Robihara 2 (Sunless 2) by Nazrul has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Chapter 1 of Isa Kamari’s novel, The Throne,has been translated by the author from Malay. We will be running the whole novel as serial through the year. Click here to read.
An excerpt from Aslam Dostain‘s novel, Sótkál, has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click hereto read.
A Sudden Shower has been written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Clickhere to read.
Jhor or Storm, a poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.
Rain, Steam, and Speed – The Great Western Railway, 1844, Painting by Joseph Mallord William Turner
Perhaps, the only constant that makes a difference in this ever-transforming world is how we react to changes around us. How do we interact with not just humans but our whole planet with its climate, contours, its plethora of flora and fauna? Will that impact our survival in the long run? And yet with our focus on legacies, traditions, beliefs, we tend to ignore the call to adapt to the new that might help us move towards an unpredictable future. We forget perhaps that these systems had all been made by our ancestors to ensure survival. Somewhere along the way, these have become like fences caging us into small subsets. The strange thing is we continue to allow that to happen and create enclosures which we fight to maintain. The future that we face now seems even more tumultuous with climate change, rising sea levels and global warming taking a front seat while influx of refugees from war and natural disasters have already started making themselves felt. Add to that the shortages of resources that we have taken for granted for centuries. How would we survive these?
Is it by redefining the constructs we have created or just meeting in corners and finding commonalities as suggested by Ryan Quinn Flanagan in his poem ‘Corners’?
Corners are a meeting place, they hold a room together
Our poetry section often reflects what we experience, feel or see around us. We have poems on how nature overrides human constructs by Khayelihle Benghu. In ‘Passport for the Rain‘, she writes:
If rain possessed a passport, it would read: Citizen of every place that drinks.
We also have poetry in our translations with Ihlwha Choi giving us a glimpse of Korean life. Professor Fakrul Alam has brought to us in English a Bengali poem by Nazrul written on the death of Tagore, a poem that was read out in Calcutta radio by the poet himself in 1941. Tagore’s poem, Storm, has been translated in keeping with the heavy downpours in Asia this season. Fazal Baloch has shared an excerpt in English, which reads like a short story, from Aslam Dostain’s Balochi novel, Sótkál, giving us a flavour of the hard life in their region, where self-reliance is a felt need for survival. We have mental heath issues woven into this section with Isa Kamari’s translation of his own Malay novel into English, The Throne. We will be running a chapter every month from this novel.
Book excerpts also has a translation this time with Ramananda Bharati’s Bengali travelogue, The Forest of Snow, brought to us in English by Somdatta Mandal. Aruna Chakravarti has reviewed this non-fiction for us. The other excerpt is from Hughes’ The Biscuit Thief, a book that reflects his distinct brand of absurd humour. Keith Lyons’ interview this time features an excerpt from interviewee Jayanthi Sankar’s short story set in Singapore. Mandal has written on yet another translation from Assamese by Ranjita Biswas of Arupa Patangia Kalita’s The Moonlight Saga. Bhaskar Parichha has discussed Rabindranath Tagore: The Myriad-Minded Man, co-authored by Krishna Dutta and Andrew Robinson. He claims that this book is “is indispensable reading for anyone interested in literature, intellectual history, cultural modernity, or the life of a man whose vision of humanity continues to speak powerfully to an increasingly interconnected world.”
This month’s non-fiction section has trotted around the globe. We have Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan’s essay discussing how to redefine norms. His take is a bit different from Flanagan’s. He tells us, using Huck Finn, Terminator and Sangam Literature, people need to ask not, “What is right?” but “How did I come to believe this is right?” Rengin Uçkan’s writes on the need for framing rules that are compassionate for refugees. And Farouk Gulsara with his inevitable gruff humour talks of climate change while stating things as it is: “Climate change not only shrinks our summer beachwear but also makes outdoor living impossible. Additionally, it’s proving to be more expensive to consume anything…” Jun A. Alindogan narrates how typhoons have increased in number in Philippines and how it affects them while Jeena R. Papaadi reflects on her literary journey. Meredith Stephens shares her sailing adventures in Australia with stunning photographs by Alan Noble. And Suzanne Kamata has brought us a flavour of the unique Zine Fest in Kobe, where both groceries and books find a place!
