Category: Poetry

Categories
Poetry

Three Poems

By Sutanuka Ghosh Roy

Childhood

Rain lashed uniform

Storm tossed umbrella

Paper boat

A puddle

A slithering spider

Two small feet

One plunge!

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Ma’s Kitchen

Cracked porcelain jars

Locked-in memories

Two turmeric dipped palms

Sari smelt like Rohu fish

Bay leaves, cardamom and cinnamon

In a discourse

Gas stove

Our endless hunger

Wok and ladles,

Blob of mustard oil

Sweat and toil

Ma stood

Her hands spoke of food.

.

Sleep

Trying a new Gucci dress

She tried to put together

Her hook -less Choli

Cold cream on my soft cheeks

She licked her parched lips

Turned on the AC

Snuggled the Raymond blanket

She covered her navel

A washed out loincloth

Sank deep into my Kurlo pillow

The racing-engine kneaded

Her track-pillowed head

She fell asleep.

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Dr Sutanuka Ghosh Roy is Assistant Professor and Head Department of English in Tarakeswar Degree College, The University of Burdwan, WB, India. She has published widely and presented papers at National and International Seminars. She is a regular contributor of research articles and papers to anthologies, national and international journals of repute like The Statesman, Muse India, Lapis lazuli, Setu etc. She is also a reviewer, a poet, and a critic. Her poems have been Anthologized and published in Setu, Borderless Journal etc

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Categories
Poetry

Departure

By Viplob Pratik

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A table on the corner of a restaurant.

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Half smoked cigarette is caught in my fingers

You are there; I am,

Face to face.

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I am telling something but mute

You are listening to me, but without any attention.

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The glasses of wine are recently backed in their position

And after we took the first sip,

One glass has a smear of lipstick on it

Another has on its outer part

A mark of wine drop.

.

While trying to take another sip

Something weird happens

And the glass slips

Hops in the air

And crashes on the floor.

.

Clink!

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What’s broken –- a glass or the heart?

Both are fragile.

.

People look at us

And again become busy with them.

.

The waiter is cleaning the floor.

Love has broken in our heart too,

.

But there is no waiter for us.

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Viplob Pratik was born and raised in Kathmandu, Nepal. He loves to travel, and has learned from other cultures and societies. He draws inspirations from everyday life. His thoughts are compact, and he is deeply sensitive to human values. His poetry collection ‘Nahareko Manchhe’ (translates to ‘The Undefeated Man’) and ‘A person kissed by the moon’ was published in 2005 and 2013 respectively and his debut novel ‘Abijit’ (the unconquered) was published in 2017.

~Bhim Karki 
Frisco, Texas

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Categories
Poetry

The Colour of Wind’s Song

By Linda Imbler

The Colour Of Wind’s Song

I must go with the wind’s song.

My feet bearing glad witness

to your many creeds.

Inside a maddening maze,

as day is done,

I follow the words on each page

that tell me how to sculpt my dreams.

Long standing upon stone,

upon hearts, jubilant,

upon the sky that is deep, dark blue,

upon vibrant moonshine

where all is amber and red,

I go to hear the colours

and feel exhilaration.

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How Do I Dream?

I gazed with wonder and delight

as the fall of monsters shook the Earth,

and effervescent spirits

became balanced between nowhere and now.

I forgave the winds,

and the Undines,

those elemental beings of water,

those paper tigers.

I walked through a door

of many colours.

Its soft archway still and grand,

and saw novel birds atop golden branches.

I saw a fly within its webbed cell.

On the ground, lay hatched fragile shells

but, no hatchlings were near.

A silent coil of that forgiven wind

lifted my hair ever so gently.

A clear horn blew from atop a shut temple,

and all the caves began to sing.

Within the heart of their song,

they said to me,

“Carry all the love you have collected,

and spread it on the fields of tomorrow.”

And, I slept within a sparrow’s nest

as the night light died,

and all heavenly visions were seen,

I, me, mine.

.

Within The Din

His soul heard no welcome,

only murmurs.

It seemed he heard sweet singing.

The hope that he was right

stayed his sorrow.

His bedimmed dreams

came as angels.

As death became his friend,

he saw his own grace,

and all of sweet peace

wailed for him.

And within the din, welcome showed its hand.

