry chicks And for the world maybe Attainment of the Peace For the families maybe Mourning over the loss Who knows what salvation is??

One that compels people to kill?

One that compels the world for war.

POEM © Dr. PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA, 2015 http://pulkitfacesreality.blogspot.in/ © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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THE GOLDEN CHAIN

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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THE PAPER IS BLANK NOW POEM © GAURI DIXIT

On it once Was written A beautiful message By a prince, With invisible magic ink Which could be read only By his princess. © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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He asked the princess To elope And meet him In the forest On the full moon night.

The horse Crossed Mountains, valleys and rivers On the Way. The bag with the letter Got dipped in the water Washing away The invisible ink.

The silence in the letter Made The princess feel rejected.

Dejected, She jumped to her death.

Š Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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In the woods, The Prince Succumbed To heart break.

The blank paper Kept their love secret Forever, Still ashamed That it could not talk then, It remains blank now.

POEM © GAURI DIXIT 10-SEP-2015

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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AN ANATOMY OF THE SPECK

We can't breathe the same air again it happens to be too rarefied.

A black eye conversation in vain between these factitious cubicle lines.

Terrorists invaded into our frayed mind through the flickering fluorescent lights.

Superfluous dancing in elevator shaft of the spine screaming pelt in prophetical seizures for a dime.

POEM © ARKADY SANDLER, 2015

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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HOME We shall pack our rags and roam, And sleep where stars will appear.

We shall call that place "our home" Even if it will stink we won't fear.

And we shan't care much about hunger, We shall search for food by the garbage.

We shall eat and lick our fingers, And rest next to the sewage.

In our rags we shall shrink and sleep, And dream about where we came from.

If it rains, we shall get up from our sleep, And search for a new place to call home.

Our home will always be just, It will always make life look comical.

While we eat from plates that have rust, The haves are dying in hospital...

Poem © OWEN HABEL, 2015 © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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PROTEINS OUT OF BOUNDS POEM © PRATIMA APTE, 1.11.2015

Proteins out of bounds, Carbs out of reach, Water at what price?

Drought real or artificial?

Should man die slowly Or hang up his boots?

POEM © PRATIMA APTE, 1.11.2015 7.35PM © Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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TISSUE PAPER SOCIETY POEM © RENU VYAS, 2015

Those old loved landmarks Each with a memory attached All bulldozed and replaced By new impersonal structures Those small winding roads Where we once took long walks On warm summer nights Are now four lane highways Those pretty small shops Filled with colorful knick knacks That we often browsed through Replaced with city malls Those friends we depended on Now strangers we cannot connect with Stuck in the games of social status Wary, distant, cloaked in formalities

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Those relationships that were The roots of our existence Now discard us, only to replace With newer ones that change day/night Welcome to this new Weird, Unemotional Disposable, use and throw Tissue paper society POEM © RENU VYAS, 2015

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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THE PROTAGONIST He I was not looking for nor was he someone I dreamed of he had a way with words no doubt words that flooded my mind which knew not ever drought he was not my soulmate nor a friend his presence surreal made no difference but lost without words he left me in those lanes of him I knew only his fictional name he who without ever being company in those dark lanes had deserted me to whom I never even belonged left me feeling abandoned POEM © SEEMA TABASSUM 2015 tab1525.blogspot.com

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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I WANT TO BE

I want to be coral at the beach Stay firm in the huge waves Stay stand in the hurricane Stay strong endured agony Stay humbled under humiliations I want to be coral at the beach Protecting beach from abrasion I want to be coral at the beach Stay beautiful...

Despite sunrise burned me all the time POEM © KATHARINA DIKE/KATRIN DAYAK, 20.11.15 © Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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JUVENILE POEM © BISMAY MOHANTY, 2015

The notoriety of some Has changed the perception of people That “children are image of God” For those ‘some’ the majority suffer.

The lamb of childhood faces cripple.

Why won’t such filth arise in young minds?

The world we live is full of heinous crimes.

Where lies no varsity in style and seduction Where science is made to dominate conscience.

And misuse of technology that empowered over times.

The country saw a black December once.

Where the mayheminvolved a juvenile The nation fumed, demanded death And amend according to the legality of issue. © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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The last insisted more than a year’s time.

A child shook a country Brought it to demise and debates.

Some said to leave him, he is just a kid Others vowed to hang him and prevent The issue that oblivion of time begets.

Ah! What to say more?

The labour in these early years Is counted in the fate and future.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth According to the karma, the soulendears.

