Write: An Anthology

WRITE “As sacred as prayer and music: Power of the word: Write.”

- Arjune Teeluck

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WRITE: An (International) Anthology.

Published by Magicwords Publication 2018 All Poems in this Anthology were submitted by poets from across the world with permission to publish. Poets hold the copyright for each poem. Magicwords take no responsibility for unauthorised poems submitted nor for mistakes and errors as this venture is intended to give new and budding voices a chance to bloom admist seasoned poets.

All poems were understood to be original work unpublished before except in a few cased where they appeared on WRITE page on Facebook.

All rights reserved. No part of this anthology must be extracted for use elsewhere without the written permission of Magicwords. Poets must give their consent before poems will be released for futher use.

Layout and Design: Keith Ramnanan ISBN -978- 976 -95549- 2- 4 (Printed version) ISBN-978-976-95549-3- 1 (Ebook) Contact: aritijankie@gmail.com facebook.com/groups/writeTT/ Arjune Teeluck via www.arjuneteeluck.com

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WRITE: An Anthology

WRITE An Anthology

Compiled and edited by Ariti Jankie

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Dedication To: The WRITE family.

Feel the presence!

PRIDE OF PLACE.

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INTRODUCTION In poetry, words sing and dance to bring to life deep emotions and experiences.

As the cosmic mind creates, words paint the picture and together they mix lyrical content to a melody to become the dance of nature.

Poetry expresses complex emotions. It has the power to design an enhanced life, uphold human values and foster a better understanding of the intricacies of life.

A poet becomes a slave to words. They tease him, form shapes and build images which he transfers to verses.

The WRITE family of poets spread across the globe has been inking verses to share on a daily basis. In this anthology, they offer a taste of the passion that drives their lives.

Each day, more than 5,000 poets pen an offering posted on WRITE and circulated with a feedback that inspires further thought and additional poems. This monumental creativity has thus inspired the compiling of this anthology aimed at adding to a literary repertoire worldwide.

WRITE, An Anthology began its journey with a call on December 5th for submissions. A deadline date was set for December 31st and poets were asked to submit up to five of their best unpublished work. A short bio-data and passport size photograph was also received at the WRITE headquarters. However, the low density of the majority of photographs received was unsuitable and therefore abandoned.

Poets have made no monetary contributions to this venture and no profit is expected from its sales. E-books and print copies can be purchased at cost by poets.

Copyright remains with Magicwords in the interest of the poets. All poems published in this anthology will remain reserved until written permission is given by each individual poet for its

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further use.

WRITE invites you to its world of poetry in this our first anthology with the hope that poetry will fill your lives as it has done to WRITE poets internationally. To further our commitment to poets, a second volume will begin compilation as soon as the first is released on April 22nd. 2018.

Ariti Jankie

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CONTENTS Arjune Teeluck 1 Eliza Segiet 8 Agni James 13 Aruna Lakra 18 Majrooh Rashid 23 Alicja Maria Kuberska 28 Bam Dev Sharma 33 Elizabeth Ongpauco 40 Vishnu Gosine 45 Nana Amma Adomaa Abrefa 52 Aamir Abdullah 57 Phoolo Danny-Maharaj 62 Faizan Khan 67 Dr. Majji Bharath 72 Oyekunle Ifeoluwa Peter 77 Varsha Saran 80 Stefan Bohdan 86 Setrohan Jankie 91 Subash Singh Parajuli 96 Ephrem Yigelu 103 Sujit Yadav 110 Radha Ragoonanan 115 S Nilakanta Siva 117 Purnima Khajuria 124 Ravi Kallicharan 130 Niraj Rana 132 Nupur Chakrabarty 137 Rajan Mehra 139 Obella Stephen 144

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WRITE: An Anthology

Olanihun Opeyemi Joe 147 Nameti Akpan 152 Katrina Anna McIntosh 155 Narendra Rajkumar 159 Sujata Paul 166 Kabedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st 171 Sravani Singampalli 176 Kiyomi Kiyomi 181 Jhimly Jolly 186 Chidi Nwosu 191 Omar Nassar 199 Daniel Igwe 201 Bijoy Bhakat 206 Bipil Banerjee 210 Amit Kumar Verma 215 Echem John 220 Safiya Baksh Hosein

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B.S. Tyagi 230 Tarandath Koonj Beharry 235 Sudarshana Mitra 243 Ariti Jankie 246

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ARJUNE TEELUCK

B

orn in a rural village, Lengua, Trinidad. (Twin Island Republic of Trinidad and Tobago, Caribbean) 1949.

Attended the TIA Muslim Primary School and Tagore College.

Author of books, plays, articles, poetry and documentaries on science, politics and religion.

Hobbies: Enjoys reading, writing, debating, and the study of philosophy, science, politics and comparative religion. www.arjuneteeluck.com

ONENESS Neither black nor white nor that other hue Not Christian, Hindu not Jain or Jew. Divinity has neither colour, creed, sect nor race.

Transcending all domestic boundaries, isms and face!

Within the limitation – human dimension Divinity manifests amongst every people – nation To ‘supremise’ one manifestation over the other Is to engage an utterly foolish – evil – baseless bother For one who yet yearns to know the self Let that one avoid such baseless pelf For to behold the Oneness is all that be Is to realize one’s own divinity As one who wears this human form and face Every colour, creed and race I embrace Though Indian and Hindu I verily am I worship Yehweh – Isus – Allah, JA JA All and Kaam.

Teeluck

1

TELL ME Time, space, earth and sky and all things about Change is to evolution, constant without doubt Speak of whom and what and how and why and where and when And creation of the word and numbers, zero to nine and ten Speak of love; speak of duty; speak of God Speak of reality; of illusions and of things odd Tell me all about the mundane and of the sublime And what fraction of eternity is any given time Tell me about what you’ve come to know and to realize Not some book, man or institution – to praise and/or criticize Speak of your own truth – experience, strength and hope Not of another’s piety/wisdom – prophet, priest or pope By experience and example, through these alone we learn Not by vain displays of glory, or fear in some hellfire to burn Tell me of your own reality, both in substance and in sum Tell me how adversity, you did endure and overcome Tell me why one chooses, evil instead of good What they ought not, do, instead of what they should Why selfless love I cannot yet, perceive much less touch And why my capaci-capability – is limited to this much

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ME No holier place or a more auspicious time No presence more sacred or sublime And indispensable I am:

For as infinitesimal as I may be This eternal cosmic infinity cannot exist:

In its completeness without me Come to conquer, not to surrender my space Here past, present and future inter-face.

Now to know with my being to behold As the infinite cosmic purpose unfold.

To know that inner beast and brute To touch the very helm of all truth For great good I somehow brought to bear Though ego held on firm to its share!

My laughter over-whelmed by my tears My courage subdued by my fears No need to win, lose or breakeven:

But self-assured never to quit Though often times I stood:

At the very end of both my will and wit.

My faith too, as unyielding as my doubt My silence more deafening than my shout Yet a great quiet of mind and spirit I now feel As my illusions loose luster before the real Have worshipped the ALL and yet none Seen I self as both the substance and the sum No boundaries, no beginning, no end, This spirit all things transcend No holier or a more auspicious time No presence more sacred or sublime And indispensable I am: For infinitesimal as I may be This eternal cosmic infinity cannot exist: In its completeness without me!

Teeluck

3

HAND OF GRACE At the boundary of strength but will:

Neither before nor beyond Realm of that ‘Higher Reality’:

There the cosmic hand is found At the end of human endurance:

Where strength and will abate Behold the throne of Providence:

Grace is become the hands of fate Matter, electro-magnetic energy:

And consciousness makes up the sum A self and cosmic perfecting synergy:

Beat of the space-time drum Like ever expanding globes,

our consciousness expand as we evolve To know and to be a trifle more:

And to culture yet greater resolve Consciousness is become a pebble here,

there a sun and galaxy A spore, an oak, a microbe;

each a microcosm of the one cosmic reality This individual but the collective,

soul and self and mind In all, as one and as all;

this single but collective bind Our individual consciousness then,

is influenced by the larger whole As the forces of atrophy and entropy,

keeps on struggling for control Though this awareness seems sufficient,

yet too often I fail to act The requisite willingness still lacking;

hold of the senses yet intact Governed by animal-like instinct,

we deny the realm of mind Shirking our responsibility to self,

renewal and growth to therein find

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All that is human must retrograde,

if it does not advance There is no element of chance,

co-incidence or happenstance The answer to this enquiry, I find;

increases even as I grow.

And sometimes I find that the questions

are but all I need to know!

Teeluck

5

A REALITY MORE PROFOUND Can you feel the soothing embrace

of a soft and caressing breeze?

Or the giving power in a gentle rain

that nature’s thirst did ease.

Can you hear the sweet silence within,

the stillness of every night?

Or embraced the magic mood of the moon,

or taken a bath in its serene light.

Have you danced with the cosmic beauty

of the stars up above?

Felt the embrace of a higher power

of divine inexhaustible love.

Have you beheld the infinity within,

have you realized all is one.

Have you within this moment

seen the eternity gone and yet to come.

Can you perceive material nature

in her absolute entirety?

Can you see her as the physical self

of the one spirit reality?

Infinitesimal: Colossal: Myriad forms,

somehow different is each entity.

In spite of nature’s limitless diversity,

can you see an uncompromising unity?

Can you see the cosmic spirit soul,

within all but within you and me?

As an individual eternal spirit being,

yourself can you truly see.

Infinitesimal though I am, all in part,

and part of all that be, This infinite and eternal cosmic whole

is but incomplete without me!

Have you seen the reality

beyond that encompasses faith and hope?

Or took the masters hand in yours

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and with tempering adversity cope.

Have you realized that in the eyes of love,

evil hate does not exist?

For when the voice of evil calls,

love neither yields nor resist.

Can you make this light of inexhaustible love;

burn brighter within you still; And touching others with this love,

their hearts forever fill.

Have you sat in natures counsel

and conversed with the cosmic mind; And indomitable will and wisdom,

duty and purpose therein find.

Can you now face life’s toughest

challenges and through them all wear a smile Can you feel the innocence of a child in you,

could you embrace it for a while!

Teeluck

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ELIZA SEGIET (POLAND) Translated by Artur Komoter liza Segiet – graduate with a Master’s Degree in Philosophy, completed postgraduate studies in Cultural Knowledge, Philosophy, Arts and Literature at Jagiellonian University, as well as Film and Television Production in Lodz.

Torn between poetry and drama. Likes to look into the clouds, but keeps both feet on the ground. Her heart is close to the thought of Schopenhauer: “Ordinary people merely think how they shall ‘spend’ their time; a man of talent tries to ‘use’ it”.

Author’s works can be found in anthologies and literary magazines in Poland and abroad (Albania, Australia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, India, Sweden, Scotland USA)

E

NAG The clatter of horses’ hooves always reminds of the returning cabman.

He lived around the corner.

The poor wife was alone.

They killed him, the children, in her - the will to live.

She said she wanted to leave, but she cannot.

Someone should stay to remember them and not let them be forgotten.

Every morning the scrawny nag nickers in vain.

She is waiting for…

It is not known.

Maybe - like people for death!

Or maybe for a miracle?

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I, JEW Through a crack in the hideout I watched whether my daughters are still alive.

How can I help them, what can I give them?

I, the hatred of one and the love of others, locked in a cage, I a man and -nobody-!

SEGIET

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HALLUCINATIONS I do not remember myself from yesterday.

Maybe some demon swirled in the mind?

Maybe the past of those such as I does not exist at all?

We were created to hide our origin from serial killers.

And at night - hidden in the moonlight we feed ourselves with hallucinations.

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FIT Without you it doesn’t fit her.

Nothing is normal anymore, the plans have slowed down, the pace of life has blown over.

How can he go far?

You go there in two.

Someone has to be the eyes and the other to push the cart.

SEGIET

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SEPIA She used to have the impression of love.

Remained misunderstanding, shortness of the mind, echo of the past pocketing shots.

Now the world of sepia and emptiness around her she explains by the possession of the Nazis by someone who lived - to kill!

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AGNI JAMES

A

gni James earned a MA. in Philosophy and studied Psychology and Molecular Biology as an undergrad. He is a Yogi, and practice Qigong, Kum Nye, and meditation daily. He is also extremely involved in competitive chess and heavy metal.

BLACK LIE DISFIGUREMENT Meditating in metal Heavy atmosphere I inhale Voices from the future Scrambled egg notion of time Living in the present ain’t no gift Santa Claus won’t visit today Coffin’ chimney Flue is shot closed Only the virus can breathe in this climate Not even Christkind’s elves can climb it Cookies and milk don’t satiate past cravings Lactose intolerant soul Breastfed on mother’s intolerance Scary dairy Santa’s fairy tail Leaves a bloody trail of lies in the sky Short-sided fictions you impart Destroy the trust in your child’s heart Christ-Mass tree deceit sings heavily Burned out light at the end of your tunnel

JAMES

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CRAYOLA Painted my reflection with vague ascriptions Contradictions dance in every nook and cranny Ballet slippers soaked in blood The tale of a shooting star stains my mind Cauliflowered resurrection Colorful flowers drawn at my discretion Somehow this landscape remains fertile Crop rotations unnecessary Same performance, different cast I’m curled up inside the curtain On its fabric I feel A purple texture A touch of abrasion My favorite vacation No trees held in my palms Something else resides there A couple yummy stakes Satiate, penetrate On a piece of wood I contemplate That purple texture Another day another holler Poisoned yoke around the collar A drunken palette stumbles in stage right An unrefined display of color

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DOWN ON THE FARM Barnyard creatures Distinguishing features Manifested phenomenal from the noumenal I remember a time When there was no time When life just happened Before I tried to make sense of the senseless Before my mind was fortified with defenses But I went to sleep And dreamt up a world Based on contradiction Theater of the absurd And here we are Living out the dream Arbitrarily ascribing meaning to the meaningless What matters in a dream?

Row, row, row, your boat Within this illusion All you’ll ever find Is madness and confusion How fast will you row When you know The river runs in circles?

JAMES

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SLAVE I have nothing good to say And nothing bad either I talk about this and that What I say just is Yet from a finite set of beliefs You paint my ideas with colorful labels Judging them as right or wrong Based solely on whether they are in harmony, or conflict with your other notions Yet your beliefs come and go They enter your home, stay for a while, then leave you Like a houseguest, partner, or child Over time all your guests are supplanted Yet you forge your identity around these transitory beliefs Every time there’s a knock at your door You judge the visitor based on the opinions of your other houseguests Knock Knock Knock Who is it?

He’s repulsive, don’t let him in She’s adorable, welcome her with open arms He doesn’t get along with Mr. X there could be trouble But Mr. X has been uncouth as of late, maybe we should show HIM the door.

This is how you construct your reality This is how you fashion your identity Your value judgments dictate how you perceive others You love or hate your brother depending on nothing of sub-

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stance Don’t you get it!

You are not your beliefs You are permanent You are eternal Redefine what you choose to identify with Reestablish your sanity Reevaluate how you perceive others Rejoin oneness Rejoice.

JAMES

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ARUNA LAKRA

P

oetess Aruna Lakra hails originally from West Bengal India presently residing in New York USA. She is a full time working woman and a mother with MBA in Marketing possessing keen passion for literature.

Her poetry has been published in various literary magazine and anthologies.

A great lover of nature her basic aim in writing poetry is to touch and soothe human souls through her creativity.

WALK WITH ME Walk few steps with me Before it darkens Crown my hair with flowers Before the leaves fall Sip some wine from my eyes Before my heart pines Watch the sunset on my face Before the dusk grows deeper Harp a tune of love for me Before I slumber Draw a line of peace Before the waves of hatred drown you Wear a smile for the saddened Before they think the world isn’t beautiful...

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DESIRE Lying on the hard wooden plank Starring at the sky blue and blank Sometimes I desire to dream on a soft bed Tired of sleeping under the broken shed It’s raining now and in me rain grieves My world changeth in drenching leaves The slivery phases of changing faces Crippled me much before the ages My pouring eyes revealing The weight and fatigue of living Engulfed by pieces of broken pottery Once glazed now in memory My rattling bones and trembling lips Binds hunger and pain in great friendship My only desire now to gulp a bowl of soup To cherish my life before I droop...

LAKRA

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SILENCE I am a soldier caught in a whirlpool of war Fighting for freedom from the field to the shore Every drop of my blood smells of my land A perfect tribute of honor in command My limbs are wounded so I am thrown At the mercy of the nature’s zone Whole day I gaze with prayers on my lips Tears rolling down but pride never slips Hell breaks loose as darkness creeps The moaning the groaning the sobs so deep Rings through my ears without a wink of sleep Conscious or unconscious I knit my dreams Amongst gunshots bullets and screams At times I hear my dad whisper son do not fear Or my beloved singing the love duet with me But sometimes all I hear is silence of the souls in plea...

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COLORS OF LIFE Our life an endless canvas We the painter of the vast atlas Colors of rainbow bestowed by the sky For humans to choose the colors and dye Our dreams are the colorful autumn leaves Love and feelings let the roses weave Let honey of golden humanity flow in our lives Serenity prevail in vibrant colors and vibes Our failures in life are the broken potteries Let us mend and paint like the blueberries Obstacles are colors hard to wash But with hope from divine the rainbow will splash Let us not fear the black and the whites As long as golden rays sparkles in our eyes Every moment a color takes birth Of moods and minds of this living earth Fragrant the colors of life with love and care Let no storm and waves discolor it bare Pray our garden is always in bloom Canopied under the silvery moon

LAKRA

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YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL The day you told me ‘’You’re BEAUTIFUL” Spring never ended for me The flowers all bloomed together The honeybees drank the sweet nectar The burden of a beggar seemed much lighter The smile of a child so enchanting The lilies of the field swayed dancing The swans in the lake were deep in love Pure and gentle like a pair of dove The clouds kissed the sky shamelessly Opened the fountain of love to shower on earth The world was so charmed with laughter all-around Sadness and sorrow all fell to the ground The sunset was brighter than gold and silver The homeless and the travelers found shelter Peace domained in every house Strength and hope never to douse The fruits of joy will be reaped and spread As a beautiful world is sprouting ahead.

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MAJROOH RASHID

M

ajrooh Rashid is a Kashmiri poet. He has spent a lifetime searching for and translating poetic work of the Kashmir region. He teaches at the University of Kashmir and writes fluently in several languages.

YOU SPOKE TO ME...

You spoke to me and I felt as if a devotee opened the doors of an old temple on a hilltop that has remained closed for ages.

Your words dusted its walls and your vibrating metaphors removed cobwebs from the gloomy ambience.

The goddess opened her eyelids and smiled.

I am still inhaling the incense.

RASHID

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LINES FOR MY MOTHER Though the sun was hell bent upon burning me by inches, she stood there as the shade of a pine tree with dense branches.

The stubborn rays were taken aback and returned to the sun empty handed for the first time.

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THE TIGRESS IN MY EYES the half tamed tigress fast asleep in my eyes woke up in the wee hours this morning and found me running my fingers through her golden hair. she did not feel offended the first time and her habitual roaring turned into a melodious meow which resonated across my veins. the goddess Durga was born again she sat on the tiger and walked on the less travelled track passing through the woods of my dream.

I am cool and calm.

RASHID

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THE STARS FELT SUFFOCATED... the stars felt suffocated under the canopy of the sky; they looked down to the earth and spotted you on the vast sea beach. coming down from the indigo one by one they chose your golden chest and gathered there, as do the bees gather around the honeyhives, and studded it with their tantalizing twinkles and bedazzled the observant eye.

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YOU HAVE THROUGHOUT KNOWN IT...

You have throughout known it That I have been perennially In love with music And that the melody Of your steps Has turned my looks lyrical.

I know You are not the instrument That Saraswati played On the banks of Ganges And everything around Along with the waters of the river Was spellbound.

Instead You are a human being And yet there is a rhythmic pattern In your movements And they Resonate Like the strings of a sitar As if a master is playing it.

RASHID

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ALICJA MARIA KUBERSKA

A

licja Maria Kuberska award winning Polish poetess, novelist, journalist, editor.

She writes both in Polish and English. In 2011 she published her first volume of poems entitled: “The Glass Reality”. Her next books are entitled : “ Analysis of Feelings” ( 2012), “ Moments” ( 2014), novel - “ Virtual roses” (2014) “ On the border of dream”(2014) “ Girl in the Mirror”(2015) “ Love me”(2015), “ (Not ) my poem” (2015). In 2015 she also edited anthology entitled “The Other Side of the Screen”.

In 2016 she edited two volumes: “ Taste of Love” “Thief of Dreams” and international anthology entitled “ Love is like Air” In 2017 she edited “View from the window” and “Love like Arabesque” She also edits series of anthologies entitled “ Metaphor of Contemporary” Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, Czech Republic, the USA, the UK, Belgium, Bulgaria, Hungary, Albania, Spain, Argentina, Chile, Israel, Canada, India, Italy, Uzbekistan, South Korea, Taiwan and Australia.

She won medal on Nosside poetry competition in Italy and statuette in Lithuania. She was also twice nominated to the Pushcart Prize in the USA. Alicja Kuberska is a member of the Polish Writers Associations in Warsaw, Poland and IWA Bogdani, Albania. She is also a member of directors’ board of Soflay Literature Foundation. alicja107@vp.pl

CHAIR Sadness started to live in our home and it took your chair.