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Linda Imbler is the author of four poetry collections published at Amazon.  Soma Publishing published two of her poetry books and one poetry-short fiction hybrid.  She began writing in earnest five years ago.  In addition to putting pen and paper to inventive use, Linda is an avid reader. This writer, yoga practitioner, and classical guitar player lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and an ever-growing family of gorgeous guitars.  She’s been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and several Best of the Net awards. Learn more at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.

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Categories
Poetry

Passing Clouds

By Devangshu Dutta

Passing Clouds There are days that feel heavy, Like rainclouds, pregnant with tears unshed. On most days though, now, the winds of life just blow them along. Cloud after cloud day after day, burdened with feelings, regrets and hopes heavy in the air. Someone says, "It's the monsoon", this, too, shall pass. Us/Not Us I'm firmly a grey character, my friend. Every side my side, I'm the murky air of polluted humanity here, there, and everywhere. Breathe me in, and you might die. And, then again, You might live a life never imagined or taught. When there's nothing called the "other" Then everything is your own.

Devangshu Dutta is an entrepreneur, business advisor and a student of life. His published writing in recent years has largely been restricted to business analyses; this is his first non-business published work in decades. Upbraided frequently about not having put out a book yet, he promises to start working on at least one of the many manuscripts sketched out over the years before 2020 is out.

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Categories
Poetry

Measured in Halves

By Sanjhee Gianchandani

The two street lights outside

form a chiaroscuro in disdain

revealing only half their light

through the half-drawn curtains

Half raindrops on the window pane

form misbegotten semi-circles

The door is ajar, yet half closed

selectively unwrapping

the proceedings outside

The coffee mug is half-empty

I always liked it lukewarm

They desk’s half-cluttered side

has a book; half-read and

dog-eared like it’s been wanting

a reader for a longish time now

Parched pages and a half-faint  

fragrance of time-worn books

the other half of books unread

A half-broken photo frame peeks  

from a half-open drawer

Were we full couple? Or half in love?

A half-written note in scarlet ink

Lines with half-eaten words

perhaps written in a hurry

unfinished and unsigned

Shall remain a mystery maybe

A box of pills half consumed

and half scattered on the floor

A life full of promises half fulfilled

dreams half seen; secrets half kept

poems half written and words half said

Two halves complete the picture

Did I cross stormy oceans for you

only to get this knee-deep love?

A life half-lived; a death half-mourned

Write of halves when you

write off my whole.

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Sanjhee Gianchandani holds a Masters’ degree in English from Lady Shri Ram College for Women and a CELTA from the University of Cambridge. She worked as an English language assessment specialist. Her love for publishing brought her to her second job as an ELT editor in the K-8 space. She compulsively writes poetry to fill in the interstices in her day and to streamline the chaos in her head. Her poems have been published at several places including eFiction India, LiveWire, Setu, Indian Ruminations, Otherwise Engaged Journal and Poetry Northern Ireland. 

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Categories
Poetry

Hope Enlivened

By Pravat Kumar Padhy

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He is driven to a world of different

In the isolation ward.

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He contours yesterday’s rainbow of life:

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With twin kids and his better half

Strolling in the park, swinging in the seesaw

Running after the colourful butterflies

Searching the ball in the bushes

And the spark of smiles in each step.

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Today he dwells in the past

As if the clock stops for a while.

In the quarantine ward

In between the beds:

The sun sets for someone

And awaits

To enter into another darkness.

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Like a tree

Struggling with the stormy wind,

Still, he dreams

The world is alive outside.

One day he will walk again

And greet his family

In the fresh morning sunshine.

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Pravat Kumar Padhy has obtained his Masters of Science and Technology and a Ph.D from Indian Institute of Technology, ISM Dhanbad. His poetry has been featured in many journals and anthologies. His poems received many awards, honours and commendations including the Editors’ Choice Award at Writers Guild of India, Sketchbook, Asian American Poetry, Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival International Haiku Honourable  Mention, UNESCO International Year Award of Water Co-operation, The Kloštar Ivanić International Haiku Award, IAFOR Vladimir Devide Haiku Award, and others. His work is showcased in the exhibition “Haiku Wall”, Historic Liberty Theatre Gallery in Bend, Oregon, USA. His tanka, ‘I mingle’ is published in the “Kudo Resource Guide”, University of California, Berkeley. His poem, “How Beautiful” is included in the Undergraduate English Curriculum at the university level. His haiku, tanka and other poems on Corona pandemic have been published in Country Roads, Covid 19 Haiku Anthology, Lockdown 2020, Penning The Covid,The Alipore Post, and others.