Devraj Singh Kalsi hovers between fact and fiction. He has a musing which seems like a hash of dark fiction but based on his experiences. He has also shared a story that is purely fictional. Yi-jung Chen brings to us a quirky love story set in Taiwan across time and space while Brindley Hallam Dennis tells a tale about a dog who sits at a table and sips drinks with a straw! Jay Samanta gives a narrative about a modern relationship based on social media output. Naramsetti Umamaheswararao has shared a fable that talks of freeing nature. The issue is, can we really?
In Borderless Journal, we hope to create a space which will help reflect not just the times but also look forward to ideas that can move us towards surviving in a happier world, built on the basis of accepting differences, filled with love, kindness and compassion. While this may sound clichéd and repetitive, given the current climes, these values cannot be emphasised often enough and perhaps our content to an extent does reflect that, sometimes with a soupçon of humour. Do pause by our contents page for this August and tell us what you think.
Winding up this issue, we would like to thank our all contributors for their wonderful writings and photographs. Huge thanks to the Borderless team without who this issue would not have been as vibrant. Special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. Thank you all. All of you together make this journal come alive.
Keith Lyon converses with Jayanthi Sankar, a fiction writerwho shares an excerpt from her story, Beyond Borders at the end of the interview.
Jananthi Sankar
Jayanthi Sankar is an author who explores history, identity and the human psyche through fiction shaped by her life across cultures. Her work reflects on writing, cultural difference, mentorship and the importance of creating space for emerging literary voices.
Keith Lyons (KL): Every writer has a unique starting point. When did you first realise that writing was more than just an interest for you, and how has that initial spark developed?
Jayanthi Sankar (JS): Years of passionate, continuous reading for pleasure led to an emerging voice of a critic deep within me, and I didn’t realise it. When I was debating with her over what I’d read, I ended up experimenting to experience how difficult it really is to write. They published the short fiction. And I didn’t know that would eventually give me the motivation to attempt a few more. It took me a few more years to write a dozen more before I started believing I should pursue writing.
KL: How do different cultural landscapes influence the themes you repeatedly explore in your work?
JS: I grew up in 15-16 places all over India owing to my father’s central government civil engineering job, until my mid-twenties when I migrated to Singapore. The exposure to diverse cultures during my formative years had organically shaped me to admire and adapt to cultural differences like a fish to water. Harmony lies more naturally on the edges of those differences, and I realised that only after I read seriously and began writing. Cultural landscapes weave naturally into my fictional world.
KL: What is your process for creating characters so they resonate with readers across different nationalities and backgrounds?
JS: I have noticed since my teens, I interacted with people not as me but as the other in front of me, and that perhaps innately equipped me with the ability to create credible characters. As I matured, I came to know that it has got to do not only with human psychology but also with empathy. While my characters unfold, those very close to me have observed I often think and talk like them because I live their lives.
KL: Your day job as an interpreter, how does that affect your ear for dialogue and understanding of how others view the world?
JS: The past three to four years of my current job have brought me the most profound understanding of migrant workers. Knowing their lives, challenges, and views often repeatedly makes me realise what a privileged life I have. Since listening is an integral part of my job, the dialogues become contextually crucial.
KL: How do you determine the ‘size of the canvas’ for a new idea, and do you find that different languages or cultures demand different narrative structures?
JS: The canvas mostly widens as the chapters unfold, and while rewriting, we could always chisel as required, as I did in my short fiction ‘Punkah Wallah’ in my collection Dangling Gandhi. The story’s seed sprouted within me when I was merely 13 or 14 years old.
I remember hearing one of my dad’s friends share, “a young lad born a deaf and dumb from our village in remote Punjab was taken to far away Malaya to be a fan man.” I showed no signs of becoming a writer in the future. It had stayed deep in me to surface nearly 30-odd years later. I set my character driven story in the colonial Singapore of the early twentieth century that had ample scope for depicting cultural, political climate. The time period of the setting brought about language variations in character building as well as the narrative structures that could bring in novelty and engagement.
KL: What insights have you gained about narrative structures from different cultures and traditions, and how can you use them to tell a story better?