This witness of our talks stands moody in its immobility.

It froze in the anticipation of the timbre of familiar voices.

Carelessly thrown shirt is still hanging on the arm.

Sometimes it moves to the rhythm of the opening door.

It welcomes with the wind and whispers rustling.

I say “then” and I think it was a long time ago.

Much and nothing has happened since our parting.

The chair is still standing in the same place.

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MODERN BANK NOTE IN MUSEUM I saw a bank note inside a glass case.

Its wings spread like an exotic butterfly.

Still living and breathing, yet history already.

Hear the rustling of false promises and lies.

See the thirty silver pieces of the treacherous Judas.

Feel the foul smell of the insatiable greed.

But look at the reverse, consider the other side It can build a house, bake the daily bread, Bend mercifully over poverty, disease, Breathe life into art and promote wisdom.

The amazing power of a piece of paper.

KUBERSKA

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CONTRARY TO NATURE The dead, dry dragonfly in a glass case froze stiff in its last fluttering of wings.

Wind did not break its transparent body, colors unfaded by the sun.

Perished young in the bloom of its beauty it exists against nature.

- destined for immortality

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HOPE Hope like a fragile boat is floating on the sea.

All adversities, rippled waves, jerk overboard and pour in as a cold stream.

It seems I will die in the darkness of the storm, strangled by the roar of wind and the powerful billows.

Hope orders waiting for an end of bad times, to collapse the sails and look for a safe harbor.

The sun always rises after rain over the rainbow’s umbrella.

I darn the torn canvas, fix the hole of a lobster.

Moving on to another cruise, I must forget about the gales.

KUBERSKA

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A SONG OF THE NIGHT On a warm June night, gentle wafts of air Tangled into the tulle curtains.

Invited by the open window sweet scent of blooming lilacs entered.

Among white jasmine flowers a modest nightingale wove its nest adorned the night with a song of love.

Loud trills reached the stars.

On the clear black firmament starry constellations spilled out.

The Moon cast silvery sheen Upon the sleeping garden flowers.

Tiny musical notes sprinkled the Earth.

On the stave, as in a diary inscribed the charm of the night.

A nocturne was born.

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BAM DEV SHARMA

B

am Dev Sharma is a university teacher with over twenty years teaching experience in English Language. He started his writing career at the age of 17 and started composing poetry after the completion of a Masters’ degree in 1993.

He was awarded a scholarship in South Korea in 2007 for residency poetry and has two collections of poems. “The Bunyan and the Alder”( published in the US) and “The Duet of Rivers”( published in Japan).

Bam Dev Sharma also writes research articles at the University of Katmandu in Nepal and has written several books for the students. Additionally, he has also contributed critical reviews on a number of poetry books. He loves writing children’s stories and has penned several unpublished. His children’s story book titled “The Foolish Lizard” has been used as a text book in Nepal.

His poems are being showcased in several national and international poetry journals, such as “Tintota,” “Events Quarterly,” “Jelly Fish,” “Snow Jewel,” “Literary Herald,” and many more. He is also an active member of several national and international poetry forums.

Contact : bamdevsh@hotmail.com.

PROFOUND CONTEMPLATION We’ve never heard the sky to preach or point index finger to anyone even if the brazen wind and elusive clouds try to smear it.

But we see it desperate to caress blooming flowers in prophetic glance with luscious light waving from the distant!

Though there is forlorn darkness spanking across numb hills enshrining fecund sirens resounding over tinkling settlements emaciated in the struggles DEV SHARMA

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of hopes and despair, the sky is transfixed in profound contemplation.

This way I conjecture the benevolent sky is in gestation for the birth of a new star like the emerald light to tear apart translucent destiny!

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ONCE MORE Larks’ morning swift Corrode with innocent sky Colored in red And blitzing wind is in a mess To be brazen and wild.

In the distant hut Puffing smokes impart Transmission of hopes Lighted with balmy rays.

Human destinies Begin to prop From the tall citadels As if they were forlorn daisies But ready to wither.

Briskly squirrels bewilder Fluffing butterflies Pensive in foliage.

And gentle horizons Trifle with mountains Watching swirling clouds.

The earth beckons The turmeric sky Tipping with blood For the destinies In hemisphere To be agile once more !

DEV SHARMA

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POEMS ARE VIBRANT DREAMS Poems are like a cluster Of gnats Soaring up With inkling gleam In the myriad of the sky Till the torrent of the wind.

They create tantrum To mesmerizing heart and mind Sighing for rescue From the crouched cell Or celestial concentration camp Basking the light Of human pains and agonies Trickling In mystical metaphors Or playful cadence of love.

A few of them crumple In jaunty words Jotted on the white sheet Lying numb As if they were Murdered mercenaries In terrifying lands!

But they speak Words piercing through The earth and the sky In profundity perplexity To awaken swollen hearts.

Poems strive to exist As Phoenician puzzles And never wish to die Until they soar As vibrant dreams!

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A DIFFERENT MATHEMATICS During schools We become like a carefree wind We remember many things: The fanciful dreams And pensive whims The peevish acts And frivolous tact.

Some rise like vapors And fly away But others cling to memory box As fresh as piercing twitch Somewhere deep under our skin!

I remember my math teacher Whose index finger Was as harsh as chilly powder While teaching Pythagoras theorem.

He used to explain many features Of a Pythagoras triangle-----That it has Perpendicular, base , and hypotenuse All measurable in size.

One fine morning He gave us a problem We solved it Applying the formula And got the answers we wanted!

But these days I ponder over different mathematics And wish an answer to get.

How nice it would have been If we had been able to measure The triangle of human fates: All suffering and agonies In length and breadth DEV SHARMA

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And then would have been able To apply formula For a prosperous and happy life!

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ICEBERGS AND HEARTS I compare icebergs as human hearts.

They get wrapped by snow layers gleaming in the sunny light as crystal as puffy milky white almost numb and chill.

Our hearts are numb and silent embodying truculent whims wrapped by soothing muse ready to melt.

The igloo men pass through with their lances to search for seals across rocks and hit icebergs letting the spill white blood.

And seals hide into trenches to avoid piercing lances but their flimsy firs visible over the gorge of ice as poised as the icebergs!

Our dreams pierce into our hearts until they search for space like melting ice to seep through sloppy landscapes trickling like showering glare falling from the sky spilling woe and joy.

DEV SHARMA

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ELIZABETH ONGPAUCO

E

lizabeth Ongpauco is a senior management consultant who experiences stress when trying to meet the demands of well known figures in the public sector. Often under pressure and constantly on tight schedules, one way of escape aside from travelling is composing and reciting her poems over cups of tea.

She believes true poetry is like flour that turns to delicacies like Roti, Bread, FruitCakes, Pasta.

Once tasted, one’s taste buds react , its microscopic hairs called the microvilli send signals to the brain if the taste is sweet, sour, salty, or bitter.

Her own TICKLE POETRY remains alive on her page, @eongpaucouk.

TWO, THREE STEPS I recall those good inerasable era I know I will never see the light of day nor spring up Open my stout-hearted, unappalled heart Some self-assured bold words in treasure I leave this gigantic verdant earth No nanosecond hatred nor pinch of wrath My cherished wish that you all stay high-spirited O the vivacity My smile you enthusiastically keep My days are quantified, truly reckoned I detest, refuse to take into account Just remain, linger alongside my terrain Let me contemplate beyond That you I love, I shall That you I lost, I found That you I leave no choice but go And, I shall keep to myself All the amassed pain I have kept O I look out , I stare, I smile Yes, yes I am well I forgot coloured tainted done I say, once, life was honorably good No regrets, no sorrow now And, I take with me joy All I hold dear, our sunshine Two, Three steps gone

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WRITE: An Anthology

MY HAND, MY HUG Though strange darkness it may seem There is that eye- catching spot that shines See the fine golden grains of sand A precious wicked sparkle within Friendship truly immaculately lasts If all kindly, warm-heartedly understand Friendship shall not quell If all smile or grin like a Cheshire cat The extensive humility of all Let all be forgotten, forgiven I for one do bow Clean heart, clean soul I die today, soon I die tomorrow Who knows Only One above assures My eternal absolute love I in all respects share I ask I offer I affirm, I hold My warm hand , my true hug

ONGPAUCO

41

TICKLE ..... A I do love you, but will forget you, a must So distinct from all collections of cars Hard as diamond still the brilliance These two heavenly bodies will be no more Gone is the wooded umbra Pass out of sight from the world of idiocy Face the biosphere of unity, of amity Hide and seek, not the hangdog game Let all known infective hypocrisy down the drain Shame ....

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WRITE: An Anthology

TICKLE ...... B Friendship blown by the strong hostile winds Friendship drowned in the mad as the hornet sea No way to regain, nor shall it remain Nor look squeamishly back and delicately see The blue birds of happiness weep, in total mourning Nor can delightfully sing, stopped their melodious tweeting Yet the enchanting sky so blue azure deeps Only the cheeky but witty squirrels in search of nuts and berries Reminiscence ....

ONGPAUCO

43

TICKLE ...... C Would one choose pain of the blemished heart Would one prefer localized physical hurt O lallygagging flattering excruciating pain! Shilly-shallying elegant fiery stress !

You must not take over my God- given life No! no !

I cannot keep glued in perpetual extreme torment I smile, I write , I look out, I stay active, I believe Abide in a way that allows my bodily limit Shall I go into sensors called biofeedback?

O our world portrayed as “ analgesic culture “ That then, I draw on to avoid intolerable pain, why unspeakable torture I dare jump over my own shadow I must live a full happy life I feel marvelous, up to snuff, O tip-top See the rest of the real world Be in and with love

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WRITE: An Anthology

VISHNU GOSINE

V

. Ramsamooj Gosine, was educated at Corinth Teachers’ College and UWI, St. Augustine. His works have been published in newspapers and magazines, Caribbean Writer and BIM, and broadcast on the BBC. He has received gentle awards from the National Cultural Council, The Hindu Women Organization and the Commonwealth Broadcasting Association. He is the author of seven books and has been one of the major contributors of two books on builders of Chaguanas.

COME WALK WITH ME Come walk with me in this sunlit valley While we playfully splash cool water on our feet Where trees kiss the loose dancing clouds And today’s marigolds a soft walking carpet Where fruits fragrance the enviable fresh air Soft gentle tender and balmy Where a river murmurs as it slides over rocks And a soft gurgling sound sings a lullaby Where rabbits and lions, deer and dogs Mingle and dance the innocence Come walk with me in this sunlit valley While we playfully splash cool water on our feet Come with me by the lonely whirring seaside That you and I will day/night companions be Where tiny rippling waves whisper before us And daily caress the sides of grounded tired boats Where large-eyed fishes circle swiftly in shoals Dive and silently dart beneath in freedom And seagulls and penguins, such a majestic sight Waiting for a surfacing meal patiently On shifting boats, just tossing Left right, bash bash Right left, crash crash And flutter their wings as though in flight GOSINE

45

Come walk with me in this sunlit valley Where we playfully splash cool water on our feet Come with me on the new yellow and pink poui Undulating highway through tunneled hills That leads where it goes, far and unknown and joyful For they have cleared the path of brambles and bushes Thorns and wasps, hash abandoned tracks and by-ways And the grounds soft and kind and welcoming, Dreamy, a thousand dew-sprinkled roses in waiting A garland for you and you alone, my jewel Where freshly cut grass perfume the sweet jasmine air And the few that pass nod and smile and celebrate Perhaps reading an unspoken, shared secret Of a pair that cares to be near and alone Oh dear. So lovely Come walk with me in this sunlit valley Where we playfully splash cool water on our feet

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WRITE: An Anthology

THE OLD SHOP SA Shop stood in a house on a hill A flat board house grandfather did build He sold things to eat, not like meat He was happy a vegetarian to beat From that house many children came Many studied, few worried, one got fame The one who got fame always sat Everywhere he went he wore a bowler hat The picture of the old man thrown in the dust Came one bight after a police bust Drooping, couldn’t believe he looked on in awe As it was happening at his front door The famous one in the tall top hat Wouldn’t speak to villagers but spat The old man looked confused and sad Times have changed he was surely mad And so the story went as everyone would tell They stopped doing this, that, even ringing the bell The old man said I build my shop. I build my shop The children weren’t happy gave it up Twenty years later there is no story to tell ‘Cause all ended up rebelling, not foretelling With the old man’s demise things fell apart For no one willing to grasp the little, make a start Life is a short stream, built on your dream Not everything you see is a tasty ice cream.

GOSINE

47

JOURNEY TO THE LIGHTHOUSE Halfway though my overflowing interest faded When the lighthouse became the dark night When only fireflies danced in the starless night And winged creatures dug into my arms And the bushes grew into monstrous giants And the incoming vehicles at every moment Demanded more of the narrow dark uneven roads The newly paved ones by the out-going party Seemed bumpy unfriendly and without guidelines Lidded yes while eighty year old Michael maneuvered Between little widening cracks like a pattern And in between sleep and wake I am confused Doubtful, I couldn’t say which, my head springy Stars forever twinkled, came alive and died Roads flew to the sky upside down somersaulting Michael walked on his near-hairless curly head Speaking misreading me a good companion Thought my springy movements suggested Remarkable listening habits nice fellow to listen But each nod was a blank mind adrift A struggle to keep my senses alive And he laughed aloud and frightened the bushes Drove on entertaining himself on ‘Rose of Mayaro’ While I longed for an end to this long tiring journey To the century old lighthouse in Toco.

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WRITE: An Anthology

THIS PARTY WE’RE HAVING This party we’re having Is the last in this house Built by strong hands Amidst the clearing of cocoa trees Months of planning Pains and pampering of wife Months of running to banks’ doorsteps Months of aches from building men This part we’re having Is the last For I cannot settle among the ruins Where each man, leader and led Is on a self destruct course Where truth has changed meaning Where the poor charters into dead ends Where men have lost the will to create Where every second stabs the air Where living is day to day affair Oh no This party we’re having Is the last in the land Is not a celebration of a sort Is a defeat Not of own making But of masquerading men Who having climbed to the top Find the height admirable Just that And sleep follows In which men Have abandoned their warrior-hood Now happily charting cataract destines This party we’re having Only brings tears to a motherless child For I must now leave again No. Escape.

GOSINE

49

Leaving my children to the mercy Of victors in this wasteland Where a Naipaul or Walcott is silenced Where voices echo the master How soothing so pleasing Just for a crumb, a dusty crumb Just this Noting else Nothing more This party we’re having Is a funeral with the living Where‌.

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WRITE: An Anthology

MY DAUGHTER’S GONE TO AMERICA The airport was jam- packed With young old wheel-chaired Waiting to be served by coated clerks Lingering smiling chatting As times goes by and the plane revs The rush time galvanizes all I wait for the three o’ clock call My daughter’s gone to America Day in day out, we call we chat We exchange pleasantries How are you, dad? How things today?

Hot day isn’t it? I feel the heat Did the car work well today?

Did anybody call? Have this to tell you I wait for the three o’ clock call My daughter’s gone to America Mommy’s angry with you.

The ceiling needs fixing, the roof too Did you get the man? Call Pundit He sure knows somebody Though they’re expensive and fussy I know you’re busy. I know that.

I wait for the three o’ clock call My daughter’s gone to America Michael and Jenny, Maugham and Liza In times when the wives are complaining Or something’s the matter, little or big Fathers call on daughters for support It’s a way of life, fathers and daughters Mothers and sons, grand and little grand I wait for the three o’ clock call My daughter’s gone to America GOSINE

51

NANA AMMA ADOMAA ABREFA

N

ana Amma Adomaa Abrefa is a Ghanaian. She holds a Master’s degree in MA.TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) from the University of Ghana. She lectures in Communicative Skills at Takoradi Technical University in the Western Region of Ghana.

Her themes for her poems are often centered on life’s experiences. Two of her works have been published in the Issue 13 of Failed Haiku-A Journal of English Senryu. She also has some of her works featured in the Anthology “Women Poets: Within and Beyond Shores” Volume I. She lives and writes from Sekondi, the twin city of Takoradi in Ghana.

DEAFENING SILENCE Oh ye brethen of the ink, fratenity of this sacred creed, hearest thou my woes.

The silence from within my heart, engulfs my being, hence thy simple maiden can neither breathe nor think.

Fear holds me captive, this fear of a silence so strong, its voice like the sound of thunder threatens to deafen my simple soul and stikes me dumb forever.

Oh misearable maid that l am! who can rescue me from this ruin of silence?

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WRITE: An Anthology

A TALE OF LIFE Life is a tale told between two journeys... it is an unending string of unchain melodies A story told between birth and death. songs sung at naming ceremonies, and of elegies of both the circumcised and the uncircumcised.

It is a radiant bride on her wedding day beaming like sunbeams, yet uncertain of the road ahead.

It is a pale faced corpse from the morgue dressed to be embraced by the greedy mouth of the earth – a mere delicacy for worms Life is a disgruntled rich fellow wearing a melancholic heart yet living in the abundance of riches.

It is the laughter of a poor beggar in the midst of mire and filth.

It is the cry of the downtrodden innocent and the sardonic laughter of the evil.

Life is sacred promises made on the altar of love and broken in the heat of unbridled lust.

It is evil covenant whispered in the bosom of a wayward woman.

It is a mix of friendship built in fair weather and enmity cultivated on the bedrock of animosity.

Life is the bouncy breast of a young maiden in the bloom of youth, It is the saggy bosom that has witnessed the ravages of age and experienced the test of time.

Life is a cloud -turning from clear to foggy and dark to rainbow.

Life is slow, it is mid-tempo, it is fast. life is the different strokes we encounter and embrace each step we take. but that is not life, for there is more.

ABREFA

53

A STROKE OF OUR STYLUS We pen without malice nor hatred For us, the truth is sacred Hate us if you dare But we ink our minds without fear or favour.

We are not perfectionist but we create efficiencies and delete mediocrities with the deed of the stylus.

We stand for what we speak.

We craft our lines for what we believe.

Hit us with your vulgarities.

Besmear us with your obscenities.

View us with contempt and disdain.

We will nip your inequities We will rise above your pettiness We pen with meekness But we attain mightiness In our obscureness, What you see as our absurdness Will hit you like a tsunami, And the echoes of our poems Will forever vibrate your insides Like tidal waves.

Hit us if you can but with insight, For we seek not to destroy with lies But to wash and purify with the truth of our poems.

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WRITE: An Anthology

THE COLOURS OF OUR VOICES Sometimes we wept, some days we laughed- the hysterical laughter of frustrated minds. there were days we shed silent tears of agony, as if our hearts were being forcibly wrenched from our souls by unseen forceps. time and again, we could only mourn the dark tales of life, for all around us were black clouds of gloom. we were surrounded by the murmuring voices of doom that sunk our hopes deeper and deeper in an oceanless pit , till we were lost in the sea of our fears drowning in a bottomless pit like a pin sinking deep into the belly of the sea. countless nights, we dreamt only of grey skies where there were no sparkling twinklets because darkness had blanketed the earth and shadowless beings breathed their venom on our virgin souls. yet... we knew there will be days we will shed tears of joy _ happy days when the sun will smile for us like a radiant bride and the moonbeam will bathe our paths with treads of golden dust golden days of hope when we shall see clearly the rainbow colours in the sky... there will be no more dark clouds looming over our heads nor shadowless beings lurking behind our dreams, luring us to doom. we will hear only the colours of our own voices– the resounding voices of hope!!!

ABREFA

55

TALL I STAND! when you mouth your obscenities, and pen your vulgarities, besmearing my name with lies, do you feel better? when you intentionally misconstrue my deeds, and besmirch my name with your insanities, does that make you stand tall? when you scream your obscenities, and your words echo the orgy of hatred, you feel towards me, do you feel stronger? when you smear my name with the venom from the well of your poisoned soul, do you feel purified? more content? much fulfilled? well, tall and strong I stand unyielding as sheol fierce like the falcon, l soar high above your malignant lies as beautiful as the sun shining strong and true I stand tall! as fearsome as the waves crashing your lies and pettiness under my tiny mighty feet I stand tall as the iroko tree I rise above your petty lies to be me to live a fulfilling life of self-contentment I do not wallow in self-hatred I, stand tall for your lies cannot consume me.

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WRITE: An Anthology

AAMIR ABDULLAH

A

amir Shehzad is also known as Aamir Abdullah. He writes in three languages. English, Urdu and Punjabi. Urdu is his national language while Punjabi is his mother tongue. He has three books of poetry published by his name. He is also a prose writer. He has written light personal essays and critical articles especially on modern literary theory. Professionally he is an educationist, running a school system in Pakistan. Literature is his passion, and he does not consider it his profession. He loves writing and believes it is the song of his soul.

WE SHALL RE BORN! In another world Under another sky On another land Beyond the fake Beyond the true We shall meet on the Velvet of true being With our bodies sublime To sing the melodies On the symphonic beats of the universe You and I Shall reciprocate each other’s love where it was broken and crushed Shall re- born from our own light Glittering in red, in blue, in white.

ABDULLAH

57

LOVE, HER LOVE Bravely I fought Fought to gain pride for my men From the plains of the Ganges Chased I the enemy On a snowy cliff Spilt his blood My only witness, Himalayas are‌.