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Categories
Poetry

The Guardian & Wishes

By Huguette Bertrand

The Guardian Lonesome this woman moves along in the grayness of a city carries within a strange happiness she walks she walks between rumors shakes the ashes of sleeping bodies spreads clay words she is the guardian guardian of unpublished instants buried in the night strolling between rocks she blows she blows on embers freeing old days silences reviving the memory of this deserted city   Wishes Break all the walls down to let the flowers grow and all the trees also fragrance and shade will radiate the whole landscape of the wounded minds laying on the canvas of dusty times Let's take the bricks of walls to build houses leaving open smiling doors to enjoy the wind blowing enchanted words wrapped in the light of good wishes  

Huguette Bertrand is an international French-Canadian poet, editor and digital artist, born in Sherbrooke (Québec), Canada. She has been writing and editing French poetry for 37 years and has published 38 poetry books some of them with artist’s artworks. Her poems were published in many international journals and anthologies and translated in multi languages. Besides her publications, she participated to poetry readings, book shows, art exhibitions of her poetry paired with artworks in Québec, France and Norway, gave workshops in Quebec and France.

http://www.espacepoetique.com

https://www.facebook.com/huguette.bertrand.9

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Categories
Poetry

Chameleon

By Sreedevi Anumula

She makes minutes move backward lightly

 tapping

 holding

 glass sheets of wind above

 twig.

.

 Her eyes roll to sides

 as she pushes color from her blood to

 bough,

 bush and breeze

 until

 old forest trembles to ware this sudden

 heavy

 hue

 with no sound but only sun and mixing of color.

 .

 At dusk

 when wind circling round hill

 howls on hamlet

 and

 fish ballooning air

 thinks camaraderie

 in its steel fins,

 this chameleon

 goes home

 too tired of throwing air

 in and out of her

 soul.

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Sreedevi  Anumula  writes short stories and poetry  both in Telugu and English.  She has published her poetry and research articles in national and international Journals.  She teaches Modern British Poetry and American Literature at the Department of English, Osmania University, Hyderabad, India.

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Categories
Poetry

Imagine

By Zeenat Khan

Imagine the first bee

Imagine the world before

Imagine the sunflowers host

Now move a little, turn and yearn

see its garden, garbed in green

How Van Gogh would have

painted the sunflower, imagine

How sunflowers would have

been without bees, imagine.

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Imagine the first bee

Imagine the world before

Imagine the honey without bees

Imagine the life without this

Imagine the ancient tombs of Egypt

Archaeologists marvel to visit

How the dead would have been

embalmed without honey, imagine.

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So, Imagine, Imagine

Imagine this poem without bees

Imagine a swarm of poems, look, see,

of flowers, of honey, of bud, of dead,

of lives, without bees, imagine

Imagine the world without bees.

Imagine!

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Zeenat is a young and self-critical poet of 19. She lives in Delhi and doing her graduation in English honours from Vivekananda College, DU. She is a passionate reader of poems and lives. She started writing in 2020.

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Categories
Poetry

Birth of an Ally

Smoke and Fire by Alia Kamal

By Tamoha Siddiqui

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Yesterday I heard the sound of colourful feet

to Indonesian beats, in the middle of Michigan:

white, black, brown, all were one

pitter-patter paces in a conference hall.

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You thought I wasn’t looking, but I was.

You were smiling a late November sun

stubborn in joy, fresh in giving;

a horizon broadening in deepening twilight.

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Your grey hairs picked up the song, 

The music bent down for a kiss.

Immigrant spices dissolved

ladling a new tone on your tongue

As you threw up your pink arms

And danced.

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Somewhere, your soul alighted;

Moonlight on a tulip,

Wind on the sand dunes,

Mellow in a melting of colours,

You danced.

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Tamoha Siddiqui is a teacher-researcher and poet from Bangladesh. She’s a Fulbright awardee currently housed at Michigan State University as a graduate student.  In 2018, Tamoha founded a bilingual poetry collective in Dhaka, working as a performer, organizer, and facilitator of local poetry shows and workshops. Furthermore, she debuted as a performance poetry artist in America in 2019 through events hosted by the The Poetry Room, Michigan. Her work has been highlighted in a number of Bangladeshi newspapers and anthologies.

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