JS: Several of my reader friends have said that by reading my fiction, they knew Singapore as if they’d already visited the place. When blended with the cultural nuances and slang of the land, any local issue becomes more convincingly relatable, and the stories reach readers better. As for readers from other lands, not only is the cultural flavour introduced to them, but it invites them to experience the land just as we, as readers, know Moscow from Russian literature, as if we’ve lived there.
KL: What was the primary motivation behind establishing the Jay Yes Foundation, and what specific gaps in the literary world were you hoping to fill?
JS: I have mentored, formally and informally, several aspiring young writers, including Liu Fang from Hong Kong, whose story travelled to the northeastern parts of India, and another, Sascha Wynn from Boston, who had a character of Indian ethnicity. And I experienced an incomparable sense of fulfilment. Helping them with their developmental editing and cultural checks also widened my perspectives, decades ago, and that was the beginning. I felt joyous watching their manuscripts evolve. And now the foundation has entered the next stage of giving a name and identity to the initiatives.
KL: Supporting unpublished writers is a core pillar of your work. In your experience, what are the biggest challenges these writers face today, and how does the foundation help them navigate those obstacles?
JS: As an emerging writer myself, decades ago, I stopped reading details as soon as I saw the submission guidelines mentioned. I’ve observed many of my mentees retreat when the call has fees to read. Not because they can’t afford but they naturally feel their stories are worth the read, and it feels discouraging to pay to be read. Any emerging writer would feel respected if a jury read their writing. So, the foundation continues to create opportunities like this year’s international contest.
KL: The foundation’s mission mentions building ‘sustainable literary communities’. What does a truly sustainable community look like to you in modern publishing?
JS: A writing community can sustain longer only with continuity in reading and writing at an individual level. Continuity is the key. Just one submission and the aspirant write only after two years for another doesn’t bring the needed traction. That’s why the Foundation does not stop at contests and podcasts; it continues to bring other opportunities as well without submission fees to the pool of writers it has already created.
KL: Many literary initiatives rely on entry fees for sustainability, but your foundation has chosen a different path. Can you share the philosophy behind this commitment to free entry for emerging writers?
JS: This year’s jurors have believed me when I said that the foundation aspires to set an example of how dedicated investment of time and expertise can encourage emerging writers. But for the support of Zero-Degree Publishing, such philosophies are bound to remain as dreams. Monetary investment might bring in transactional elements like charging an entry fee, or another fee for publishing the anthology that might reduce focus on the creative side of the initiative. There are so many out there calling to submit first without even telling the writer what’s coming next. I had my experience many years ago; one of my submissions was long-listed, they discussed payment to move the story forward.
KL: The International Jay Yes Short Story Contest 2026 is a significant undertaking. What led you to choose “Seeking Refuge: Stories of Displacement” as the central theme for the contest?
JS: Displacements have been part of my growing up, although I didn’t even know the impact it would have later on in my thoughts process and also writing. Forced or chosen, displacements have all the scope for exploring human lives, whether to seek refuge or to survive. After a brief discussion, the jury unanimously agreed on the theme. The theme also suited the contest, planned to go global.
KL: You’ve expressed a desire for stories that are bold and moving. When you are reviewing submissions, what is that elusive quality that makes a piece of writing truly stand out for you?
JS: If the ending leaves me pondering longer, stays long with me, I’d call it that. A loose ending does that better than a conclusive one. A genuine human voice in the AI era would touch my heart and most certainly the storytelling. Stories often begin fairly well, I’ve noticed, but aspirants get lost in the ending. Dramatic, cinematic, preachy endings are so common, and that’s where resting and rewriting might help. The jury assessed entries fabulously this time.
KL: From anthologies to podcasts, you use various platforms to share stories. How do you see the relationship between traditional publishing and these newer digital formats developing for emerging writers?
JS: E-Books and audiobooks are trending, and like physical books, they can be self-published or traditionally published. Creativity through natural intelligence deserves celebration and preservation regardless of the format it gets published. Using tools to display originality is better than using tools for the creative process itself. Digital or physical, as humans, let’s tell stories of humanity with relatable humaneness.
KL: How does the foundation’s work help create a world where literary voices reach audiences regardless of nationality or financial standing?