I had to return Return to her Who waited for ages Only me was in the Shrine of her heart Blizzards I faced Peaks I climbed Snow I ate Buried in the snow I might have frozen Love, her love Lit my heart Kept me blazed‌

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WRITE: An Anthology

LOST! Silent I am sitting On a branch bare and stiff The puff of breeze tickles But I feel nothing Someone inside me sighs Sings the songs of lost lands Song of loneliness Vanishes my smiles O, my love……..

I can’t bear the burden Journey of Life has thrown me under The pain it poured In all my vessels Pinches like prickles Silent I am sitting Wandering in my own soul Searching for my lost self I am two within me I want to be one whole.

ABDULLAH

59

FLAMES Can’t you see them..?

Falling from the sky Growing from the soil Trees are bearing the fruit of flames Birds are eating them And turning into ash Can’t you see…?

Flames are behind the Long beards and red tongues Flames are in long black boots Flames are in the houses Which are called “white” Flames are spreading out Beauty has no place to hide I can see that hut on fire Where the love was born…!

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WRITE: An Anthology

WHERE I AM? Night……….!

I slept on your black silky mattress Too soft, too cozy Sleep too deep……’

I was kidnapped by the dreams dreams of a lost world land of wandering spirits Where I am….?

A broken hut is hung In the space Space of nothingness Am I in the hut….?

Am I in the space…?

I am not in my body I am not on my bed.

ABDULLAH

61

PHOOLO DANNY-MAHARAJ

P

hoolo Danny-Maharaj is a former Chief Reporter/photographer at the Trinidad Express Newspaper.

TREASURE TODAY I laugh today I am thankful I never know What nightmare Tomorrow might bring I pray today I fortify my faith I am ready To confront Tomorrow’s challenges I treasure today Making every moment count Even if there’s no tomorrow I would have lived My tomorrow, today

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WRITE: An Anthology

LIGHT DIVINE Oh, brilliant rays of light You illumine my entire being Each and every day Your power and strength Supports my reality Every minute, every hour Your love! Your Divine energy Fueling strength and inspiration To overcome every crisis Resplendent captor of darkness Irresistible presence, tender in touch A wondrous comfort Divine Energy, Celestial guide Inspiring special mission Fulfilling a new Existence

DANNY-MAHARAJ

63

WRITE Lost in this world I want to be alone I’m crowded Even by my thoughts Spinning in my head Like a tornado in a jar My mind Restless, twitchy, fidgety My Thoughts Evolving, revolving, flowing Emotions bashing around Right to left, up and down Clichés, metaphors, similes Ideas, words, songs Tears, laughter, sad and happy, Create havoc on my mind For inner peace I take up my pen And begin to …. Write.

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WRITE: An Anthology

LAUGHTER

Life has many challenges Of that I am sure But a little humor sometimes Glides me through the door From the voice of experience Seize a daily moment Laugh away impediments Even humor the opponents Cause laughter has a way To release the pressure To massage tired muscles To cope with daily bustle It’s an art, Learning to laugh It’s soothing; it’s comforting It’s healing; even contagious A single daily moment To enjoy some good laughter Enhances my existence With a great sense of humor

DANNY-MAHARAJ

65

VALUE LIFE To value, one’s existence See and feel that moment When weakness denies The breath of life When thoughts evade the mind Sickness and health look same When pain’s the real plague Hate and love on equal plane When strength eludes Bones heavy like lead Muscles too tight to relax Air in short supply When the mind withdraws Impressions matter no more Thoughts are absent End must surely be near It’s that time we value Gifts of life and good health When sickness strikes Randomly choosing its targets

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WRITE: An Anthology

FAIZAN KHAN

F

aizan Khan hails from Jammu and Kashmir, India. He described himself as an enigmatic homosapien stucked somewhere in the vertex of his own self created happiness.

SHE WAS NOT LIKE THE OTHER FEMALES...

She was not like the other females She was made for love And love was visible to her She was not the queen of my heart The kingdom was made to felicitate her She was not like the others She was a single handed beauty Wrapped in the gobblet like a fairy She was not the one To realise what she was She was the fully packed atom made by GOD She was the one who made my heart To laugh for certain reasons She was the laughing angel Give the mask of a human She was quiet different from others She was love and She felt in love

KHAN

67

SHE WAS THE HUMAN...

She was the human Bestowed with the perfection of love She was the utmost creation Made by God She was the love Of his lover Who whiffed life in his corpse She was the dancing angel Making his heart to dance In the rhythm of his love To get immortal She was the noble soul Blessed with the Magnificance of love She was made in such a way So that one can think about love She was the daughter of his father And love of his heart She was an impossible combination Full of revolutionary ideas Unbridled courage And creativity, yet as fragile As a crystal flower She was beauty Her beauty splended all over She was in my heart And she lost in my heart

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WRITE: An Anthology

O MY BELOVED...

O my beloved, I just want to forget everything.

Everything which takes me away from you.

Which leads me towards another way.

O my beloved Use your bag of tricks on me.

Your eyes, your mind and your heart I want to get pie-eyed in your love.

O my beloved I need to be felt in your eyes My heart is tired of roaming, I want to stand still with you.

O my beloved I was in the dark night, but became the moon, And then the sky fall for hundreds of moons Because of your gift that I became the king O my beloved My eyes will go blind Without your face to gaze upon Come and heal my heart forever O my beloved Don’t go away from me But if you want to go Then take my soul with you.

KHAN

69

SHE POSSESSES HER OWN POEM...

She possesses her own poem She is more poetry than a human Her veins disseminate art instead of blood in them Her own savior and the potent queen,She no longer lets her happiness Rely on anyone else She is the embodied soul Which glances at first sight In the early dawn She has a beautiful heart And an illuminated soul She made me crazy and Drunk out of my mind She tied me with her longings My heart and soul have come alive Her words deeper than the pearls of ocean Turns his words into a poem And gives ecstasy to this poet She is his only beloved And he is her only poet

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WRITE: An Anthology

SHE LOOKED LIKE AN ARTIST...

She looked like an artist A beautiful heart, a gentle soul.

An artist’s favourite portrait And a poet’s greatest muse.

A virgin skin which was waiting for Lyrical touch of her poet.

A room which was full of bones She seemed quiet, radiant and all in white.

I couldn’t go behind her Or fill that space.

So, I sat there long last Looking into her beautiful eyes.

I lost my senses They were heavily intoxicated.

This love was not a wine But the hangover of her love.

KHAN

71

DR. MAJJI BHARATH

M

edical professional employed as an Asso.Professor in the Dept. of Microbiology, RIMS Medical College, Kadapa, Andhra Pradesh, India. She has more than 20 publications in various medical journals.

Apart from teaching, she is also interested in literary and cultural activities.

(All five poems are original works of the author and are not published or submitted for publication anywhere.)

MORNING WALK Fresh breeze Filled with the scent of earth Raising sun With shining dew drops Chirping birds With colorful wings Gives new lease of life From time to time Leisurely stroll Along the beach road Distances laziness Fills me with happiness Missing a single day Creates a vaccum Makes me restless Till the next morning That is my time It is entirely mine To recuperate from past To rejuvenate my soul To enjoy my “Self” I love my “Morning walk”

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WRITE: An Anthology

LIFE Days are passing Year by year Becoming older Day by day Attains maturity?

Doubtful Days are passing Hopes are raising To grab everything Finally getting?

Doubtful Days are passing Have relentless waiting In hope of happy ending Ultimately is it happening?

Doubtful Destination unknown Period uncertain Purpose known by none Why this commotion then?

After coming to life Play your role Till the end Just disappear in silence At the end

BHARATH

73

MYSELF I am back to myself Burnt my anguish Threw away restlessness Buried anxiousness I am back to myself Keeping mind in relaxed mode Nurturing soul with a smiling mood Dealing routine with a nod I am back to myself Practicing living in present Thinking nothing about next minute Leaving unpleasant past at bay Keeping pleasant memories on my way I am back to myself Now Soul filled with joy Have faith in self Got my wits back Enjoying peace of mind Now I have everything To live life as it is With no external influences I am back to myself

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WRITE: An Anthology

CRIES OF MOTHER (NATURE) X chromosome sperm fights vigorously with Y chromosome sperm to reach & penetrate ovum Then the resultant zygote struggles to enter mom’s womb to establish itself as a life Even then no guarantee to it’s survival fears of evacuation at any moment soon after revelation of it’s identity by scanning If escapes from that ordeal Dangers of abandonment, selling or killing prevails If pass these, abuses & ill treatment In the hands of it’s own creators After that stage threat of acid attacks, sexual abuses & dowry harassments Still tries to leap over all hurdles To live life as it is when she carries a little heart like her the vicious cycle repeates Mother cries of her miserable state during her life time How will creation completes without opposite sex?

Mother Nature worries cries foul of all these but to no avail

BHARATH

75

POSITION OF WOMAN Woman may not be equal to man Physically and psychologically Reason may be the hormones Which are different in both But at the same time She wants to lead, may not be an equal, But a dignified life in and out of home Feels as the uncrowned queen of her home Wishes to be like that forever She is the mother of your children Home maker of your house Without her you may not be happy Then what is the problem In treating her with love and care And in extending cooperation Why you lead her to evoke 498A against you She may use this as last resort only to save her life, not dignity To step into a police station to complain to face their suspicious looks, ill treatment Itself is a big punishment to her Still with stands that, means She has no other go, except the last resort So don’t drive her to complain No need to treat her as equal Just see her as fellow being

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WRITE: An Anthology

OYEKUNLE IFEOLUWA PETER

O

yekunle Ifeoluwa Peter is a profile poet who has authored hundreds of poems both published and unpublished. He was the winner of Youth shades August Poetry competition and the second runner-up of the maiden edition of Lukman Adetunji Reward, a talent poetry competition. He is presently a final year student of Industry Chemistry at the Federal University of Technology, Akure. He is a passionate lover of poetry and a Nigerian.

FRIEND ZONE We used to be best of friends, Holding hands and laughing hard.

Then he used to rub my hair And tease me to make me smile.

We used to be best of friends And hoped it was silly fate.

We were dying to know when Our pride would melt away.

We used to be best of friends And never knew it was love.

Then he used to wipe my tears But I really thirst for more.

We used to be best of friends But he couldn’t hear my heart.

It was a feeling so rare That kept hurting deep inside.

We used to be best of friends But I had to let him go.

We couldn’t face our fears And explore beyond friend zone.

IFEOLUWA PETER

77

FOR THIS I’LL FIGHT You can lay down your crazy laws and paint me black with flaws.

You can’t suppress my blood that boils or put me under claws.

I know my rights and I will fight for this to save our pride.

Do you still say we were born slaves and the kitchen is our place?

Do you still think you are still sane or blinded with fish scales?

You can’t deny me of my rights and try to make me smile.

I strive not to be seen equal but for equity for all.

You can’t just kill our words and thoughts and think you’ve silenced us.

We know our rights so do not try to meddle with our lives You can’t get in between my legs and think of me so less.

You can’t flaunt me amidst the press and see me as a pest.

I know my rights and I will fight for this will save our pride.

You can burn me with flames of greed and tell me to rest in peace.

You can’t deny me liberty and make me wipe your feet.

I know my rights and I will fight if this would make things right.

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WRITE: An Anthology

POVERTY I’ve heard the tale of how you wretched and shattered hope of men.

I’ve heard the cries of poor widows you dealt a massive blow.

I’ve heard the screams of dying kids you gave nothing to eat.

I’ve heard the moans of the destitute you’ve turned to prostitutes.

I’ve heard the groans of fainting men you gave nothing to wear.

I’ve seen the stars shed tears of blood as men slept on freezing floor.

I’ve heard the tale of how you made men keep toiling in vain.

I’ve seen the tears fall down the sky as heaven pitied their plight.

I’ve heard the wails of unborn kids you made to feel the heat.

I’ve heard the tale of how you turned children to men with guns.

I’ve heard the tale of how you caused the rich to scorn the poor.

I’ve heard a lot that I can’t say with a heart filled with pain.

IFEOLUWA PETER

79

VARSHA SARAN

V

arsha Saran is a homemaker and a bilingual poetess.

She graduated from Charan Singh University, Meerut.

Her poems have been published in several Anthologies and magazines.

She is a member of 60 Poetry Groups. She won many awards in writing. She has her poetry channel on YouTube titled ‘Varsha Saran ek Srijan’.

Her page on Varsha ek Srijan is popular for her Hindi and English Poems.

ALONE Foggy weather And my hands are numb Shivering body But I stand still Like a frozen statue In a unique posture My fist is now opened To loose every attachments Attachments that are causing fractor of my buried emotions No one is mine Nothing I posses Ahhh! I am all alone Except , your bitter memories And false romance Now I am feeling cheated And standing here like A foolish woman With her hands opened In the misty dark!!

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WRITE: An Anthology

KALEIDOSCOPE With all the kaleidoscope of my mind I raise, I fall And show my different reflections According to time and circumstances Every time I get Multidimensional view of my personality People appreciate my capabilities And the glistening rays of my aura, But they forget, one thing Every time...

That I am an ordinary soul What I am here Is the blessings of my divine His shadow Is enough to make me feel like a diamond, Because he gave me difficult challenges That cut beautify the edges of my Individuality, And gave me strength n patience To face all the ugly realities!!

SARAN

81

MY DREAM You were the dream But still I can feel you In my life In my mind I inhale your perfumed smell And you are with me Twenty four hours, One week, One year, My entire life!

We will be there holding each other You have not vanished Even when I’m awake!!!!

Yes, we come alone Die alone But it’s a universal truth That lonely life makes you feel A little bit disturbed!!

At least you can imagine a shadow lover An imaginary person That can protect against all evils A dream of night That will never disappear When you open eyes!!

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WRITE: An Anthology

SOLITUDE In the solitude of my mind I listen to every single beat of mine My every single emotion Wants to dance like a butterfly When silence is not still But full with motion Silence speaks through its peaceful waves When there is no one to listen Only me and my soul Communicate face to face!!

SARAN

83

DESIRES Desires are the cause of every disappointment Desires are natural And help in development of our living standards But when it turns into a tsunami of temptations Its risky waves can create a disaster Everybody loves to eat sweet, shining Red apples Full with energy Full with taste We want healthy body and mind wise Admiration of people With less efforts and hard work But a divine glory and charm Comes from our internal thoughts If your thoughts are insane like any poisonous apple It becomes a disease for our nation and Society And can damage entire globe for its temptations!!

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I AM IN LOVE Yes, I am in love with this beautiful world and the journey of life Sometimes I feel It’s all illusions But where to go!!

Without this false world How can I survive All are created by God Magnificent drawing He painted in such an artistic way Used different shades of colours I am also part of this drawing Hues and hues Scattered here and there Time to celebrate this life With dark and happy shades of life Kiss its lips passionately No doubt , it’s my fortune That I am in love with life!!

SARAN

85

STEFAN BOHDAN

S

tefan Bohdan was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, lived in Jamaica and Iran, and has traveled the world. He currently lives in Central Florida with his wife Margaret and their Giant Schnauzer, Standard Schnauzer, Mini Schnauzer, and Affenpinscher. He is the father of five adult children: three females and two males. He is also a grandfather.

Retired from the AEC world, Stefan now spends his days and nights writing novels and poetry.

HEAVEN Under the cosmos’ swirling vortex.

Under stars light years away.

Under an orange sky fading like a dying ember.

Behind snow-capped mountains in the hot desert.

Under the weeping willows full of dead birds inside songless cages of gold.

My gyrating angel groans beneath me.

Naked, our Garden of Eden unveiled: cinnamon incense, holy wine, burnt offerings to prophets, sacred texts chanted.

Opium dreams of insane asylums full of spoken word poets reciting Rumi.

Walking naked in our sandals amongst wild peacocks, camels, ornate fountains, & labyrinthian gardens.

We pluck ripe pomegranates from the trees.

Eating dates and pistachios from brass trays.

Drinking chai sweetened with sugar cubes.

On a beautiful Persian rug we make love again and again.

Her cave my fresh water spring. Her heavenly delights my paradise. Allah!

She is my Mecca. I am in love with her black hair, her gray skin, her almond eyes.

My desire as hard as limestone.

Her desire as wet as the first rain. Moon and star in a black velvet night, our light to sleep and dream in a field of red roses.

Under stars light years away. Under the cosmos’ swirling vortex.

She is my heaven.

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BETWEEN HER PETALS The leaves of the trees, like her hands, reaching out.

Fingers and veins, waving, through the sunshine.

Her mouth opens, screaming at me in color, smelling as loud.

Like a flower, sticking out her stamen tongue, stained red with pollen.

Her warm honey, my warm honey, flow thick.

Seminal, golden, sticky. Slow milk, between her petals, my fingerprints moist.

Lips as sweet as Coke, mixed with, pomegranate vodka. Shadow and light, texture and temperature, beads of moisture – all rotating within the day.

Posturing, poses changing unseen, our lovemaking following the path of the sun – unnoticed.

Cinnamon, the radiance of, her hair.

Colorful blurs, rotating around, darkness. Sound, echoing off of, silence. Cold, pulling in, the heat. Heat, pulled from, the cold. Lips as sweet as Coke, mixed with, pomegranate vodka. Our energy, and motion, sexual. We, are one under the sun, devouring ourselves.

BOHDAN

87

DEAD CANARY MIND Pulled by the moon I dream of you there is love inside of me trying to get out through the steel bars imprisoning my soul imprisoning my cold heart head like a rusty cage dead canary mind holding me inside myself dead dreams others can’t see dead dreams that can’t fly how cold how needy I am for you your love could unlock my prison door head like a rusty cage dead canary mind I dream of you freeing me

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LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP The serpent is 86 years old now age like scales on her face forked tongue still able to deceive wise with age a lifetime of tricks and lies yet you forgive her every time how can you not the serpent is blonde with pale blue eyes the serpent is your mother

BOHDAN

89

JAZZ Bach what cold sad images your music paints with violin chilling my heart to gulps of wine haunting beautiful genius double violin filtered by thick shadow and cigarette smoke only letting sadness pass through into me my fire lacking heat a cold glass stem frozen hands ache drunk on wine listening to you by the dying fire cold depressing darkness waiting for her waiting for the warm music waiting for the jazz to start notes to warm my cold heart

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SETROHAN JANKIE

A

police officer employed with the Trinidad and Tobago Police Service.

ACTS Acts, traits from the time of being Conscious of our existence, Acts which leave you with a clear conscience, Acts which in forgone times may have ensured Ancestral survival and social order, Thus ours.

Right, therefore, they must be, By whose authority?

By the authority of time which accredited it’s right, Because no one questioned, Too engrossed in its perplexities to be a lot.

The sins and cruelty of the day is within and Sanctioned by no authority, Because man, you are the most authoritative, Cure therefore your sins, Yours with Love.

S. JANKIE

91

SWEET SURRENDER From whence I came and destiny, Remains to me a mystery, That I am however is no fantasy, There’s just to reflect on experiences, The rock of reality.

I would have been content to, Now that I am here, Not become involved in life’s complexities and its Absurdities, But how not?

It seems these I did adopt.

Besides there are so many natural urges, That binds in constantly, And the special joy that surges makes me forever want to be, And one of those joys I must admit, Though abominable at times they may seem, Is to entertain life with my fellow humanity, And especially those that captivate, And despite my seemingly vast faculty, In the heart dwell and dictate a natural joy and Purposefulness That’s life’s greatest gift to him who is thus fortunate.

Satisfaction however lies in sweet surrender, An admission so complete, That in life’s sometimes cold and solemn trail, I am alas no lone traveler, But my path is alight with many a traveling and searching mate.

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MAN Man, a victim of circumstances, A product of self-denial, Twisted and shaped by traditions and beliefs, Thrust upon an impressionable and yearning mind.

The tender shoot covered by unyielding trees And dominating undergrowth, Seeking the light of life, Coerced into submission by fear, The crooked twig almost impossible to be made straight again.

Not quite understanding or appreciating The potential that is stored within the constraints of a mere seed, A constant reminder of its smallness, By those forced to remain small by the infertile soil of ignorance, And the arrogance and tyranny of the second gods, Inflicting their version of perfection like a lethal weapon.

Yet to be aloft, A resolution ardently to be pursued.

Awoke, another day, Not wanting to get out of bed, Can’t let the sun rise above my head.

Contemplating another, A repetition of yester, And so many that have passed.

How similar would those to come be, Can’t deny the reality, Not many seeds of endevour in the Past was shown, Yet great dreams and aspirations My mind adorn.

S. JANKIE

93

It is easier to dream, To be the king that you are, Only to be yourself however, Easier, not better.

It is rather an addiction that sucks The essence out of life.

The nectar of the living, And reduces oneself to merely Existing.

And for how long would one have The opportunity to live to the fullest?

The opportunity now, The restraint now, The decision now, To sleep only to wake up to death Unknown and unheard, A simple yet complex decision.

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ENCHANTRESS You have the strength to soothe, You have the candor to calm, Wherest the situation, Whatever the mood, Your captivating smile is the greatest charm.

The spoken sound, The written word could never convey, The ecstasies and intricacies upon which my feelings play.

Though I’ve been around and had great acquaintances, But oh! That simple look in a very subtle way and my heart confesses, Despite my wit and seeming lack of emotion, I am a victim no less, To your grace and those subtle features, Its effect pure hypnosis.

I have no will to rebel, To face yet a broken and futile world I yield to your influences Sweet Enchantress.