Don’t be a juvenile Life is vast as the Nile…….

POEM © BISMAY MOHANTY, 2015 © Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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ORPHAN OF LOVE I am an orphan of love I stand at the edge of my grave And look into my eyes Staring back at me, milky white Lost in delusions of where i dream Of being free and not a slave In this cemetery there is no suprise I am an orphan of the night Place another nail in my coffin Warm the earth that holds my heart I am an orphan of desolation A deadly illness of my soul In cemeteries i will wonder Like a ghost thats torn apart The devil laughs at my degeneration As blood pours into a hole I look once again into that dark place As my shadow stares back at me Lifeless eyes that are now mocking As the ground now swallows me..

POEM © JED WOLFE, 22NOV. 2015 © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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HALL OF POETS MOST POPULAR POETS ON GLOBAL PLATFORM FROM HOP DIGITAL MAG. ISSUE 06, OCT.2015

GIANFRANCO AURILIO FOR HIS POEM “ALWAYS”

ANCA MIHAELA FOR HER POEM “META” © Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRCASE POEM © SHUBHRO SEN, 2003

At the bottom of the staircase I first stood Beholding it with an eager face; Some known men I saw in those steps Involved in a strangely unknown race.

Allured by the stairs they fought each other To reach the topmost, elusive step; Its gold-like glitter bewitched me tooThat call! I just could not escape. © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Foregoing all else I began to climb, Those men I then began to fight To own the exalted, topmost spot By winning the war of brutal might.

I knew I had to defy the odds -This led me to my dreadful sin: I killed the rest- one by one, So they could lose and I could win.

I reached the top of the stairs at last, Overcoming my honest, fruitless past I won that spot of glittering fame I was about to write in it my name; Just then! A moment of wordless pain: I knew then I was also slain.

At the end of my life’s selfish days After my greedy wild goose chase I found my corpse at the bottom stair Along with the others, in despair.

My restless soul in full distress Š Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Can now realise and confess My immoral sin, my fatal crime To climb upwards and reach the top I climbed downwards all the time.

POEM © SHUBHRO SEN, 2003.

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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LIFELESS POEM Š YUMNA RAZZAQ

The pendulous cart by the trunk, lie there all isolated and bunk.

The fresh, green juvinelity..

Now, Seared up from fidelity.

The voices of mirthy tools, Echoing across the cherrished moors.

Now, Abondoned and dishevelled, By the emptiness of quite clamours.

Churned under feet are, deadLives of thousands; as bled.

From the springs of alacrity, Are now the Autumns of static equality.

Straw filled are skulls, with snakes Hanging through the sockets; fakeAre all the sojourns, Under terrible torturous burns.

Š Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Dark marrows appear, Elusive, vague & unclear.

From dissolving withery bones And toung-less creatures that mourn.

Knitted, neat threaded nets, Like spider sew out its web; Are now, lacerated lethaly..

By the self built nexus, of bully.

Facing towards the white sand, Are fleshless silhouttes in hand.

With mirky darkness up heavedOver the once lived barren field.

A life- lifeless spent.

It wasn't lived, let's apprehend.

Sooner or later it'll end in knives, The souls the spirits and lives.

POEM © YUMNA RAZZAQ NOVEMBER 11, 15

© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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A SHARE FROM MY EXPERIENCE (a short story from real life by SARATHI LOKE NATH, 2015)

She came. She was with her mom. She was petrified to some extent.

I wondered how she came up to Class 9th Standard from St John's Diasation School. Her mother, her mentor is a strong hearted lady who was resolute to make her daughter to compete with other able bodied students.

I was curious.

In fact little perplexed, as Priti's Mom requested me to take her in my class to teach with others. She was polite enough to share her experience about her poor scoring in English literature and language, in spite of she being taught previously by many teachers of the subject and how School teachers alerted parents about her mundane skill in English. Mother, respected lady even spoke of her hustle in coming to me long way down with the expectation.

I looked at Priti. Her eyes made me feel that I ought to understand her mother and her efforts. Someone prompted inside.

Priti was enrolled. Š Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Days rolled to months and months to Board Pre final Priti rose in English 26 to 67.That day I saw happiness, pure and holy. Priti appeared in Board. Her physically challenged state allowed her to take writer by Board. Her disjoined accent was another impediment.

But she got over all.

Few months passed by in the mean time she started 11th Class in my class. Result of Board declared. My one of the prized day .Priti got 84/100 in English. She doubled her efforts in next 2yrs. She proved that her first success wasn't by chance.