S. JANKIE

95

SUBASH SINGH PARAJULI (NEPAL)

A

PENTASI B UNIVERSAL INSPIRATIONAL POET award winner of 2017, a very versatile poet, story teller, avid traveler and literary organizer from Nepal and published many poems in many International Journal and Anthologies. He had published Mystic Myth a collection of poetry in 2014 and Soil on Pyre 2017. He visited India, Bangladesh, Morocco and China for his literary contributions.

He writes both in Nepali and English with equal ease.

REFUGEE Every year after year, I migrate as a migratory bird for the last destination The destination of map is divided by the whole empire My living has become as curse That often barters with substantial purse Within existing of zillions body I always remain as alien Seasons after seasons, duly many insulted my body Without any sensible reasons I am being averse When I wished to belong to the whole universe Day by day, I am being swept away by conflict and violence That driven out to be summoned in temple and old place Where God even cast a shadow of ghost And treats me as a convict and criminal I travelled thousand miles and miles of crumbling terrain Where dunes appear as green mirage of valleys I sail throughout sea waves drowning dear ones I have nothing but little attire to hide my gender Everybody laughs wherever I roam to protect identity Sometimes I become Rahina of Barma Sometimes I become Kurdish of Iraq Sometimes I become monks of Tibet Mostly I become a victim of nuclear debate which put much stake on my sentiments of breathing that starve to death with terror feelings When I was living in a beauty of small hamlet The landscape of hills and rivers covered by lethal war My harmonious family and identity has been buried within it that drags me to seek a host of companionship and I flee with hungry breathing

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striving with burden of death as being a refugee within zillion of bodies I travel from eastern to western valley For seeking a good nap and breadcrumb throughout dead alleys.

PARAJULI

97

RICKSHAW DRIVER A man near by the border crawling like a serpent within dust and toxin air sipping a cup of hot season, waiting a traveler whose body is as a dry stick hands are jerking like chop-stick face is like a sandbar breathing nearby luminous car who is made of leather loves to fly in his rickshaw as a feather basking for much dollar wearing a ragged- black collar budding for distant altering scenes of imported cattle who are brought to feed for devil-mouths in lorry youths are exported where nobody says sorry seeing the daily charts of migratory birds for fatal reason who are sailing every day diving in the pond of sorrow with the hope of building golden days from morrow through a border sneaker sails love-birds up to golf market where a state’s law stands blind either provides a warm-blanket ‘dignified eyes folded hearing sensation is molded with the auction of votes’, he says while marking a distance nearby a border he opens my eyes’ rays who works daily as a loader for his livelihood neither he spent childhood nor adulthood who knows earning a dollar is good that’s true source of keeping refresh on his stolen mood.

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DIGITAL AGE Surfing through the radiant lights for years vision burns and turns like vulture’s eyes the sense of rhythm dies and hope left its gear all the agony and despair heaped as helpless man the seeing of Being is bypassed and the dignity of life hooked in fancy cast the expression of truths is in out of existing lane the universe plunged in digital maze offspring are nurtured in the shade of light and both day and night dazed right before our eyes.

Twitting like a bird through the concrete jungle the web of applications has entangled life’s jingle the ideas floated like jazz tunes in idle moments some news be viral in hectic hours few speech travelled as virus a single message become a tongue twister and full of controversy some words remained as somebody’s delicacy the flow of sentence flashes to thrash autocracy few constant dictions turn as a weapon of advocacy How time flies nobody has judged and how family life whacked never be urged when surfing through digital outlets millions be tamed within the nooks as pets who has forgotten the cold breeze of the nature and sharing pranks, blowing re-twits are the main course of the youths and inevitable culture that constantly made them as a distinct creature which has no antidote to measure an aura of life be sold through many wireless boxes the Karma let to be booked within the boxes it may be a wonderful souvenir of modern ages that puts love birds hours, hours like in cages and all are hooting through the concrete jungle like hoaxes.

PARAJULI

99

WHILE SEARCHING FOR THE PEACE While searching for the peace A body stitched with plastic rupees Aim of life is robbed Unfathomable moment of joy dropped An art of living dare to stink A fasting soul started to drink A cup of cold blood as honey All the ritual and rites sold with money While searching for the peace in alcoholism A couple of toxic-ants atoned metabolism A folk flag swims in poison The fertility of mind is in process of erosion Nothing is in time and ritual For the adoration of grave that has no transparent visual While searching for the peace in religion A holy temple imbued A saint of church seduced A tranquil idol of Buddha reduced A shrine of mosque fused When the light of men wipe out By memory of little many-frame brain The fresh volume of memoir is in gap of salvation A howl of rage and love are in dreary oblivion While searching for the peace in ritual The delightful blessing of God missed by priest Who rode on nuns like beast Mokshya is climbing up of sinner hill Sins of gutter tempted to oneself to kill While searching for the peace through luxury His rotted body arrived at palace Whose empathy and sympathy prolonged in somebody’s shoe lace And his soul hurling to swing through ripped heart Whose roots lie no longer but apart While searching for the peace in humanity A man be cannibal His descendents be animal God be serf Serf be god’s dwarf

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While searching for the peace through good relation Father has kissed daughter’s breast A servant puts stink maiden in his hit least Whiz kids sing and laugh with opium fete And cheers as urging men live or die as own wish before departing from heaven’s gate While searching for the peace in science Moon crumbled for future shelter Universe captured as for theatre of robotic act Sea will have a jug of suspect water For bathing mask-and costume robot While searching for the peace in emotion Many intimacies burn with heap of anger Loads of desires provoke to lead with single finger Usual theory and principles drag to link with murder And half-size brain fools billion with its seductive order While searching for the peace in beauty A half span of life swings behind the curtain Half-lifeline is limping for birth’s pertinent A string of peace jingles within a wink of eye Obscurity of life foams through auction of cry.

PARAJULI

101

SHADOW My shadow musing with light afraid with dark and seeks lifeline in night strives with joy and plight mocks me in the nick of time hacking constructive motions to fly in sublime every break of light in park struggled to dance through dark with stories of success tales of woes basking with songs of praise hymen of blame waltzing on the path of heaven from my early month of seven.

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EPHREM YIGELU

E

phrem Yigelu was born Solomon Kebede and works as a civil engineer in Addis Ababa, Ethiophia.

He began writing articles and poetry at childhood and considers himself a freedom fighter for all human beings without discrimination by race, religion or ideology.

He believes in fighting with his mind, using his knowledge and with pen and words rather than by fire and bullet which he know has destroyed and poisoned the whole world.

He believes that hate will not bring any sustainable solution and peace.

MY WIFE IS BEAUTIFUL AND NOT BEAUTIFUL...

My wife is beautiful and not beautiful She is smart and a fool She is the gate and at the door And again, the inner and outer While I bend and turn she is here, se is there She is on the roof, the walls, the floors And foundations She empties and fills She hates and loves She is at every corner And bends to see and hear Her image and voice The faint and the hard Everywhere She dwells and lives I am free and unfree As every lover I am loved and dear But I fear.

YIGELU

103

YES, OF COURSE...

Yes, of course. it is not their words or their thought alone but the current and the waves which shakes their insides what goes out from the heart and minds of the poets. when the body and the mind shout and cry it goes out as hot tears to release the inner higher volcanic fire pressure and heat What if the soul shout and cry How does that magma and lava go out of their soul body to release the inner burning volcanic pressure and heat except as poetry from the heart Of the poet.

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I ACCEPT HIM IF...

I accept him if I am ready enough to leave my place for newer life Fresh birth with new face.

The highest level of love is expresed not only by giving but also by leaving our home and places for the new life, new birth and face.

If we give what we might get and receive that is conditional love What we usually do give and receive BUT If we give what we don’t receive that is what we leave for the new life and birth Willingly not forcedly that is the great absolute and ultimate Love and gift what we all human beings fail to get, odour and taste.

YIGELU

105

........I AM........ ........I am........

Before the was, after the will I am Therefore ......I am......

Where is my past was my future will I am a lot dragged and captured by past memory and by future hope a pull from back a pull from the front ahead pulls my past don’t pull me a lot behind, a push to me to the front by hope in future to be or not to be I AM swaying partially standing and living I am not with my whole energy and potential accelerating and going partly my energy Is going back to the past But unfade memory partly i am consuming my present time and energy thinking and dreaming my future may be predictable but fully unknown my future where could my was, my am and my will come together and unite to make my whole being one body one soul At one place, at one time I am bored by my partial stay in past, present and future Let me bring and unite them as one the past, present and future So that.......

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YOU, CAN’T FORGET AND LEAVE...

You, can’t forget and leave I know you can’t What you can’t forget What I know you can’t You are the grand I am dad and the child to add on what You had I know you can’t make peace and tell me A new sea in which I swim by your boats and ships I know you can’t you make the boats and ships and that is the means but I made the seas and oceans the end for your ships and start for my own who is supper the means or owner of the cause the creator you know you can’t that I can or couldn’t and can’t Yes, I know you can’t but I can Yes, you know how to play it But I know how to make And create it.

YIGELU

107

WHEN WE WERE CHILDREN...

When we were children We often stretch our hand to give what we have at hand to anybody and everybody Then, when we were still young When we were children We stretch our hands To give more than to receive To give to everybody and anybody Then we became older, grown up And old enough We more often stretch our hands To receive than to give Again when we are very old We often forget to give But and usually remember very well How to get and receive from everybody And rarely remember to stretch our hands To our special someone and somebody I think the older we go and grow Our selfishness and ego Proportionally rise and follow Our physical body growth Unless we limit that by knowledge Love and humanity Loving is inversely related to our ages And physiques But hate and selfishness Rises and grows proportionally to Our stays, rotation and revolution On earth, with earth At our childhood and youth We least fear and doubt And fear give most Than receive But at old age we most doubt Fear most, want most, give least Even I doubt, almost

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Who of you But least I remain to stay young When I dislike my fear and ego Which runs and goes In to me with the number counts I made with the revolution and rotation of the earth.

Each day I mate and made Tens to hundreds Hundreds to thousands Thousands to millions Nowadays, millions are useless And unworking and with numbers My billions, I am feeling younger In tens, and hundred I am feeling older and minute smaller

YIGELU

109

SUJIT YADAV

S

ujit Yadav is a native of Kanakpur, Nepal. A scholar in English Education, he has completed a Masters in English Education from Tribhuvan University, Nepal. He is currently employed as a teacher. He has a keen interest in poetry writing.

THE WARMTH OF LOVE The brooding sense lights the incense loosing ones patience as ones grievance an ignition of evolving the imagination in depth sensation artifacts as a creation wrath to wrap the breath gasping beneath with its strength closet the screams captures the gleams flows to dive the streams for the beautiful dreams with soft heart reflecting beams flask to the dims wrecks the limbs the charcoals to form steams to enjoy the warmth of love sets heart forth spreading to the length flexing over its breadth

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GRATITUDE An urging attitude striving for the solitude begging forth with firth fortitude spread heart for beatitude pulse to palpitate for the gratitude Surging hit to the heat in veins enhances the throbbing sprains with happiness no one dares to the gains with the growth in the painful strains merciful greatness of gods showers like rains Calmness brings belief in faith forms the coolness to cover souls sheath ultimate destination is the precious wealth leads the path as quite as stealth The gorgeous grandeur of sensing odour reacts as transitory term of tended splendour to signified sequel of sensor of versified verse of trembling trend of tremor

YADAV

111

COURAGE A feelings to encourage a bravery courage from heart outrage the potentiality powerful as a ravage saves from the savage A fear for the ruin in heart to intertwine rings as a power to win the magical music to tune as a gasping breath to swine As a slogan in heart to evaporate pours in blood to highest rate the so called happenings create the stigma frame to figure the set the sensations to hit the door of gate the crucial factor acts to its sector range over the rector as the velocity of vector empowers the inside tractor

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DEVOTION The Sole essence of heart in leading purification grows with the pace of life to show the self intimation of the passion for jest of the internal estimation grows to switch the gesture for the internal elation leads to the facet of artifact to the jubilation for the action of decent track of glorification the enchantment in heart for the satisfaction dilute the feelings for the grievance of gratification Abstract of crucial intact of the self germination creation of initial concept for the volition generated for leading to the couch of cremation Concerned for the subjection to the effort as a fact to mention defined as an essence of life in heart galloped to the destination for the assurance of matter as being the subjection of the asset as aspect ruled for growth as determination climbs in hearts for the victory as the coronation The sense of submitting self for the sublimation spirit granted as sacrifice with persuasion Idealization vested for the sentiments of desertification in the name decedent of invented assimilation of conjunction for the achievement of self desired benefaction as a result of aimed for the regular cyclonic observation trusted as shift to the tingled source as benediction dozed daringly as a tactful achievement firmly for the contribution

YADAV

113

SPIRITUAL STRENGTH An innate capacity leading inside capability The perfection in the ability empowering as the stability The disguised spirituality the inside visuality the rider of sensibility the factors enhancing the possibility the strength of spirit the alpine possible imprint trembling sense of authorized writ glorious strength for ever tweet trick entangled grip hold inertly to whip inside folded swipe closely pack the hidden crisp the powerful crunch held to form the bunch straightforward to crisp the munch In tightly moulded punch

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RADHA RAGOONANAN (TUTI)

R

adha Ragoonanan is a housewife and mother who enjoys reading and writing poetry

MIRROR MIRROR Do you like the man in the mirror, you see Does he look to you, inferior and scary It is up to you to create a change To look into the mirror with a new image.

Your fate is sealed whatever the mirror reveal To yourself be true take a moment to be just you.

Let the man in the mirror smile back at you He should solve life’s problems if only a few He must make you feel at ease to give to your life a new lease When problems prop up everyday Watch the man in the mirror and say I can do it And I’ll do it my way.

RAGOONANAN

115

LOOKING DOWN Look down at me, one more time Clothed in sin, struggling to belong imprisoned by impurity set me free Take me to a place of peace and tranquility I’ve suffered, worked frantically for such a fantasy Love me, shine upon me, do not abandon me Even in a dream, let me see Where have peace and goodness gone while evil freely run stop the clock, rewind send man back to the beginning of time I’m tired and want to be a recipient of you divine mercy.

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S NILAKANTA SIVA, aka Sivaram

B

orn in Mumbai in 1944 he is an eminent author with several stories and poems based on his battle with bladder cancer and the lifestyle after the victory over the crab. Here we have a creative article with several body organs being personified. A post-graduate from IIT-Madras, he has had a remarkable tenure as a scientist in the Department of Atomic Energy. After retirement, he ran a medical transcription company for a couple of years, before he was diagnosed with bladder cancer.

He is a frequent blogger at https://nobladder.wordpress.com

NO ONE FIGHTS ALONE Home they brought the warrior undead He no longer existed Recalled to Life; He now had begun to live.

In proof undeniable and as evidence irrefutable that love defeats cancer that no one fights alone.

SIVA

117

WE NEVER FORGET OUR ANESTHESIOLOGIST That is a lady I felt comfortable with out there Though I am not sure if I’ll recognise her if I see her outside her sphere.

Always seen with a green cap, in fact, green all over. with a dozen medicos, it seemed, stretching at my wrists. As if they wanted to dismember me.

Never saw her straight after that first pre-op conversation For am always already in the lithotomy position as she enters the theatre, And when I come out and into the recovery area I hear her soft, loving, caring Birmingham twang less now than when I first heard it. promising me that I could get to my room the moment I am able to twiddle my toes and bend at the knees.

I thought it was a matter of seconds, but it was a whole half hour before my legs listened to me.

But what a positive way to make the groggy feel great !!!

I am forever grateful to this anesthesiologist who was always in the theatre whenever I was.

A special thank you, doctor, Wish you always easy airway, successful lines and blocks, long-acting, safe spinals, time sensitive surgeons, a friendly working environment and, most importantly, patients who recover rapidly from the effects of GA without any disturbing episodes.

You too had an important role in converting “you, cancer,” into “you can, sir.”

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THE DIVERSITY THAT SHE IS This baby came as someone’s daughter, and soon acquired a sister who always taught her rather strangely, stay away from our Dad. for, will jump from him to you, that crawling crab.

Someone’s daughter now graduated Added homemaker to her bio as she dated.

A PG elevated her to someone’s mom And with it vanished all her calm As a wife, she screamed aloud “Will you keep those smoke rings out?”

That conscience of his did feel aroused As the burning butt now lay all doused This angel now was all greying hair No more tobacco, so no crabs there No more hunting with the oncos here No more screams rushing in a flood Is it urine, it is all blood, blood?

But before this calm there did come the storm With bloody urine all over the area when the painless gross hematuria whose cause wasn’t the beetroot Manchuria but the dreaded carcinoma in situ With Yama laughing, “I have come for you” Soon she had the cancer hospital’s invitation With the usual BCG, chemo, and radiation But, off with the bladder was the chosen option There really was no room for any emotion And along with the bladder did go the prostate But a kidney ligated, was that great?

SIVA

119

THE COLOURS OF THE CAREGIVER Victory to her who cared sans inhibitions In spite of all the trials and tribulations Be it in the hospital or later at the park Great is the woman who taught him to walk Yet never herself thought of any rest Or felt depressed at the sufferer’s mess Recovered and rehabilitated, now rejoice en mass

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THE MISDEMEANORS OF THE INNOCENT DAYS The children scream as they sway Rain, rain, go away We babies want to play.

Their geriatric guardians also pray: “Oh! Beautiful smoke rings vanish away Don’t let the crab visit yet another day.

We are not survivors, who just got away, We fought our battles, vanquished our cancer, We conquerors won at the end of the day.

Disunited though we were in our brand of cigarettes, The crab in the bladder brought us together.

No more cigarettes, no more smoke, No bad bladders in the basket anymore Haven’t you had enough, the monster within?

Leave me alone for now I am armed; And if you lost to a debutant me What on earth can you now achieve?

Of indecent exposure, I am no longer charged If a restroom is still several miles away.

My comrades in arms are for you to see The uro, the nephro, as also the onco With the scans and the blood work too.

They’ll ensure you’re kept away from me.

Any attempt at invasion, even if in a virgin field Will see the same fate, a retreating you.

They think of their folks, in foreign lands, Sad and lonely, yet happy with what they have For what the surgery took away now hardly matters A long while ago, they ceased to exist, they now live.

Says the bladderless man’s wife to the grand ones abroad, And she, his beloved rejoices Whatever he has is one less than you You have one bladder, he has none You have two kidneys, he has one You have three sons, he has two You have four brothers, he has three You have five grandchildren, he has four You got six silk sarees your wedding day To his mere five cotton dhoties SIVA

121

Yet, you merely exist in, Columbus Park maybe?

Or is it Battery Park? He lives with his cancer defeated.

The crawling crab crushed under the weight of the onco He is happy, having come to terms with himself While you still wonder where you are and why.

Praised be the caregivers both medical and lay At the hospital and elsewhere too Who make us look forward to celebrating His 75th birthday, albeit a couple of years hence.

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WE THE CHILDREN My dad smokes, And my mom chokes.

As for us kids, we all cough, yet, he merely seems to laugh.

For even when tightly embraced, We do feel extremely embarrassed.

SIVA

123

PURNIMA KHAJURIA

P

urnima Khajuria is a resident of Punjab, India. She is a student of Humanities and wants to serve her country through prestigious civil services as an Administrator. She believes that poetry is an art that evokes emotions. More than impressing she uses this art for impacting.

WHEN IT RAINED...

A day before, I encountered the paradisical pour.

Drizzling from heaven and embracing earth’s bed, magically, does it’s pacifying redolance spread.

I felt inclined, Hence, disobeyed my empirical mind!

Swaggering the way out, I looked for the mysterious sought.

Breeze being blissfully brisk !

Relaxed my senses to calmth from blisk.

Kneeling down - I closed my eyes, Someone touched me in a disguise!

Bathing grass! Crazy leaves! Sprouting buds and well grown roses, All ‘DISGUISED’ as fairies with fantastic poses!

I was astonished!

What God had planned ?

They all offered me a very warm hand!

Romantic aroma, the feeling was grand.

I danced-reciprocated their gesture , I wanted to sleep in their lap, I wanted to fill my life’s gap, But, They vanished! leaving me in a fester...

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All in vain! All in vain!

Where had you gone - Oh! Dear rain.

Everything was over, it looted me, Like a deceptive Rover.......

Like a deceptive Rover.........

KHAJURIA

125

MY MOTHER Relax my mind, when it’s unevenly curled, She is everything, she is my world.

Eternal is her beauty, Greatly, she performs her duty, Her struggle in life and pain, I am her heart- her greatest gain.

She is humble and kind, For me, her love is blind!

She can’t see my eyes wet, Brought me up with blood and sweat.

Simplicity, affection and selflessness, Without me her perspired restlessness.

She pulled me out of dark, When death was ready for me to mark!

My handwork will bestow her a crown, I promise, I won’t let her down.

She is caring, she is daring, Looks adorable in necklace and earing.

Her hands are magical when she cooks, In loneliness, she loves reading books.

Her tantrums are like melting ice, She is decent and wise.

May the almighty, hear my pray, Make her fascinated day by day.

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DREAMS Wings allowing us to freely fly, Are dreams where we laugh or cry.

Stresslessly, after going to bed, Magic of dreams is spread .

Unknown characters or well known members, What happens there, we mostly don’t remember.

But dreams in open eyes, Urges to struggle, giving temporary cries.

But these cries are road to success, After being faced, bestows you relax.

Not ever we get what we expect, Faliure is a mere success’s pretext Imaginary dreams are to be broken, Meaningful dreams are to spoken!

To achieve success, we need to dream, Dreams aren’t unachievable! though, they may seem.

At last, I shall definitely sayDream big and appeal God to fulfill your pray.

KHAJURIA

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I SEE MAGIC...

I see magic, when I peep in your eyes, On your smile my every wound dries.

Your innocent cries, spread so much bliss, You cotton like skin is felt while I kiss.

These little hands, these little toes, MY DOLL, your charming magic goes and goes.

The smile of your - is the best I have seen!

For nine months, in my womb, you have been.

The pain was soothing by which you came!

Grow up and gain the empowering fame.

I am lost at your appealing sight, You vanished my deep-rooted plight!

You came from me, Hence, resemble to me.

I will nourish you, I will love you.

Influence the world - become bold and brave.

Let my head raise before I see the grave.

My child, you will be someone’s wife, But listen! that’s not the only purpose of your life.

Lead the world while keeping your head high, I give you freedom to freely fly..

I give you freedom to freely fly.....

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BITTER ALMONDS Some almonds are bitter too, So are non - sweet sweet hearts of you!

At an instant - they may be coarse, Their silence can silence, Screams of striking Shores.

Their taunts pinch more than a pinch, Neither on front, nor with you, They stand behind your every inch!

Though, warmth of winter, yet seemingly loo!

Harshness - a mere mask they wear, They stand with you, When no one cares!

Hidden tears - they never show, Their tantrums are like melting snow!

Since, they refuse to applaud, Hence, strengthning a shinning sword.

They know your potential will make you substantial, Their affection is perpetually residential.

Who are they? Why they do so?

They are your parents! Few strict teachers, Who want you to ‘firmly’ grow.

Due to them you enhance your features.

Their resentment is even seasonal , But they love you unconditional!

Yes, they love you unconditional!

KHAJURIA

129

RAVI KALLICHARAN

R

avi Kallicharan is employed with the Trinidad and Tobago Fire Services. He is an avid gardener, a musician and poet.

A HEART AND ITS ROSE A pure rapture of joy is born, when love takes life. The Heart sings and dance without a care as this seed starts growing.

It is like the never ending dance of the waves of the ocean as they try to meet the bright flashing lightning of the night sky.

A journey starts as this living love walks the distance. The road always seem to be uneven. Holes, pebbles and debris lines it’s path.

The heart who believes in Love, never tires on the journey. A haunting melody, beautiful and heavenly is how he beholds this rose.

Thoughts filled with adoration, care and wonder. This heart never knew this rose came with a thorn. The overpowering scent of love was all he saw in this Rose.

He embraced this rose wholeheartedly like the first rays of the morning sun hugging the cold air.

As it’s sharp pointed tip pierced him, even then he still loved this enchanting rose.

It seemed as if the very heavens cracked open and flood waters from another world came to drown this honest heart. The agony was like a violent wind lashing the screaming waves.

This enchanted rose tossed him into a battlefield of loneliness, sadness, rejection and heartbreak.

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LOVE’S DEVOTION As the carefree wind passes.

Their love thirst branches touches each other.

A joyful smile lit up his heart as he stood by her side.

A tale of love as these two trees stood side by side.

Rooted together in the soft caring earth.

They were like a glittering diamond hidden in the mountain’s Heart.

Like a jewelled lamp on the threshold of an opening their love shone.

The sound of their sweet intoxicating laughter was like a divine song.

Their lips moved to the knowledge of knowing and seeing each other’s beauty. Their fallen leaves came together and held each other.

Cool, gentle and fragrant winds fanned the fire of their undying love for each other.

Steeped as it was in the nectar of love.

Even though fires and earthquakes came along and the rumbling clouds drenched the earth. They stood still side by side.

KALLICHARAN

131

NIRAJ RANA Niraj Rana, School Administrator and English Teacher by profession and a poet by passion was born in Nepal and studied in India. He is a well-known poet and his poetry is widely published.

WHERE THERE IS LOVE Where there is love There is a feeling to share Where there is feeling There is a reason to care Where there is care There is a reason to worry Where there is worry There is a reason to dispute Where there is dispute There is a reason to cry Where there is cry There is an emotion Where there is emotion There is a reason to excuse Where there is excuse There is a kiss and a hug Where there is kiss and hug There is a love, never to die.

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MEMORIES Playing a sweet summer tune She wanders carelessly In the meadow of my brain Then with all her guts She makes her way through The narrow lane of my vein And reaches and teases Encourages and increases Every beat of my heart Finally she forces a smile That stretches my lips So wide apart But then at once Tickling the tears in my eyes She makes her way out And I, a poor fellow Smiling or crying I myself can’t figure it out.

RANA

133

DEEP INSIDE MY SOUL Deep inside my soul I’ve caged you in my whole Where eyes never lie And tears never shy Where dreams are woven Of colours in seven Yes dear, Deep inside my soul I’ve caged you in my whole Where beauty never fades Of ageing age And where the heart swells Of love that deeply dwells.

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JUST A PINCH OF SMILE A life bestowed Or, a lump of load Never known And perhaps never to know A loaf of bread Just to hold a lung of breath No matter You earn or own Struggling to live Or, living to struggle Never known And perhaps never to know Just for the shake of tomorrow Tears and sweat Each and every while And just a pinch of smile For the journey Of miles and miles.

RANA

135

LEAVING NEITHER DEAD NOR ALIVE When loneliness embraces The echoing silence And the darkness dances With wings wide open Then it’s the memory That drags with violence And the tear teases Clinging on the eyes swollen When emotion plunges Into the depths of desire And in one’s absence Life suffocates to survive Then it’s the love That sets heart in a fierce fire And the pain teases Leaving neither dead nor alive.

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NUPUR CHAKRABARTY

N

upur Chakrabarty is a writer-poet, humanist, painter and nature-lover. She is an ardent supporter of nature protection. She loves art in all forms. A post-graduate in Psychology from the University of Delhi, she lives in India’s capital city.

“Poetry is prayer. It is the “dharma” of my life. It comes from the “Atman” or the “Being”, it is the essence of nature, soul and spirit.”

Her poems have been published in various magazines in India and abroad.

EYES I saw greed in his eyes... I could read.

He was like the man who killed the hen for all her golden eggs.

How long I thought, would he take to kill his hen... where, to which spillway will his desire trail ?

Like worms sway ...in the dark and musty ditches drinking from the stenchful ooze, faces known and unknown... in search of deals to own.

Another feather on my crown !

Look! A queen me... and see me a king!

The world kisses the feet!

And yet, but a few moments and the Sun rises... as the worms float in the filth with eyes full of greed... while the flowers bloom in the garden of love... and over the fields of peace.

CHAKRABARTY

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VEILED There are thunders beyond the sunshine, there are flutters in the air.. so quiet and cool.

There’s a rose hiding in the mist... bedewed alone...

There are smiles beyond the tears, and tears beyond the smiles.

A veiled world is it ...

Masked faces proclaim sardonic decrees!

There are fangs behind the grins... invisible verities!

But I look for the radiance of the stars.. and a light that shines in the darkness !

A waker in the night... sifts the contagion !

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RAJAN MEHRA

R

ajan Mehra is an avid reader, writer of short stories and poetry, a blogger and motivational speaker. He lives in New Delhi, India.

SUFFOCATION I saw suffocation on their faces the poor and innocent caused by a sense of helplessness.

I saw suffocation on the roads where helpless men and women were targeted.

I saw suffocation in society, hardworking vendors mishandled by political hierarchy.

I saw suffocation in relations between couples and in-laws; interference by relatives and acquaintances making things worst not better.

I saw suffocation writ large on faces as disaster loomed over my beloved country. Nuclear missiles and bombs threatening the innocent.

I saw the look of suffocation in the eyes of a child living in the shallows of darkness and fear, of abusive parents.

I saw suffocation in the employment system where deserving candidates failed to get jobs on one excuse or another.

I saw suffocation in the space line between two lovers, one dominating the other.

Suffocation breathes fear and helplessness.

MEHRA

139

LOVE AFFAIR A college crush with a girl in the same class still holds in the CD of the mind, Tender feelings began as sessions started.

Her face caught my eyes, her smile shot an arrow straight into the heart.

Courageously I presented her with a rose She smile enchantingly and with coffee we took our love forward.

Romantic dates continues three weeks straight until one day she announced she wanted to discontinue this journey to refocus on academics, My hopes and dreams shattered My world torn apart, My dream broken, heart shook like a violent earthquake I left on a sad note But soon recovered from my first disturbed cycle my short story on romance!

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PARENTS Parents are a reason to smile like diamonds they make us shine If one could analyze they put joy on our contenance None has seen God; But His invisible presence can be felt in divine souls known as parents We don’t need to provide a valid statement or judgement to satisfy their undying love and blessings from any part of the Universe, Mother bears pain while delivering a baby, Father struggles hard to uplift his child’s dreams; still they are neglected souls, What’s the purpose in life if we cannot take care of our parents?

Call out to your parents, spend quality time with them Learn to love, to repay them for the gift of life that even though you make millions cannot compare with the gentle care given to you by your parents.

Love and respect to all parents, everywhere.

My parents showered me with love, like God. Thanks n Regards!

MEHRA

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I AM RADHIKA I am Radhika, A seven year old daughter of a loving papa I am the only child of my great parents, My dad has been so caring that he brought me up like a son, Are you surprised that a little girl is so daring to speak the truth....

Yes, we children are very honest and trustworthy to our mom and dad.

My mom is busy in her household work, I help her in serving meals to the family, I can also make tea; but my mom discourages me from preparing it, Mom, takes me to nearby park and dad plays carrom with me in the evening, He also helps me in English and Maths, I asked him one day, “Don’t you want a son” He replied, I’m happy with my doll, Love you Mom and Dad The best mom and dad in the world!

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I WANT TO BE WITH YOU I want to nestle my trembling arms To hold you and have your arms wrapped around me You give me such confidence and warmth The moon glares jealously The dark sky vehemently pokes its twinkling stars A calm breeze blows raising a shower of dance movements Maybe we seem resplendant and sensual Ablaze in passion on delicate wings The sheer emotion, pure and true I love you.

You peered into my starving eyes Sensing the same need as you The years of waiting finally gone Finally, I can be with you the fires of passion burn We witnessed pain, and agony Still we are together again and will be, it’s our destiny.

We will be together!

MEHRA

143

OBELLA STEPHEN

O

bella Stephen is a student at the National Teachers College in Kampala, Uganda. He writes poetry with a passion.

A PHONE CALL TO DEATH Rich Man: ...............

Hello Death, (Death picks up the call), How are you, Mr.Death?

How is my grave?

I am calling from the hospital, Where I lay, On my deathbed.

I need you here, Mr.Death, Come and pick me up.

The world I had long enjoyed, Has turned to enjoy me, (He who laugh last laugh best).

I slept with all women kind, Brown, black, white, Short, tall, lame, Fat and thin.

I had thought; Heaven was between a woman’s thighs, I grabbed big pieces of land, From poor orphans and widows, I have changed cars, Built mansions.

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So death, Do you hear me?

(I thought my network was disturbing).

This Malaya’s disease stole my big stomach, And left me with a skeletal body, Come and take me to heaven, To sleep with Angels, To raid heavenly treasury Death: Yes,big man; I have been looking at you, Dodge me, here and there, From hospital to hospital, from drug to drug, I hope you bought a big coffin. with the poor man’s money?

(Yes,I bought), It’s Okay, I Will be there soon.

STEPHEN

145

THE HUNTER’S LOVE SONG. Awinyi, The Village beauty.

My name is Obatal, Born after a lion raped a woman, I am half man ,half lion.

With a crocodile back.

I stay inside Inturi forest, I blow a flute using one nose.

I rule animals in the jungle, The roaring lion, tiger and boar, Bow down to worship me!

I watch animals mate, And salivate an ocean, I have had lonely nights, And I need a wife.

So I came out of the jungle, Swam across big seas, Trekked caravan routes Miles far,far away!

Following echoes of your voice, To get a wife.

I saw you bathe along river Awoja, Wearing round beads on your waist, Singing a lonely bee’s song.

Your breasts erected so strong, Warning me not to draw near, But I was dying!

You had weakened a great warrior, Melted a man-rock in me!

So, Awinyi, listen to me; Your hair is smooth like squirrel’s tail, Your eyes are of a bright wild cat, Your voice is for a singing mosquito.

Now Awinyi, tell me the truth; Look at me in the eyes, Shall we escape from your home, To the jungle?

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OLANIHUN OPEYEMI JOE

UNSEEN...UNHEARD Unseen...Unheard Dusts trail every kick On the bald soccer pitch They float and settle At every run, every tackle.

The fat boy in left back He runs like a dead crab Whilst above, the jumbling jet stream Melts slowly into the sky’s sea-blue.

OPEYEMI JOE

147

THE ONLY ONE ( for Eileen)

She is the mother-star to me Fiercer than the sun And when the world ignores in thrill She alone believes, the only one.

Truer than the Moon Heart more pure than the purest of the gods In this world of tossing sorrows She alone is my rock.

Of the dusking day I am not afraid, for she is The brilliant shade of sky-fire Those of the northern firmaments.

When the thunderstorms strike Drumming out my pangs When the whole universe thought That I am fine in Chaos’s court She alone divines without a touch My drowned weakened call The only one.

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DAWN Moistened, dew besprinkled The dry season still indecisive...

Drowned in the vying decibels Of the megaphoned muezzins...

Threaded in the heavy mechanical Stuttering of metallic musings...

Bloodied by the vengeful slaps Served on the perched, swollen mosquitoes tribe...

Distilled in the charming music Of early, feathered drones...

Dressed in the dashing flights Of the gyrating eagles’ clan...

Gate-belled by the roused human hells Their rich troubled heads...

She fades in the carrying light Of the unravelling day.

OPEYEMI JOE

149

CASSAVA WOMAN She sits by smoke Stirring, kneading, pounding That starchy dough A basin over a fire His leaping flames lick her legs As the sun caresses her shoulders and neck And rivers of sweat course down her back bent To baptise her wrapper folder just above her breasts.

Cassava Woman Smokes by the wood fires of existence Daily she pours the oil of her body Into the lake of life Feeding its essence Stirring, kneading, pounding From morning till noon And in the evenings Sells her Fufu.

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ONLY TIME I have fallen in love F.a.l.l.e.n. in love With the wrong one?

With the right one?

Only time would tell; I have fallen in love F.a.l.l.e.n. in bog And whether I would rise Like a bird Out of its mire Or sink lower A mudfish Into its paradise Only time would decide.

OPEYEMI JOE

151

NAMETI AKPAN

N

ameti Akpan is a poet. He is based in Uyo, Nigeria. He studied accounting as a first degree, his desire for writing has endeared him to the arts. He is a toastmaster and a powerful public speaker.

ELECTION “DREAMS” A trigger -pull from the hired A student drops dead A gun- shot deliberately fired The arena becomes a death bed A budding destiny halts short On the flings of a selfish birth Vultures who indulge in bad sport Have taken the game to dirt To your crumbling tents O mighty Israel Bloody politicking has severed our bonds Our swords of violence has brought us hell Our Vision now a mirage in the ponds Awake!O young lad with delicate soul Pay not that price for your” Principal’s” Prize Ask Lincoln whose loss formed a goal Another’s dream is not yours no matter the Size. inspired by Essienifiok Unanam

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A STAR SIGN From Ancient Sages who flip the pages Marked by those lines scripted by the benign A star beams brightly to illuminate the Stage ‘Astrologers’ they say had seen the sign Hand-me-down dreams I dared to dread Tell me O ‘Emmanuel’ whose script you played Lest in death I forget my Creators thread And lose in a snap the moments I stayed Your Soul shall know in time and Space The life you lived and made a mark Your Creators pride imbued with grace You found your path and trod it’s dark History’s tale am beckoned to tell With a Magi’s heart you followed your Star Your penchant for truth You declined to sell So in time you can witness your call to bar.

In dedication to a man who saw the Star and dared to follow it..Barrister Idiongo Udofia...Congratulations. You are a shining example.

AKPAN

153

INSPIRED TO INSPIRE A light flames in me illuminates my soul to be more than a rhythmic beat In the cruise of life’s treat I ponder,wonder and strut Awakened by a poet I trust Never knowing the muse within Could leave so much in him Essienifiok Unanam, a healer’s delight For alchemy has it right I am touched by your creative fire Smoking embers am prone to hire Mystical marriage of scientific arts Proving more than in ancient parts That our origins hath no divide The poet in us all need not hide.

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KATRINA ANNA MCINTOSH

A

s an author and activist, Trinidadian poet Katrina Anna McIntosh seeks to cultivate the courtship she believes exists between the pen and page. She possesses a committed strategy which combines her love for words and her passion for social change. At 27, she has developed her personal brand Love-Kat where she disseminates weekly blogs on her website on issues affecting the Caribbean region. She is author and has launched her first book “Letters to the Broken, Healing and Healed,” which uses poetic language to explore themes such as women’s rights, gender-based violence, child abuse and suicide.

She hopes to develop a programme that utilizes an empathy-based curriculum geared towards early childhood development with a mission of reducing violence on both an individual and cultural level. Miss McIntosh is currently navigating life as a practitioner whose work is a systematic merger of Psychology and Counselling and Early Childhood Care Education. She desires to pursue further studies in relation to Human Rights, Policy Implementation and the Management and Marketing of Social Entrepreneurship

EMBRACE THE EXPECTED. As evidence, I’ll compose in pencil, To submit the claim even words get divorce.

Promises though heartfelt, can lose their former possession.

I’ll inscribe with hope of an expectation.

And expect nothing.

Autumn always comes.

The elements whisper Aide-mémoire.

Never embrace this earth.

Tectonic plates, solid masses Are not exempt from stirs.

Bird’s nests, soft homes can produce orphans.

Who do they damage except the worms?

Who is their enemy?

MCINTOSH

155

Sturdy hills, living in grandeur awake to erosion.

Who am I to escape anguish?

Even the sun daily splits his chest And shares devotion.

It is futile to think I shall be spared.

The earth is not my debtor.

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I WONDER THE MORNING AFTER It’s curious, the way limbs still their movements in slumber The way closed eyes mirrors death Twice I searched for you.

Traced your outline with my eyes.

I’m always searching. Waiting For an expectant leave.

I knew when you left.

It’s curious, the way your fingers slipped into incision.

Trying to mend part of her. Parts of yourself.

Fruit ripe with readiness.

It’s curious when your breath hastened.

Soaked in panic.

I think that if I wrung out your tongue I’d taste her.

Morning dew even in slumber.

We didn’t kiss.

It’s curious, the way love is sexy In its afterglow.

With a hint of fear for tomorrow.

And as much as I love you, You have become my greatest joy, And deepest fear.

MCINTOSH

157

SECOND SKIN I found my second skin on the island of Utopia The coordinates 7.05.17 The love, like a honey comb When you find your second skin, you’d realize that though you were complete, you have now become a mega version of yourself.

You’d start embracing the idea that you are indeed a warrior for though you have been fighting wars, she now becomes your armour.

You venture into cities you never have, with your back tall. Her spirit is never absent.

You start telling your enemies that if it pleases them, they can go hang themselves.

You start hanging your body upside down to shake the insecurities from your being.

You start telling them they’re not welcome.

The elephant in the room loses its invisibility cloak.

You both, you and your second skin, have conversations about his existence.

His lineage. His values.

Until he becomes annoyed that he has lost respect in this place.

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NARENDRA RAJKUMAR

N

arendra Raj Kumar is a retired school teacher. He lives in Chaguanas, Trinidad and enjoys writing poetry.

a. The Councillor.

Once we had our villager Councillor, He never served his own town people.

His best friend lived elsewhere, All his time was spent there.

No surprise when he just disappear. b. Market Vendor.

A vendor was selling rotten fruits, She thought she could make some fast money.

Some did buy, some laughed, too.

She fooled some “blue”, lost more.

They ran her from her stall, she lost all. c. New Shoes Used tyres as my sole, made new shoes, With no funds, found a way and saved some, too.

Two pairs made, one was sold, Gave away the one that’s old.

Now can walk, used-tyre made, brand new shoes. d. Me - dumb and stupid Some people call me dumb and stupid, Made me shame, laughed also, they were wicked.

Treat me bad, shave my head, Beat me up, said I dead.

Used red paint, and markup my forehead. e. Who did this? (Dialect) RAJKUMAR

159

Used to think, all people “does” be nice, Not when some, “teif” mih dog - giv’ him lice.

Set him free, lose his way, Tired searching - still missing.

Ah done say, who did this, go pay thrice. and, f. Santa laughing at me.

Long time now, sent letter - wrote Santa, It returned, not enough - less stamps.

Still eh get, toys asked for, Look how long, ah want more.

Still hearing, Ho, Ho, Ho, his laughter.

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“DEM DRIVERS EH CARE ‘BOUT ME...”

“Dem drivers eh care ‘bout me” Those drivers do not care about me (and my safety).

For all my life, I have been a Pedestrian - always walking, Now my pair of slippers, their soles are getting smooth.

Recently, as I watched “YouTube”, I was shown a plan With used tyres, how I can make shoes.