She was glorious in 12th Board result, scored 78/100 in English, beyond expectation of parents As her mother called up giving the good news, I felt something inside and that still a precious gem in teaching vault.

Priti now in a reputed college, with degree of Hons, She is going ahead.

God bless her. Let our well wishes be her best companions.

Share from my experience, A true one. Only name of student is changed.

Š SARATHI LOKE NATH, 4.11.2015

Š Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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GRATITUDE POEM © AKSHAYA KUMAR DAS

Even if hide your face, Could feel the grace,

The left over affair remains hanging, In the soul's backyard lots of stacking,

The accumulated woes, Not able to distinguish between a friend & foe, © Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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My silent ruminations digging the yard, Nails of my finger breaking hard,

Scribbling the lines of love on the souls' yard, Trying to give a pat to the soul's word,

Memories of you hang over, Soul not taking the name of slumber,

The appetite feeling more of the hunger, The thirst of the soul needs a toner,

Only if I could see your hidden face, Remove the palm covering the grace,

Waiting for moment of the turning point, Soul waiting with anxiety at the crossroads' joint, Š Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Oh ! Darling of my heart, Please revive my lost beats,

Send me the telepathic signals hidden, In life how could you leave me forbidden,

Life always behaves strange, Wondering at the voice trailing the range,

Even if you hide your face, Can feel the wonderful grace,

Lest you recognise or not, Keep chasing in my mirage hunt...

POEM © AKSHAYA KUMAR DAS 27/11/2015 8:30 A.M. © Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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PLEASE JUST LET ME BE ME POEM © NUTAN SARAWAGI, 2014

You think I am brilliant which I am anyway not brilliance lost in it's own sunshine a heart beating without a heart to set my mind to rest to test myself of all the things I know I may have said Do I really mean what I say or is it just to cover myself from the sinking feeling which never lets go sinking down my heart The shadows of depression that never leave me the haunting feelings which forever haunt me only to taunt me that I know too much or at least pretend to know too much © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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I have a lot of learning to do and unlearning too before I rest myself in peace making peace with myself telling myself that I have a long way to go before I set myself to rest without any protest I hate myself I know want to destroy everything I know , not know taking down with me the little or nothing thats left of me sinking it deep within me I sink not letting go of myself I think then why do I want to die just another pretence to lie that I don't want to live when I am actually DYING..to LIVE I say I am not afraid of death it's the biggest lie to myself why I am afraid of telling the truth believing in half measured truths I am tired of testing myself so much Š Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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selling myself to others' for not much they don't know what I want I just want to rest in peace to be alone with myself where even I cannot find myself Can you help me I am a liar to the core..who believes in no one hurting others to save myself in the bargain hurting everyone What's my problem ..I don't know no harm to me has anyone done then why am I not bleeding myself instead of bleeding others' to death why don't I get a life before I destroy others' lives Who has given me this right It is MY 'I' which protests but no one..can take it away from me and replace it with thee, for anyone is better than me in this game of being one I have already lost , no one has won Š Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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I just want to be one with thee Oh God please help me I want to believe in thee but my reasoning, just does not let me be for if I don't exist..then how can you be So both of us lets die , like stars in the sky in another day we shall live where life will be a distant dream where only you and I will live that day I shall await when you will be one with me Until then please let me be I just want to rest in peace please just let me be me POEM Š NUTAN SARAWAGI, 2014

Š Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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BLIND POEM © URBAN NOMAD 2015

Tonight I abandon the cloak of beauty, For the grim truth is my rhyme, Don't utter your pretty words, Don't parade your poignant pictures, To your sanctimonious rhetoric I pay no heed, Unseeing you are of the of the vicious cycle of misery.

The silent cries of the destitute, The bloodshed of a million children, The rape and degradation of our women, The killing of animals for sport not food, The soul-wrenching wailing of the famished, The forlorn eyes of the oppressed and weak, The annihilation of mother earth for our comforts.

Lost in our pursuit of all things material, Numb to the agony of those without, Where are our messiahs?

Where are our leaders?

Where is our King, our Gandhi, our Guevara, our Vilma, our Susan Anthony? © Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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Or must we wait for our saviours?

Haven't we seen enough!

So f*** your armchair sympathy, F*** your champagne tears, F*** your Armani scented emotional diatribes, Tonight I am enraged, Tonight I want you to see.

POEM © URBAN NOMAD 2015

© Design By PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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© Design by PULKIT MOHAN SINGLA

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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.

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