There is a reason for telling you this now, Drivers do not care about people who are walking.

They park on the pavement, not leaving any walking space, Or, they reverse onto the road, without using a reverse-alarm.

Police vehicles are passing up and down, This is happening in the busy Chaguanas town.

I am forced to walk onto the road, Hoping that oncoming traffic will not “knock me down”.

I am certain, those drivers are aware of what they are doing, As they all learned the regulations before driving.

Upon getting their driver’s licence, they forgot what was learnt Now, I have to be on the “lookout”, they are annoyed when I have to pass.

There are many Public Officials, starting with the Mayor, And their only concern is talking and “posing” for the Press.

Opposite where I live, the grass is overgrown, it’s a safety risk, Also, drivers continue to disrespect us, who have to walk.

We “small” people experience much difficulty, There is only one time that we become important.

Politicians will visit your home when there is an election, They make all sorts of promises to secure your vote.

Do remember what I have said before it becomes true, There is a chance that a vehicle may “knock me down”.

Naturally, I won’t be there, should this happen So, if the police ask, you are my witness.

RAJKUMAR

161

THE NIGHT BEFORE A TRINIDAD CHRISTMAS Oh! The smell of that new oily tablecloth, Mixed with the aroma of the baking pan.

Fireside lighting bright, Stoking it all night Mother’s apron is flour-stained.

Of all nights, I came home late, Missed the mixing of our Fruit-cake.

“Lost out” on licking the mixing bowl, My sister was the lucky one.

Hot hops came out of the oven, We buttered some and had hot cocoa Nothing tastes as good as freshly baked oven bread.

My neighbour was already boiling a ham.

On three stones, in a “pitch oil pan”, Every now and then, it got a “stick”, That was with a “kokoyea” stem To tell when the ham was tender and done.

This is no time for the popular sliced bread Is hot, hot oven-baked hops, with a “slap” of butter.

We follow that with a slice of Fruit-cake, Is either some “Solo” ginger-beer or home-made sorrel.

Now, nobody thinking of toys is to eat as much as you can When tomorrow comes, we will see what Santa brings!

Long-time Christmas was always the best, Pastel and a “Red Solo” complete the rest.

If buttered-bread didn’t leak from your mouth Then you don’t know the Christmas I am talking about!

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MY BOTTLE OF INK IS ALMOST EMPTY Wid de little bit ah ink ah still have, ah hopin’ It eh done before ah finish writin’ dis Poem.

See? Ah tell yoh ah cyar write everybody name here, Since ah join de Write Family, all who is mih friend.

Forgive me, ah not singling out anybody, Ah want each and every one to know, you played ah part Yoh helped to make dis drive on “Sunset Strip”, ah good one!

Some ah de views dat ah expressed, some yoh didn’t like, Nothin’ wrong wid dat, wen wrong, ah said ah was sorry As Fellow Travellers, we all will learn something new.

Was tryin’ not to say dis, as we closin’ de year Pity we couldn’t agree to respect our Readers; As we continue using “unnamed”, “off de cuff “ styles, Without de use of any Punctuations in sentence.

RAJKUMAR

163

MY DUMPLIN’ PIE N’ TOMATO CHRISTMAS Just a few more days and Christmas is here again How do I face you to ask you to feel my pain?

With no money to buy us food, cannot pay the rent, Making you happy, bringing you joy was all I meant.

At the back of the house, there is a Black Sage tree The cotton tree is very dry and flurry white, I can still put them together if you wouldn’t mind, A Christmas tree I can make, it will look just like pine.

The yard still has some tomato growing And you had always liked a dumplin’ pie, Sorrel still has some dried fruits on its stem, We can still have some sorrel juice to drink.

The garden has some roses among the thorns Christmas day will, for you, a Rose Bouquet make, As long as you wouldn’t make a big fuss, Christmas could still be a blessing for us.

No need to worry about any gift for me As long as you are still here, that is enough!

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CHILDREN REAL “BRIGHT” Today as I was walking down the street, I mused, how is it the PTA never did invite me?

To any meeting or function at mih daughter school?

Searching for an answer, it suddenly dawned on me, My signature - my daughter coudda write This has to be the answer to my plight.

From then, I had already known, it is only so much I can learn, As soon as I start to creep, they already know how to leap Often, I wonder, will I ever be able to “catch -up”?

Children nowadays - brighter than me, Ah talking about dem days when ah was small.

Have you ever seen ah 3-year old with ah “Tablet”?

Dem lil children callin’ out colours like “purple” and “magenta”.

I am completely amazed by dis development, De onle ting ah notice - dem eh know how to talk an’ play like we.

As young boys an’ girls, we had many games that we played Rounders, Hide n’ Seek, pitchin’ marbles, even Hop Scotch.

Outside the “Tablet”m dem eh know how to play, much less speak.

RAJKUMAR

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SUJATA PAUL

S

ujata Paul is a teacher from the state of Tripura, India. She enjoys travelling and writing.

BEFORE THE LAST CALL I know one day all the hues and cries Would come to an end, At the middle of my work, I would be Called upon to response for the Last call at the eleventh.

It’s very well known to me That several springs of my life I would never be able to go back, But before that last call I want to lead my life vigorously With you, my soul mate.

You are the silent stimulus of My heart during busy schedules, You are the playmate of my leisure times And you are only the sweetest soul mate Up to my last breath.

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WAITING FOR SANTA Santa, I have been eagerly waiting For you dear, Longing for a special hug that would Make me able to avoid all the worries and fear.

Hoping you would present me the Chocolate, sweets and many more expensive things Those will make my heart cool with soft feelings.

Please don’t do like other years As entered into selected homes, And when my turn came you had disappeared, Eagerly waiting for your arrival Santa, Please come and give me the chance To be contented only for once.

PAUL

167

HEAVEN IS NEVER TOO FAR Who says paradise is far away from us When both of us stay with each other.

From plain to jungle road Every place seems heaven to us.

Paradise is never welcome Without you my dear, Where as hell too would be comfortable When you accompany me there.

One day will come when people Will arrange for our funeral pyre, But as both of us are fair and square In our relationship, we must laugh at their follies, As we could never die for our love is immortal.

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MY MOM Mother, who is my creator Had all the qualities to make me a fighter.

The only person I found awake For me whole night, In the days of my illness in her arms She kept me tight.

My first teacher who made me learn my lesson By holding her hands everything I have known.

Neither I believe any God or Goddess But my mom was to me more than any idols, Mom, disease had snatched you from me earlier But wherever you stay, I know you are always close to my heart dear.

PAUL

169

POOR KIDS You are to become number one Dear kids, Or your parents hope Will get dismissed.

They forget about their kids Playing games, having pure air under the open sky that enable them to remove The boredom of their studies.

Poor tiny creatures are to get first In study, singing or recitation, How could they bear everything altogether with special attention?

Today’s children are the future citizens Of tomorrow, Let’s make them grow first With a healthy physique and fresh brain, Or parents every attempt would be turned Into wastage of a drain.

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KABEDOOPONG PIDDO DDIBE’ST

K

abedoopong Piddo Ddibe’st is a young published Ugandan poet, a born of Kitgum district, Northern Uganda; an Acholi by tribe.

He has been published in a number of anthologies and online magazines around the world. Most of his works leave you never the same again if you a keen reader.

A CROWN OF THORNS Much rage, less strength; Pushed in the nose of turkey, Wearing red ribbon on the head, Like David before Goliath, Fettered in the house of exile, Son of miscarried justice, Guarded by ambassadors of the sun, In a dialogue with blind death, Extending days of the night, Melting wax in the buttocks Of the oldest eagle in the land.

Petals of blood on grains of wheat, Leaking down the crown of thorns, I wear to redeem the crying days, From the hands of darkness; Writhing like a woman whose house Is engulfed in cracking flames: Only those who hear the music dance; Those without ears say the dancers are insane; Much rage, less strength.

PIDDO DDIBE’ST

171

QUEEN IS RED Queen is red, She is a purified gold, Refined by my sweet words of mouth, Sprung out through the gapped teeth of Ruping, She is a dog of fear, Hyenas go about her, Impotent to afford her, My Miss Mirror is beautiful.

Queen is red, Her lips are wide shut, Spitting me commands, Wanting to eat me up Like a double-mouthed leech, She wants something light; With a jingling nose ring, Scarlet lip-sticks, bloodshot eyes, A beautifully bleached skinsuit.

Queen is red, She is now full woman Who cooks better than your mother; She sits like men, Waiting for food like nestlings, O my queen bee in my beehive, A scorpion sting on Christmas night, My red queen is sweet.

Queen is red, Her arms on my sore shoulders, Conquering the center of gravity, Roaring like a lion, As I cower into my soft wounded shell, There is no one sweeter than my queen; She is my husband.

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CHICKEN I am Stalin’s chicken, Plucked clean like a woman’s chin, With metallic fingers, Quacking in silent pain, Naked in the falling rain, I am a mere child, With untimely deathday.

He plucked me clean, All my tattered feathers, Cut with metallic fingers, He threw me down, Down on his rubber feet, And walked away in my eyes; With metallic laughters, Rippling like troubled waters, Risen to life by a dead stone.

I walk and still walk forever, Behind him, following him, For my plucked feathers, Tattered in his iron-hands, Shivering in cold with helpless flight, Following him for my feathers, Gone are my beauty and might, My fear is my life is next, My meat smells a flesh of death.

PIDDO DDIBE’ST

173

SOCCER Soccer is a cool game: Cheating is highly allowed; Rename it as a sacred game, Maim the opposing teams, Bribe the whistling referee, Urinate on the linemen With flying yellow envelopes.

Go ahead— Physician the rolling ball, Twist the heads of the players, Kidnap their leaders, They are under your fingers, Teargas the spectators who riot, Dress like a faceless scarecrow.

Go ahead — Reset the fixed goalposts, Beyond your rival’s reach, Party on their gate fare daily, For you have won the game again, You are the referee of referees, The Alpha and Omega, All you need is be final as usual.

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CANNAN The land that flowed honey, Now climatic change, Unfed cows milked, Smart Casino players; We came, And got barren land, That flows scarlet blood, Rivers of darkness, Apartheid flags raised; We came, Land titles demanded, Liberty of slavery, Important problem In the pearl of Cannan; We came, Across the Red Sea, Capitalistic masks, On the bloody throne, We hear silent missiles; We came, On the calls of weaverbirds, On Cathedral windows, Preaching the life of our death, In this sick land; We came, Dancing heretical hymns, They sung to liberate The land from their own chains, Sitting in the heart of the realm; We came, And buried hospitality, In every man for himself, But God for us all, Embracing new faith of greed, Repatriation and brain drain; We came, From our motherland, In their masterial ships; Now waiting for freedom On Africa’s mouth, my father’s land.

PIDDO DDIBE’ST

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SRAVANI SINGAMPALLI

S

ravani Singampalli studies at AvanthiInstitute of Pharmaceutical Sciences. She lives in Vizag and dabbles in poetry.

FLOW As I smell the sweet earthy scent Of the immature rain I remember those pleasant moments I start aging with memories I see the soft fall of a magnolia flower And warmth emanates from my saffron love I get lost in my little world It stops raining The first rays of sun Hit the earth And somewhere at a corner A small flower emerges Out of the rotten leaves Just like a spark of light In the decaying darkness I have become petrichor I am the fresh perfume Issued from cardamom thoughts!

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HUMILITY

(NOTE: Poetry forms used are Double Reversed Etheree and Acrostic)

‘Namaste’ is an act of humility With humility, we gain wisdom See humility in nature Trees bending in the harsh wind Just seem to me as if They are asking for Forgiveness on Behalf of All of Us. It Reminds Me of lord Jesus Christ who Suffered pain for our Sins so that we all could Be forgiven and live a Better life, even the raging Fire bows down to water in defeat Showing reverence and humility!

‘Humility’ to me doesn’t mean low Unity comes with humility I believe Malice and conceit have to be destroyed In order to live a sublime life.

Little things do matter a lot I believe, like saying Thank you, hello or hi You must be humble to survive!

SINGAMPALLI

177

MY DEAR CHILD (A monody)

You had the most amazing eyes Twinkling with innocence and curiosity You became my world and my life.

Listening to you reciting rhymes Was my only treat Your little hands always Trying to help me And wiping off my tears When I used to cry seemed very sweet!

There were times you made me angry But glaring at you was never my part As you were my only child!

The day your father left us I almost died but prayed to god To keep me alive until I behold you As the most beautiful bride!

I never thought that I would lose you forever!

I am the culprit, it was all my mistake!

Perhaps I should have prayed for you instead!

You were my breath, my only child Your smile was the Reason of my life Now that you’re not with me ‘Grief’ has become my child!

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DESIRE I wish I were the rain The rain of felicity The rain of poetries Or perhaps the rain of equanimity In their gloomy lives.

I wish I were blind As blind as pure love Smelling the fragrance of optimism And feeling the tranquillity in cool breeze.

I wish I were the life The life in the pure water The life in the eternal sunshine Or perhaps the life In those innocent smiles.

I wish I were the song The song of a nightingale The song of a passionate lover Or perhaps the song of A dewy-eyed orphan child.

I wish I were his pain The pain which is bittersweet The pain buried deep inside The pain conceived into his poem The pain which has stolen all my desires!

SINGAMPALLI

179

REMINDERS At street number 35, in Lawson’s Bay Colony There’s a rich boy enjoying sumptuous cuisines with His friends and relatives.

Having a barbecue, Italian pasta, spaghetti with Prawns and chilli, butter chicken, Pancakes and orange juice.

Everybody is flooded with euphoria!

A look of ecstasy on their faces Reminds me of a cornucopia of pleasures I enjoyed in my life And then there’s a poor boy living on the roads Of the same colony.

Not like the pauper in the famous novel, The Prince and the Pauper By Mark Twain Rather in tattered clothes With innocent looks and emaciated In the throes of bitter childhood, eating their leftovers From the dustbin His hunger reminds me of the situations when I really felt helpless and had no choice!

But to all of us it’s a reminder of our poverty-stricken nation Our bad habit of throwing food away Forgetting that it can satiate The appetite of the destitute children It’s a reminder of our obligation to eradicate poverty by Serving the underprivileged.

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KIYOMI KIYOMI

K

iyomi Kiyomi of Lagos, Nigeria is a passionate poet who has always been engaged with the act of writing from a very tender age. He is an award winning writer, volunteer and student, aged 24, He has worked hard with different youth organizations within Nigeria on issues relating to politics in Africa, gender inequality and humanity which features prominently in his writings. His hobbies are reading and listening to good music.

THE LILLY RAINMAKER The lilly rainmaker The beautiful gardener, my planter Mirage turning away, the wind breaker My handsome harvester, My praises are too little too...

All hail be thy name The lord of mankind Never thee to leave me lame You gave me this day As you gave to those before me Guide me through the dark days As you guided those before me, My day is nearer now A day of plentiful Where food won’t go foul And stomach will be fool.

Till... a once upon a time When the sky is due, Again to season with thyme It’s a complete new day.

Beginning My new beginning.

KIYOMI

181

AFRICA Africa Flung to the wind Of no direction An orphanage Of broken Chinas.

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PATIENCE Through the stars at night Journeymen of little touch No bear of lamp nor light All tied, but in no rush Against the run of play Their plant a seed to his heart Where all maiden comes to lay Little no rush is life’s act In our journey through darkness Around the circumference of the goal post Terrified by the power of your fellow nakedness Little no rush when life is lost The blossom of the field seed To crypt out an oak tree, laus deo For all maiden cries as pain feeds Little no rush for all born in Leo Pray to consciousness for water Clothe and breathe at dawn Before the green surface goes brighter Awe, man always in rush to blow his horn.

KIYOMI

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INFERNO Our old gentlemen who act in heaven all hail be thy name, our freedom fails. thy won’t be done on us, as if in helluva? give us this blood, our daily sap forgive us our avarice, as we’ve forgiven thee, who tort against us. lead us not unto the black widow. deliver us from her shackles. for thy have the riches, power and the gory, forever...not ever.

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MOON LIGHT The end in sight, my fall beacons from the basement of nine lights I commune in reconthinking of nothing but the love I lost, of the everything...

I gain and lust, of you my lover of my night dream. when you said over.... the moon, with stream, of flowing pain I lost the treasure to the evening rain I once seek pleasure.

KIYOMI

185

JHIMLY JOLLY

J

himly Chakrabarty, also known as JhimlyJolly is a prominent Poetess and Author of the novel, ‘The Rose Garden’. She holds a Masters Degree in Philosophy and is versatile and creative in her writing. Apart from writing poems, a novel, short stories and other write ups she also has a keen interest in painting and other arts.

Pen name: Jhimly Jolly

ONE FAITH, ONE UPROAR Looking into the fire of her eyes They couldn’t utter a word The pledged of a valiant heart Spoke loud administering to execute.

Both dignity and pride was in the hands of the leader To navigate the map Within the canopy of carrying out the impossible And gender was no excuse.

She stimulated the mind Of thousands that came to bow One uproar was heard, One mind in thousand faces spoke.

The alternative was a two way slit Doom it was or martyrdom to confront Dismantling the orthodox mind that tied Her clairvoyant eyes saw the dawn.

She wouldn’t put her foot back now No matter what the dissolution She moved with one faith, and one faith it was For the heaven sent her an errand.

The vellum spoke in golden letters Inscribed in her heart Every drop of blood left a mark Pronouncing the victorious.

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INNOCENCE Innocence my friend is a perspective of mind Some define it with age, others draw a line.

With time and experience however, wisdom grows Varied and significant, life tend to mould.

If innocence is related to being ‘naive’ Then neither age is a factor nor can experience be a lesson to live.

But if innocence is opposed to knowledge and wisdom, Then curiosity fails with time And shall remain prisoner within the norm.

Gathering of knowledge is a curious mind in action Manoeuvring its way into knowing the truth and its definition.

Ripping off the essence of a lucid mind Threatening it or even casting it down with tyranny Is loss of true innocence to devilish stride.

Innocence does not die so long as a heart is true In the colossal world of knowing A true mind maintains its vibrant pinky hue.

But then it all depends on how one takes it It is said one’s outlook reflects what one is.

For only the Creator knows the shoe one has walked on...

JOLLY

187

MEN FROM MARS AND WOMAN FROM VENUS Men from Mars and women from Venus Two distinct forces of compelling magnanimity One sways with the sea of compassion While other rides over powerful masculine vigour One features the serene calmness in its white While other shows an air of authority in red While Venus encompasses the dainty side Mars uproars in its passionate trait At times they sweep off the floor from beneath each other’s feet By the candid light of their personality Both opposing characteristics yet draw like a magnet While other times they turn in reverse directions Two beautiful planet when they meet in love Heaven sees the spectacle in amazement Women from Venus and Men from Mars Two distinct force of compelling magnanimity

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VALUE OF A GEM VARIES WITH PERCEPTION To abide by those who are ready to take you as you are Is content of heart Refrain the path, where indifference persist Not everyone is refined as they claim.

Loyalty is the essence of elegance and class The disloyal know not it’s worth The value of a gem varies with the difference of perception Apathy has no reason nor a heart.

JOLLY

189

A DUSKY FIGURE UNDER THE CRESCENT MOON Crescent moon becomes a chair For a winged one in rest Forever yarning for a homeland As the dusk ushers in with its warm blanket.

The world is a twisted one With million dreams that die every day Mere living isn’t an easy task When search becomes a quest.

The night quietly slips by As the chair holds on To all that embarks.

The abode is yet to be earned For tomorrow always brings a new hope, Sleep now oh winged one, unaware As the crescent moon becomes your cradle Under the starry canopy.

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CHIDI NWOSU

C

hidi Nwosu is a Nigerian born poet, writer and entrepreneur. His poems have been published in several local and overseas anthologies. He lives in Harare, Zimbabwe with his wife and three kids.

WE’RE DIFFERENT cured in one womb drew our nectarines from same placenta fashioned by seeds from same tree arrived same day via same route yet we’re not same we wear same mask tall and short as the trees that bore us carrying their traits their ailments their depths and hollowness yet we’re not same we’ve same laughter same tears same tastes same disgusts same ups and downs yet we’re not same we share same house same clothes we worship same place sing same songs still we’re different NWOSU

191

we’re not same though carved from same wood polished by same artist we’re unique in spite of our similarities our engines the core of our being the real man is different

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DRAW CLOSER draw closer my hunger cries louder with taut nerves inflaming my groins irrigating my shaft come closer pour your balm to lift this burden off my boat in my swelling sea come nearer calm this my swelling sea with your mortar of power that i may rise again like the phoenix from its ashes

NWOSU

193

MY SEED go well seed of mine dive deeper and deeper into the womb meander across tubes and arteries swim against rivulets of blood and water dodge missiles and darts of warlike viruses fight your way through tunnels and catacombs swim,swim like an Olympian through the cavernous aqueducts till you sink your teeth in the nipples of life protected and covered by unseen hands of love stick like a leech or a lice or a kangaroo in a pouch stick hard,withstand every turbulence whether of your frenetic carrier or of her world when your time elapse in nine months run with the speed of Bolt the race is for the swiftest and the hardy i will be waiting with garlands to receive you

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THE BLIND i see no putrefaction no gore no blood dancing on the floors i see no necrophiliac or amputated bodies lying like logs on the tarmacs i see no malnourished babies with teeth clinging on famished teats or babies gored clean with hot rods of paedophiles i see no stigmata writhing in pains or youths indulging in kinky flagellation with marks and tattoos i see no troops marching to war no bombs no suicide bomber waiting to explode or missiles pointing on the belly of cities i see no war or relics of wars neither burnt out Aleppo nor the carnages in Mogadishu i see no priest,no shaman selling snake oil with millions of abracadabra in their pockets or con men or rabble rousers NWOSU

195

or hooligans in power i see no woman naked or man’s trousers sagged or burnt bodies still simmering under piles of tyres i am the blind with sockets as hollow as an empty cask i see the astral and the spiritual i see paradise i see beautiful colours as songs play i see brooks and meadows filled with lights and rainbows i see your future and your past i see you with eyes that can’t see i see you hurtling towards the abyss

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NEW WORLD ORDER when the rainbows appear at night and cockerels lay eggs fertilized by hens let those on the mounts tremble and those on solid ground weep when liars are messiahs thieves turned to icons when stealing is kosher and righteousness haram let the citizens shave their hairs and mourn when leaders are judged by the DNA of their tribes and not the content of their pure characters let denizens forget haven and prepare for hell when mediocrity is elevated and rewarded when lies are justified as truths and excellence lie comatose trampled upon with hoofs of elephants turn your eyes upwards and seek consolations when religions twist and turn the truth selling it to highest bidders using flocks to fuel hatred let the inhabitants beware NWOSU

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for the end is near when teachers teach nonsense and pupils imbibe same when idiocy is spread on the land as butter on bread let the whole world mourn our dreg of hope is gone when depravities are entertainment when gory tales are moonlight tales when the macabre is the new cartoon let the people run for sanity is no more when the strange is the norm and the norm the weird when left is right and right is left when man is woman and woman man let the reader beware: it is the new world order

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OMAR NASSAR

O

mar Nassar loves happy people and enjoys writing poetry.

TODAY WE EITHER LIVE...

Today we either live In a sick world or most Of those Who live in our world Are mentally sick Although not so fatally.........

Not by accident...

But actually because of dire Poverty and hunger which Afflict even the younger Generation which cannot Rely on the older one without Shoulders to cry over when The going gets tougher and Life is rougher by the day Where most have no say Really in their own affairs How life fares Where real care is very rare And It is a scare to dare the state When faster death Nowadays has become business With funeral homes everywhere Anticipating people to die because Medical care is now big business Just as pharmacies are dubious Selling expired drugs to people Too poor even to walk in dirty rags NASSAR

199

And so people die, and must die And the more They die The better The profit So more must Daily die Faster, faster So that the big sharks can live Profitably comfortably And they must live to reap cheap Where daily they capriciously sow Potent seeds of death everwhere In the form of Ineffective, sub-standard drugs Peddled dearly as the cure-all remedy For the most needy sending most To a speedy death and early grave To profit a long queue of undertakers And the likes of Timber merchants Coffin makers Private ambulances Funeral homes Morticians Professional mourners Etc., etc., all of who must Depend on profit crazy Crazy business tycoons Pharmacies selling poison Beside Unprofessional doctors Filthy health facilities And lack of potent drugs Hastening death for profit Faster, faster...

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DANIEL IGWE

B

orn on May 2, 1995, Daniel hails from Abia State, Nigeria. He loves writing, reading, listening to music and gets his muse from all things around him. He started writing officially in 2017.

GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN We all have had a glimpse of heaven In the tears of a new born The laughter of a loved one Encouragement of a friend Smiles of the aged Joy in surmounting an obstacle We all have had a glimpse of heaven In the feeling that we are loved In the feeling that we are appreciated For if we have had that glimpse of heaven Our duty is to let others see it And let them know that they are not alone

IGWE

201

HALF MOON Queen of the night Cladding me with your beautiful light Strength gotten from the day Only to flourish at night Showing only but half a smile Beauty felt and seen even from a thousand mile Your sisters dressed in various attires A field of darkness surrounding you Only for them to be the martyrs I hope to see you soon My sleek HALF MOON

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HEDONISM Side by side we lay Her chest like two fawns Twins of a gazelle which feed among lilies She’s like a wall and her tits like towers She feeds me her lips Lips drips as a honeycomb Milk and honey under her tongue I glug it till there’s nothing left In her red tasty garden, I dine Juices erupting from the lilies of her garden One sweeter than the finest of wine Feeling the weight of her hips Back and forth I thrust Deeper and faster my rhythm Wailing as though she is a siren Muttering sweet sounds of pleasure Like one learning vowel sounds Volcano erupting from both sides Until the day breaks and the shadows flee away, My life is all yours

IGWE

203

LONLINESS Sitting in the darkest corner of my room Looking through the window to the moon Thinking if my life is in a loop In the midst of familiar faces and friends I’m all alone Having so few friends Trying to stick to my zone Acting a script that’s only written in my head Laughing hard just to savour the moments Painting pictures in my head just to fill the void I listen and argue with the voices Like a lost boy following the path no one ever thread I have no one just me, myself and I And I don’t need nobody I’m fucked up so don’t bother coming nigh I’m loopy where’s my ivory Seeming this torture is endless Well I’ll have to live with this LONLINESS

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PAINS I hide pains behind smiles Conceal my tears with laughter Drinking from every well of snag Mood swings like a dance to a rhythmless wind No more peace of mind Heart skips like a cracked DVD plate In all depression I light up a Cuban In frustration I sip it in thoughts Why does nature not repay the deeds of the good?

Why do they have to suffer for what’s rightfully theirs?

Karma I don’t know you anymore Why are you slow to remuneration?

Faith and Hope my closest sisters Walking side by side to avoid the sepulcher I’ll keep my eyes on the sparrow For I know redemption is by the side.

IGWE

205

BIJOY BHAKAT

B

ijoy Bhakat is a resident of Kolkata. A graduate in Engineering from Jadavpur University. Bhakat works at the Steel Authority of India Limited (SAIL). His passion is poetry, sports and music. He regularly gives vocal music recitals along with his wife, Rani Viva and son, Jay.

AFTER SEEING HER After seeing her After watching her After noticing her After observing her Seeing her approach Watching her attitude ..

Noticing her beauty Observing her gratitude ..

I have forgotten to see The brightness of the moon The loveliness of the Monsoon ..

I have forgotten to watch The color of the sky The dancing of the butterfly ..

I have forgotten to notice The polestar in the far East The lawn covered by the mist..

I have forgotten to observe The seashells on the sand The festival of flowers on the land..

I have forgotten to enjoy The continuous flow of the fountain The beauty of snow cladded mountain ..

I have forgotten to look at The canvas painted by the rainbow The different phases of life - high and low...

As She is the unique She is the best..

Be it South Be is North..

Be is East Be it West..

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YOU AND YOUR PASSION You and your passion Your love and your mission..

Your speech and your call Your rise and your fall..

Your vision and your sight Your demand and your right..

Your laughter and your cry Your endeavor and your try..

Your argument and your logic Your stunt and your magic ..

Your beauty and your charm Your affection and your warmth .. are..

Not only Not merely..

Not just Not simply..

Perfect to me BUT Fully and wholly Absolutely and totally ..

Flawlessly and faultlessly Stainlessly and spotlessly ..

Perfect to me..

As you are perfect ..

Like rose Like moon..

Like twilight Like noon..

Like sky Like sea Like universe Like galaxy..

BHAKAT

207

IT IS IMPOSSIBLE It is impossible It is awful..

It is absurd It is terrible ..

Even to think That ..

A person A human being Can’t like Can’t tolerate ..

Can’t stand Can’t accept..

The sweet tweeting of dove The wonderful song of love The exquisite fragrance of flowers The divine whisper of the shower The splendid color of the sky The amazing humming of butterfly The fabulous waves of the sea The superb dancing of the bee The green grass of the lawn The white mists of the dawn The unabated flow of the fountain The white snow of the mountain..

The first sun ray of the day The golden sand of the bay..

The endless boundary of the horizon The onset of the new dawn..

The scenery of the setting sun The beautiful life with limitless fun..

I believe that every human being Likes peace Likes love..

Likes flower Likes dove..

Likes joy Likes pleasure ..

Likes life Likes nature..

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Likes life Likes nature..

BHAKAT

209

BIPUL BANERJEE

B

ipul Banerjee lives in Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India. He is management leader with five research publications in the field of CRM and two book chapters. A well-read published poet he has been featured among 100 emerging poets of Asia. Also featured poet as contemporary Asian poets of 2016-17. He is the author of 10 international and 15 national poetry publications in paper backs and e-books and is popularly known as ‘Dusk’ in literary circles.

FLEEING AWAY Walking with you, Shoulder to shoulder; hand in hand, Matching your steps In hope, despair, gain and pain, An unbroken chain!

I stop for just a while, taking a step behind, Nursing bleeding wounds, love is blind!

Need to catch my breath, calm my emotions Trembling hands and bursting heart Shattered and broken Piece by piece heart’s jigsaw played!

I have been around and will always be, My retreat is not to flee!

Most of me is by now done, A matter of time I will appear not my clone!

For a flow of river has only one direction to go, May stand still for a while but not forgo!

The music, the aroma, the spirit will once again glow, Dormancy is not absence, my presence is sure to flow!

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FOLDER VERSES...

Guarding all wounds Insulating emotions I fold my verses To keep to myself For they are fluid in nature Tending to flow From abundance to scarcity So difficult to stow‌ In words In rhymes All masks tend to Disdainfully dismantle Exposing the cracks The scars of healing wounds To the unworthy beholder Who inflicts again Wounded Healed Wounded again How much of a penalty Can a phoenix take?

One day the self-healing May also cease Leaving the wounds to bleed Bleed to a premature death A death neither accidental Nor exactly suicidal An invited end Resultant of an expressive holocaust?

Silence is hence the hole black Where every emotion can rest in peace Shielding and nursing The already brittle Bring them to shape again BANERJEE

211

FROM MY ASHES‌ Long hours since the body has gone cold, A few cries and sighs, critics gone bold Lying on the final bed of logs, Set ablaze by unknown hands coming out of dense fogs A strong breeze assisting the flame, Wow what a nature’s game.

My mortal remains going up in white ashes, Memories of friendship going by in flashes Alighted, free from the bodily bondage, Gazing below I wonder how weightless is my pillage!

Mingled in thin air are my ashes, Will come in your touch my ashes, In movements, in rhythm, in life and death In friendship, enmity, in harmony and in clashes, You will find my ashes!

My ashes know no weight, no plight, no loss, no gain Free as a bird which but cannot be slain!

Happy to have left all imprisonments, Glad to serve you soul to soul When you recognize my ashes, come to me my dear, I will love you till eternity no games to play foul!

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DEPRESSION...

Stealthily in dark corners of the heart, is settling a germ plasm of despair, nurtured in silence, suffering by guilt, Ridiculed beyond measures Joys of life in fading spectrum Shades of grey covering glee Every passing day Pushes life towards circles dark All emotions in negative shades Urge to cocoon Thrust to end The victim walks on A diminishing thread the tight lips, the lone shudders, Doors of loneliness Bolted strong A friend A guide A mentor Has to knock Break the ice let’s talk, let’s shoulder the burdened soul Push the button Erupt the volcano Allow the lava to flow Burn the negativity to ashes Bring back life On autumnal branches Help them again to grow...

BANERJEE

213

DUST...

In silent melancholy my emotions have rested for long, Covered with dust of time, dormancy has been the song.

Pushed to the corners of suffering deep, All the wishes were laid to sleep.

The slumber has been so prolonged, Vegetation of being remained thonged.

At ‘dusk’ YOU have made your entry, Shaking my being which stood sultry.

You love has sent jitters across this dormancy, My heart throbs again to normalcy Wiped off the ruins of time, You touch has injected emotions sublime Once doomed to oblivion, My being wants to again be in the pavilion The dead ‘I’ has been revived by ‘You’ Rejuvenated as “WE’, Renamed as “US” We restart the journey called life, Embarked on hope of continuous Union, The WE and US would continue to mingle, Towards the destination of a single...

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AMIT KUMAR VERMA

A

mit Kumar Verma alias Amit Soni, alias Anshuman is a prominent writer and poet. A teacher by profession, he holds a Masters Degree in English literature.

MY LOVE IS NOT CRIME Relax my Wiggles, have me warp Clutch me here self around wrap, Plump for this lady is not crime, Let me play shag this is prime.

Savor this o! Love Savory pure O love I and you here are we Let’s play game of chess, let all see.

Scrape ye my desire Seduce me inflame desire Now ye meet and ping Now ye have play and sing.

Bedbug will be I No ye feel hesitate nor will shy I. Neither I will be here Nor you will be here You know this very clear I know of you my dear.

Neither I will loose Nor you will loose Please come to me don’t make me confuse.

Pin on me, caress another Nestle your like giving me, Bob I for you and love I’m trail come sleep as Dove.

VERMA

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Love with thee wood O! Love me by Ye my food Intoxicated ye with your breast I breath to thee and just pump my breast.

Want to lose myself here with you Don’t ask for reasons it’s very few.

Love is reason only to be here Dear cover me don’t fear.

Before me this was young, I read in history, I sowed here my culture and creed, But what was really with its mystery What I had, something differ my breed.

To unveil the mystery, I searched a lot, On the base of science As par of my knowledge I broke this pot, On you my breed my reliance, Sorry I’m not giving you nice shot.

Here I’m requesting to you If you would find curiosity Don’t unveil more mystery for few Read my father’s history, see how he was in poverty.

I’m requesting here with my breed Stop science, follow your father’s cultural and creed.

Change my dear change you sure Because I know, Time demand for more, But now don’t crash my father desire, Don’t use practice of science, don’t call fire, Stop go through by this if you will go, Will not find mother, father, brotherhood, so Do what you want; and where you go, But my Darling make new cultural row.

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YOURS I probe myself, who are you?

It commented sincerely yours.

I query to my hands, On whose action you depends.

Soon response I got… sincerely yours.

I quiz to my eyes, for whom you size, It answer well, sir sincerely yours.

Again I investigated on nose, For whom you work and smell doze, A beautiful rejoinder come, sincerely yours.

I interviewed to my ears for whom you care, Answer was, sincerely yours.

For more to know I grill my tongue, For whom you test, rung and sung, Acknowledged yes… sincerely yours.

On this I asked to my psyche, Who gives power and with whose key, Again answer you know, Sincerely yours.

I examine to my beautiful heart, For whom my dear you beats and whose you are part, A lovely answer, sir sincerely yours.

BUT Soon soul rebuttal to me Who are you..? Question to see I answered I’m I, But sincerely yours Soul again quiz on me, For whom do you want peace and days Four, I replied sir sincerely yours.

This exam come to climax But you shouldn’t vex Soul asked to soul, who are you..? soul respectfully smiled and answer my Lord Sincerely Yours.

VERMA

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HOLY LOVE Bedaze me thy essence and shape Unknowingly Ye seduce me and have rape.

Bedecke thyself with whole world’s flowers, Caress me here and looted my power.

Ye tantalised me ,your Blood are river and sea And voice is sounds of seashore, And winds is breathe of ye.

Sun and stars are your eyes I can’t explain your shape and size, At young I before you many times stood Because you seduced me; I began to love Wood.

You are my beloved I pin and nustle, I loved We get nourish in your womb, To You here will be my tomb I love you my Nature To You I am, my rhymes and my Signature.

Before me this was young, I read in history, I sowed here my culture and creed, But what was really with its mystery What I had, something differ my breed.

To unveil the mystery, I searched a lot, On the base of science As par of my knowledge I broke this pot, On you my breed my reliance, Sorry I’m not giving you nice shot.

Here I’m requesting to you If you would find curiosity Don’t unveil more mystery for few Read my father’s history, see how he was in poverty.

I’m requesting here with my breed

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Stop science, follow your father’s cultural and creed.

Change my dear change you sure Because I know, Time demand for more, But now don’t crash my father desire, Don’t use practice of science , don’t call fire, Stop go through by this if you will go, Will not find mother, father, brotherhood, so Do what you want ; and where you go, But my Darling make new cultural row.

VERMA

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ECHEM JOHN

E

chem John is a Nigerian poet

DOOMSDAY Let the willow bird chant aloft The bellyache toad caterwaul Lissome squirrels on gracile trunks The gods have crawled out of dusk Let the high welkin fall at noon Cough draping thunders asunder Strike the sun and moon With broken ribs on my veranda Let the whirlwind split and break its neck With stone blinding ribbons on pathways Inhume dead bodies of rubberneck Grievous welter on doomsday!

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NSIKAN UKPE Queen flower of African soil Am proud of healthy frontal protrusion Your elfin stem dancing co With blazing effulgence piercing the sun Your stemma makes me stammer Sparkling brown lass, coffee skinned Standing on this coarse field You are the sable brush of Africa The gemstone that ramifies like gold Lucre of my fatherland, malleable bewitching lass Your beauty would break a heart of stone Your sun would muster the sky grass No distant egret, would suppress your prowess With speckled veneer, sunburned shell bumps and dark dappled spots Scattered from their legs to heads Your natural aura, more pleasing than the hola tamarind patina skin queen, head grape of the Ukpes Pulpy milk filled maid, most succulent among native grapes

JOHN

221

THE OLD WITCH Across Marapi was this thing everyone feared It often came in the quiet when the sun had not peered Sometimes in the bleaching wee This hobgoblin came out clean.

Children cried and shed blood from their eyes Men and women flee from their homesteads into a cave in the dark mines Some break their legs others naked were there It took a sad turn which made all to mourn In Marapi, everyone was afraid to walk.

This hex is spine-chilling from sole to head Her bulging eyes are bigger than mine thrice Her body with black blood bled With flickering long hairs tickled by lice She had ghastly long fingers that made me shiver when she stood a league off the field.

It was her habit to saunter around Marapi Once every week, though none could speak She ‘d rant and run noisily like a poltergeist Her creepy voice break through my ribs And often when it does, people kept indoors For the rest of the week, none dared to walk.

Until an outcry of a dead body, made all to panic, its vital organs were not found This cast an odd shadow from dawn to dusk And wore the inhabitants a crown of frown An old woman broke their silence and said ‘This is no pretense, let’s do something instead’ .

The next day she wasn’t found, non could account of her whereabouts This brought more panic, shortened the people’s faith like pigmies The woman who spoke yesterday is suddenly out No one is save, both parents and kids.

This toll made some to abscond in the cold Into a distant wood across Marapi Which would swear it never saw a soul

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And kept its quietude for an alibi.

Though a creepy harborage it was, it’s best for many lives were lost Sometimes a dead howl weird and wild Abruptly drew goose bumps from their minds That they swooned on the leafless floor At other times a disarray, which made them stray, often colliding against the stems.

At midnight a voice often call for all to return In the morning none spoke of it, was just a dream For the anchorage is better after all But a dream could just be real without deceit Theirs was pass hope for their hearts were filled with groans It hung in Marapi, the fear of the unknown.

But in the woods, was the litter of a giant pussyfoots Which led to a rocky hermitage A dead hag lay deep in the loom With wild scattered hair and a grim face She was familiar to those that went nearer But they wouldn’t fain to be tale-tellers.

She’s been there since the old woman left Against her own fate she called for protest In Marapi when a rakish remains was found Which gave them a crown of frown It was the last that dwindled their spark Never was a story told of that vicious hag.

JOHN

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ULE’S GRAVE Here where her laurel fades, her primal petal evanesce Here where the hurly cricket blights her blaring flute And green slush bows underneath the floor Here where her herbage dries Scorched by the sun of time Here on this mound land, many rubberneck sleep with stretched hands Their hoisted epitaphs beckoning Whose crest is this? With aureate wreaths on the ridge This frail girdle sank into the grave Not to applause but to misery sleeps Let this whisker, cause nature’s minstrels, the rain and sun sing Drizzle their tears on this dry earth Twice doing her honour, for non to forget That she’s put off her shawl for a naked skin...

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POETRY BOWL Ivan drives across my yard like a van She wouldn’t say ‘hi’ just to play nice Garbed in ribbons, that outclassed native lasses in their prime I ‘d thought to cook her in a poetry bowl Make her ravish in a pot of gold Your beauty knocks me out!

It’s breath taking and risk taking I can pull my steel from my scabbard now Quoted I, she ‘d am just joking And laughed cachinnate, like sparks of grains With elfin flickers splitting me through I was helpless we were just but two Frolicking down an idle lane You glisten from the penumbra, I wish I I could pull your bra your nipples, make you quiver with goose pimples In bizzario bask of hands She ‘d laugh, her face oscillate with deepening dimples Having drunk a full kumbo of rhymes With verses better than Tennyson’s thrice Ivan unstring her heart as I pried her pant On a leafage willing for the play Basking without strings attached Through her crimson golden room, into her cretan panes With lyrical exaltation, and biodegradable exclamation On the herbage of conjugal connection In a splitter, she became bitter I couldn’t believe she’s the same lass I gleaned Her voice became galling in a litter I couldn’t allow her to come near me Ivan isn’t the same lass I was courting Now with acrimony, am maddened.

JOHN

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SAFIYA BAKSH HOSEIN

S

afiya Baksh Hosein is a graduate of the University of the West Indies [Trinidad],where she obtained her B.A.GEN.HONS DEGREE--Lower Second, in Spanish and French.

She taught these languages for 36 years in her country’s Secondary School System. She also taught English.

She writes poetry in four languages--Spanish, English, French and Hindustani.

In 2012, she published two books of poetry-[-XLibris--U.S.A.]--one English-“Dreams of Love’’ and one Spanish- “Poemas del Corazón’’.

She was honoured by her country’s Library Association--NALIS--as a first time author.

She is also a member of the site “All Poetry’’, to which she has contributed over 1400 poems, and acquired over 850 trophies.

She believes in the credo “Seek education from the cradle to the grave”

LET LOVE NOT POSSESS! Let love not possess, let there be spaces in your togetherness, let the spirit of understanding reign between two souls rising into the Heavens as one!

Let love not possess, but be like the playful waves of the ocean, caressing the lonely seashore with whispers of sweet passion!

Let love not possess, let it roam freely like the wayward winds that stray, knowing that there’s always a safe place to stay!

Let love not possess, let it be like the free bird coming home to its nest, sure that it’s a haven of comfort and rest!

Let love not possess, but be given totally, unconditionally one to another; a treasure without measure, A treasure Divine, Indefinable!

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TO ME My Beloved Angel From Heaven You are my angel from Heaven that came to soften my lonesome grief, enveloping me in your loving arms, appeasing my aching heart!

The beauty of your face is no less than the reverent full moon in resplendent glow!

Your sweet smile no less than the beautiful, kaleidoscopic carpet of flowers courtesy-ing at my feet in adoring love!

Your magical, hypnotic eyes far outshine the scintillating stars of the firmament, bestowing such aura of light pervading my entire soul!

Your voice is like the dance of spring, music to my willing ears!

Your tears, like sparkling pearls, fall upon my breast, comforting me in my sorrow!

You’re the epitome of sincerity and honesty; You live and grow in my heart like an ever fragrant flower!

You came into my life- I know not how, I know not when, but this I do know-that you’re surely my Angel of Love, sent by the Almighty from above, here to fill my garden with that sweet perfume of your abiding Love!

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ALSO TO ME Please don’t mock my indignity!

O scintillating stars of Heaven, please go to sleep and don’t mock my indignity!

You were always a silent witness to my moments of sweet ecstasy, when he whispered those endearing words of love, clasped in his tender arms!

How can I sleep when you are looking at me askance, questioningly My heart is deeply perturbed for I know he’ll never return, and yet I live in hope!

O stars of Heaven, dim your lights in empathy with my desperation; My nights of sleep and peace are over!

Only lonely tears fill my swollen eyes now, blinded by grief and regret!

O scintillating stars of heaven, don’t illumine my fevered body, still waiting with longing, numb with desire!

Please don’t reveal my devastation to the world!

O canopy of lights, cover my indiscretions, but don’t be so silent, for your silence accuses!

Chastise my innocent heart for being so foolish once again!

O stars of heaven, go to sleep and leave me to nurse my indescribable sorrow in silence!

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WAITING WITH PATIENT LONGING I wait with patient longing, dear Lord, for the answer to my fervent prayers!

I will beg no more for I know You have heard my pleadings, for indeed you are that All-seeing, All-hearing spirit of beneficence!

I’ll wait like the ever anxious dawn, ready to fill the sky with her warmth of colours, bringing new hopes of a new Day! And I will know that you have answered my prayers when I hear the sweet warbling of love birds singing in joyous ecstasy! and when the flowers burst forth with new glory like carpets of radiant colours, smiling with glee, kissed by gems of early morning dew, sparkling like tiny jewels on their shivering petals!

I will surely recognise Thy acquiescence when Nature is one with me in understanding!

And I will give thanks to Thee for thy Bountiful favours thou hast bestowed upon me!

BAKSH HOSEIN

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B. S. TYAGI

B

. S. Tyagi born in 1955, in the village of Mubarikpur, UP. He took his Master degree in English, Political Science, History and Philosophy. He obtained Ph. D in Political Science.

He writes in both Hindi and English. He has a number of books to his credit.

Published Work: (i) Political Philosophy of Dr S Radhakrishnan-1994. (ii) Judicial Activism in India-2000 (iii) The Philosophy of Radhakrishnan-2001 (iv) Coalition Politics: The Indian Experience- 2008 (v) Wait-(A Novel)-2013 (vi) Insaf (A Collection of Hindi short stories) -2017 Translated Work: (i) Tagore Ki Antim Kavitanye (From English to Hindi)-2012 (ii) And Enlightened (From Hindi to English )-2015 (iii) Brighter Than Star- A Collection of Poems (From Hindi to English) 2017 His write-ups, poems, critiques and short stories have been appearing in several national and international magazines regularly.

RODIN’S – THE THINKER I stood agape And gasped At the marble statue In a quiet corner of the museum And thoughts hung heavy on me About man’s sad destiny.

‘A brawny man sits with head down Eyes staring into space Brows wrinkled Face furrowed Perhaps, pondering over Man’s abysmal down-fall Man-who was made in his own His image.’

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THREE CHEERS FOR BENJAMIN Oh Benjamin! My friend So you’re dead and gone!

You roared for millions’ rights You thundered against their plight It split Botha’s ears And filled him with fears Your pen threw up fire It made you prey of his ire Embers of words scorched his face He shook and trembled in his palace And sat lost in thoughts Then, the only idea he caught.

None cried as you went to the gallows They stood with fiery eyes in rows But now they thunder like you They roar like you And thousands of Benjamins Are born.

Are you really dead and gone, my friend?

(Benjamin was an African young revolutionary and promising poet. His poems depicted the marginalized people. He made a scathing attack on the Botha government. He was charged with a murder of a white constable. He was sentenced to death in 1985. He was 28 at that time.)

TYAGI

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THE PASSING OF SPRING Time is goneWhen joy filled my heart Eyes lit up Pulsation of longing drove me mad Fancying her rejuvenated whole being And I lay lost As if in a trance.

I still remember echo within Dark demure eyes Cascading golden hair Heaving creamy breasts Shapely nimble fingers And sweet cooing voice With winsome smile spellbinds me I still remember fondly Her words soaked in love Her promise she wanted to keep The pinky papers brimming with passions The eloquent eyes in the crowd Communion that nurtured soul Rising towards total self-effacement.

Her soothing appearanceThat inspired latent creativity That bears her signature proudly And proved provenance of life-stream That flows still steadily Winds still blow Flowers still grow But no freshness and fragrance Murmur of autumn leaves Awakens heart to woe Spring comes too I sit in stony silence Looking unruffled But- I bear an undertow That can sweep away All that holds me up From uniting with her In the abode above‌

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FAREWELL O my soul-mate!

Is it really time to say ‘good-bye’?

If so, how can I? My lips quiver Eyes blur Feet stagger Can you feel, O my soul-mate?

You’re my vernal showers Blooming myriad flowers Gentle breeze of hot summer My only dream Is fading away My only stream Is drying out Can you feel, O my soul-mate?

I can muster up courage And face cruel destiny’s rage To murmur farewell To wish you cheerful life Eyes will ever seek for you Ears will ever long to hear you Can you feel, O my soul-mate?

TYAGI

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NOTHINGNESS I am a raging Fire I’ll burn downAnger, greed, fear, lust…

All that my senses seek As they hold back my energy from moving upward.

I am gusty Winds I’ll sweep awayGrey-black ashes Smoldering remains And bury them deep Forever.

I am rushing Water I’ll wash away Tiny dregs scattered all over No trace to be found Completely clean Then what’s left over?

LOVE- pure and pristine To fill the vessel with bliss…

Awareness, super-consciousness…

Then…nothingness.

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TARANDATH KOONJ BEHARRY

T

arandath Koonj Beharry, a retired teacher, is the second of two children born in an agricultural family in Howsen Village, East Trinidad. He holds a Teacher’s Diploma and a Certificate in Education. He obtained a B.Ed. (Admin) from the University of the West Indies after pursuing his earlier education at the Coryal R.C. Primary School and the North Eastern College.

He has a lingering attachment to agriculture, presently garnering a prestigious collection of tropical exotic fruits together with his wife. He has an undying interest in poetry which his father introduced him to and is currently tinkering with some short stories.

KARMA Perched on the top of the rock, jolting out to sea.

The waves lashing and washing against its shores.

The rays of the early morning sun, Shimmering on the surface of the waters.

The ocean so calm, serene and blue.

As a gentle breeze fans across and through the seas.

Enchanted for a moment by the utter serenity, Spellbound by its sheer beauty, And then…

As I regained consciousness Or was it awareness?

From a deep sleep, Or a short trance?

Or did I for a moment merge into a great vastness of emptiness?

I awakened to flashes reminiscent of a past.

Rays that beckoned reflections of actions … my Karma?

I saw me through the years.

From childhood to the NOW. Things that happened.

Things that happened because of me.

And things that happened to me.

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Things that made me smile.

Things that made me cry.

Things that made me bend in shame.

Yet others that lifted me to the Heavens.

Actions in moments of enlightenment and exuberance.

Actions in moments of anguish and despair.

Some gave me pride, Others made me sigh.

Some gave me joy, Others made me mad and sad.

Yet…some with a sense of rejection and dejection.

Oh what the repercussions How I fear the consequences.

With every flash in reflection It awakens turbulence, serenity, fear and hope.

Actions that reflect Divinity Others…mindless of a Greater Being.

Or perhaps anything Except ME! Who am I? As I contemplate …meditate …reflect.

And await …My fate.

To become a greater being, Or just kneel in bitter repentance, But pray, Lord, help my Soul.

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SONG OF THE UNIVERSE It echoed in the distance, Bellowing from the mountains.

Humming through the valleys And across the plains. From the voices of the preachers, To the sounds of the poets And the pulsating rhythms of the music.

They exhilarate a sweetness…

So soft, mellow and true.

They acted in unison, Or borrowed from another?

This I always wondered.

So, I rode…

Over the hills, across the plains and down the valleys.

Far away and into the woods.

I spoke to the birds, Enquired from the trees, Probed the lions, Questioned the streams.

Then the winds whispered, Soothingly in my ear…

The song of Love The sound of Truth T’is the echoes of the Universe The rhythm of the One Vibrations of the same…everywhere.

For He is but One

KOONJ BEHARRY

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THE FLOOD Silently, Stuck in the waters.

Yes…the flooded waters They are everywhere.

Seemingly it’s just there.

It’s here to stay.

Water, water…everywhere.

Stuck in these flooded homes, With water all around.

In the house, in the open spaces, Water, water…here, there…everywhere.

It’s days now, In our beds and wares.

Everything, wet and soaking.

Water, water…everywhere.

I’m peeping to see…somebody.

I’m looking for a crow, a bird or a dove, Bringing bread and milk for my baby girl.

Just for now.

But in sight, There is nothing but…

Water, water…everywhere.

Then the tear came.

To touch my face in solace.

To say…

“Wait, wait, it’s much to bear.

The waters will soon ride away

And you’ll see your way”

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But the cold, The hunger, It’s much to bear…

So, I’m looking to the Lord in prayer.

KOONJ BEHARRY

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RAMBUTAN I toiled in the scorching sun, I worked in the pouring rain.

I yearned to witness the over-arching branches, The laden trees, the colourful fruits.

I yearned to harvest the crops And hustle to the marketplace.

The wait was long, but not in vain.

With fruits…red, yellow, green and orange.

Spiky, spongy, round or long.

I am, at the market stall.

Brimming with enthusiasm, Eager to display with passion…

The goods I’ve got.

With exuberance and pride, I hailed to the passers-by…

“Fetch a pod or a nut, a bulb or a ball.

Red, yellow, green or orange.

It’s sweet, citrusy or tangy.

Fetch it now before it’s gone!”

I’m belching out with exuberance and pride.

For the beauty fills me from inside.

Just there, over there, I can hear…

“It’s not worthy, for cheaper it is elsewhere” I heard him say…

“For cheaper it is elsewhere” I lifted to see, But bent my head in shame.

For I never thought him so bane.

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I garnered my fruits, I mustered my courage, I lifted my heart.

I’m belching out with exuberance and pride…

“Red, yellow, green and orange.

Fetch it now before it’s gone!”

Brimming with enthusiasm…to display the fruits I’ve got.

KOONJ BEHARRY

241

MOKSHA From the suppression of religion, And the oppression of politics, Or the agony of belonging.

Emerge…Grow To a Freedom of Timelessness …Boundlessness …Endlessness Yet where there is…Nothingness.

Into such a realm, Let your destiny reside.

It is the fulfillment of the vastness, And in the openness of nothingness, That rests the sanctity of peacefulness.

Into such an emptiness, The void of nothingness, Find fullness in endlessness.

Into such a realm, There is an emergence of timelessness.

And may peacefulness abound...

In endlessness.

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SUDARSHANA MITRA

S

udarshana Mitra has a background in garment business. She now uses her time as a housewife and has a passion for poetry.

PRETENTION Pretentious It hurts my soul, This childish revenge Now that I’m old it’s really painful.

Throughout this life, I’d never pretend, Or hurt anyone intentionally, Known by all, for my tolerance.

The rat race I avoided Kept an open heart, Struggle is a must to reach the top Or gain satisfaction.

Don’t pretend, be content Develop a better peace of mind For a better life to live

MITRA

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MY DEAR HEART Listen to your heart, Listen carefully.

It beats with your expectations.

Do not feel blue, If your heart beat stops...

Expectations never will, As it is full of positivity.

World is open to embrace your thoughts, So chill and wait for the right place Right moments, with love in your heart...

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A LOVER’S CRY You left me, In the closed dark room I am sitting alone.

You left me, Take away with you all my happiness.

You left me My future is now at a stake.

You left me I have no one to express myself.

You left me I am wondering what to do next?

You left me I don’t know how to live alone.

You left me Leaving behind memories so pleasant You left me Without anyone whom I can call mine.

You left me, In this World, alone and penniless.

You left me But your sleeping pills are there...

MITRA

245

ARITI JANKIE

E

ditor-in-Chief. Project Manager. Author of Witty and Wise, Hush. Don’t Cry, In the Footsteps of Rama, Path of Peace, Lilavati and Other Stories and East of the West/A journey. Writes for Indo-Caribbean Diaspora News Today and Indo-American News. CEO Magicwords Publications.

NIGHT WRITE In the serene silence of the night, I write Emptying the soul till all is told A broken clay pot, pours the whole lot Before I go to sleep, before I lay me down to rest Passion guides the pen, to speak, to tell awaken hearts, dispel loneliness words to make you mine, if only for a moment in time stories to share, if only you care the world dances to voices, loud and clear.

Tell me your story, I’ll write you nine In the dead of night, emotions deep and clear your footprints, experiences I collected to link you to me in lasting friendship fill your ears, your heart and soul with words more precious than gold.

3.30 a.m. The garbage truck slows Cock crows I’ve captured life on paper satisfied, fulfilled, in my santuary by the gift of words, the smooth flow so mellow, merging with birdsong as light spread on the morning sky herald the Sun, coffee not that strong the day dawns. the pen sits still, I lay me down to rest till darkness descends. Silence reign And words fill my open space telling the story of me, of you.

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dancing the poetry, like a symphony words to steal your heart, make you think awaken those who sleep, to life amazing life.

ARITI JANKIE

247

INTRINSICALLY WOMAN Intrinsically a woman, distinctively different soft as sponge, drowning in a river of love weeping an ocean of tears for the innocent girls, turned Dalit women brutalized by police officers feeling the fall of the lathi, on my bones.

Intrinsically woman, adorned by scars of the girl child raped, roasted over the fire of man’s heinous desire, grasping for her, bearing her pains silently.

Intrinsically a woman a light plastic bag, blowing in the wind with broken spirits, the living dead seeing, feeling, knowing domestic violence unworthy charities, discrimination against the woman, the child in an unjust, spiteful world where woman I must be Intrinsically.

Every female born is me voice raised continuously pounding in my head to stop this hate demand respect for her, tell you tell a man he be a man his primary role is the care and protection of women and children.

Intrinsically, woman is me daughter, wife, mother, earth, universe Intrinsically woman born to be wild and free a goddess, a devi fighting back holding my head high for the women and girls to live is to be happy, as I do at the centre, where lives me essentially me.

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MOTHER OF ME Three years no more, I looked up to see My mother’s dance as she cleaned the rice.

I raced across the yard from Nana’s house to her skirt tails, As she put down the fanna and caught me like a ball, spinning round and round, laughingly.

This alone is my memory, of a mother I long to see, to embrace, to feel one ounce of love Again That would take me through the traffic of a lonesome childhood, to last long enough until I become mother to love myself in the children born to me. *** I held the newborn babe in my arms on an early morning day.

Propped by pillows, clean and fragrant, a sense of serendipity filled me.

Husband seated at the other end of the bed, the second youngest on his lap and other children two years apart, all around became the morning ritual, making memories. *** Standing before the jhandi, offering jhal to the rising sun.

Lighting the diya at dusk, clasping hands in prayer.

He eating his dinner, the children with plates all around.

An easy silence, easier conversation, darkness thickens and school books brought out.

His nurturing, thankful presence fitted snugly in an atmosphere of peace and contentment born from the love we share. *** In the garden, weeding, planting vegetable crops, cutting cane.

In the kitchen making ghee, sakaying roti, lepaying the chulha.

In the yard tending flowers, watering plants, near the hammock where he rested, shelling peas, peeling pumpkin, mending clothes.

In the shadow of him, wearing my smile confidently.

ARITI JANKIE

249

*** Me, when he died dry-eyed, guiding the children through the last rites.

Holding my pain, never the same, in white funeral wear, adornment gone Except for the tulsi bead janaav. *** Me living for my children, all twelve alive, being the mother, I never had.

Then holding my chest, dying a deeper death first to lay Lallie on the pyre, then Sono, then Bayta.

Feeble now, walking with aid, waiting for nine out of twelve, at 100, a shadow of my former self. *** The world slipping away from me slowly, I gathering my soul, body aged but mind remarkably alert, lonely without him, living on those memories visiting me as the wind gathers up a storm and I spread my arms as if to fly as if my day is well and truly done.

I am and am not.

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WOMAN A woman, like a precious jewel a sweet-smelling flower a ray of light in darkness Is by no means just a man’s other half.

Like the sun, she is an entity of light, the moon casting its shadows to the rhythm of the heart beat, the ocean taking to its bosom the sins of its children, Like the universe, she knows, she understands.

Ill-used, abused She is at times lost Tossed by emotions Caring for all She is the whole No part.

Once she has recognised her role Given the chance to take control The woman is LIFE.

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RIVER OF THE SOUL The sun goes down, Pa comes home from the field.

He bathes, steps into the temple to prayer, takes his seat before the Ramayan we children hurry for our place around him.

He unwraps the big book, upon a raahal, Slips on his reading glasses and is soon absorbed consumed night after night.

The keroscene lamp shone bright we waited for more on Sunday morning And two hours of Sunday school storytelling.

More stories from the big book told drama, excitement unfold.

We, children of the village a great privilege all the children, of all the houses in my neighbourood. sat on the floor to hear Pa’s storytelling.

In the big book he read religiously Lived a girl Sewarie, running away from home to a life in the forest.

Waited did she for the coming of God in human form.

Picking fruits, tasting one by one saving the sweetest Day after day with patience waited she.

Till came He : Bhagwan RAM In those pages dwell Sharvan Kumar.

A son so good carrying blind parents upon his shoulder seated on two baskets Walked he, devoted son from place to place of pilgrimage.

The big book opened to new and exciting journeys to palaces and princes, forests of demons, ashrams of utter

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peace and breathtaking beauty. nourishing my soul the voice of Pa; father, hero, guru, best friend.

A passion-filled voice relating human experiences running with time to take me into my teenage years till I wanted no more that to speak in that same voice nay hold a pen to hold readers, as listeners spellbound with fasinating storytelling.

Pa scattered us in gold dust. to grow love with laughter, drama with passion, uniting, bonding steady and strong in a storytelling home where cousins of mine came to stay through a blessed childhood.

Rich was my family, with another type of wealth, even as to the fields we went, fetching water from a pond, cutting grass for the animals planting rice or cutting cane, outdoors every day come sun or rain.

To write not tell as a village shop opened,

by Ma and me, hold the dream, still bursting with need did I walk into the newspaper offices to be hired with salary my school of learning getting me ready to tell a million stories day by day.

To India went I to romance my roots.

Sat me down to write - the book.

Have you read my East of the West/A Journey or Lilavati and other stories? Flung back into time, in my in-law’s house, Green Park, New Delhi on an old typewriter I wrote, to Daryaganj rode the bus, to print, to publish, to pull myself by the bootstrings back into the girl who listened with wonder in her eyes to Pa’s storytelling.

The click-clack-clacking of the typewriter, wrote Lilavati, a cleansing of sins, of women like me, living in silent obscurity.

Another red letter day dawned. 2005. Another moment I couldn’t stay. Bag and baggage left behind, in India’s great ARITI JANKIE

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tumult.

Her spirit untamed spilling unto the streets; sight, sound, taste, man, woman and child, animals crowded, intermingled, intercepted, I no longer me running, panting across the seas back to my own country, where On evenings, sat me in Pa’s chair keeping my mother company.

He gone now. The children young and old scattered The house in silence Pen waiting on me to write Came forth Hush. Don’t Cry Later, In the Footsteps of Rama, Path of Peace, Witty and Wise.

Now you know me From the little girl who lived inside the story.

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