JS: Since my childhood, I’ve observed people of different cultures, cuisines, and languages across regions and countries, yet the values, ethics, hunger, anger, pain, and pleasure remain the same for every human. The success of this year’s contest has shown beautifully how creativity has no such restrictions, such borders. Nurturing natural intelligence has always been the core of the initiatives by the Jay Yes Foundation.
Keith Lyons (keithlyons.net) is an award-winning writer and creative writing mentor originally from New Zealand who has spent a quarter of his existence living and working in Asia including southwest China, Myanmar and Bali. His Venn diagram of happiness features the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee, the negative ions of the natural world including moving water, and connecting with others in meaningful ways. A Contributing Editor on Borderless Journal’s Editorial Board, his work has appeared in Borderless since its early days, and his writing featured in the anthology Monalisa No Longer Smiles.
An Excerpt from ‘Beyond Borders’ by Jayanthi Sankar
With moist, dismayed eyes a foreign worker in clothes mildly smeared with grease and paint stood first in the growing queue. Pusillanimously lost in thought he looked like a Bangladeshi, Anu guessed.
Just behind the Bangladeshi, a middle-aged rotund Chinese man was leaning on the side rails with two sizeable red plastic red shopping bags placed near his feet. Oblivious to the surrounding, he was busy talking on his mobile, thanking and laughing with exaggerated courtesy, “Háiméiyǒu, xièxiè.”
The moment Anu saw her son’s eyes sparkling brighter, she knew the reason, and she’d guessed it right. Crawling on one of the large plastic bags carried by a Chinese man was a huge fly that caught the keen attention of ten-year-old Kani. He couldn’t take his eyes off.
As always, Anu was fascinated by his interest displayed even before he’d turned one. From as early as seven months he used to look for tiny ants and insects in the corners of the marble floor and follow them crawling on fours. Though rare, they never failed to catch his attention. Flying insects thrilled him all the more. Long before he could say the word, “Amma,” to call her, he’d learned to say ‘Poochchi[1]’ in Tamil, which made history becoming the first word he learned to speak.
Eager to continue where they’d left their conversation just before leaving home, Anu asked her husband, “And Somu, what did that Pinoy colleague of yours exactly say to anger you that much? Somu, you didn’t tell me the details.”
Excited, wide-eyed Somu said, “He had the cheek to say right on my face without them our country will cease to function. Can you believe that, Anu?”
Although the haze due to the conflagration in the Sumatran forests seemed to have reduced to healthy levels, about six or seven out of the ten migrant faces wore the N9 masks.
“He means, without the Filipinos?”
“I am sure he must have meant all foreign workers in general. I couldn’t stand his temerity, you know. Seething through, I was intensely searing inside.” She just nodded looking at his face.
Somu’s cute chubby face was becoming more and more rounded with his receding hairline, she thought. His black curls highlighted his already fair complexion.
As if muttering to herself Anu looked around, “Humans seem to push the days of the week just for their weekend, when they live their lives.” The queues were suddenly getting longer, she observed.
The bus interchange was filling with an erratic mixture of children shrieking, loud laughter of young people in groups, buses maneuvering and halting, bus doors opening and closing.
Mandarin, Tamil, Malay, Tagalog, Hokkien, and Bangla heard here and there were certainly not mellifluous, but an intriguing babel. The aroma of the satay from the nearby hawker wafted along with the breeze.
The breeze bore the message of the approaching showers. The slowly gathering dark clouds not just dimmed the sunlight but suddenly increased the humidity.
Being the first few in the line waiting for route number 960, getting seats of their choice was not difficult.
The Bangladeshi worker walked straight to the back and took the left window seat of the long row of last seats.
Keeping his sight on the fly, Kani walked ahead but slowly.
“He went on saying things like they are a cheerful and contented bunch even with lower wages.”
“Lower?” Anu asked with an intrigued expression.
“Yeah lah! Their wages are somewhat lower than ours.”
“True,” she agreed.
The stout Chinese man placed the bags purposely on the adjacent seat so that the foreign workers boarding behind wouldn’t be able to occupy the seat near him.
Watching the fly, Kani stood there blocking the way for the other passengers. Anu hurriedly pulled him along. “Isn’t it just a common house fly, maybe just larger?” Somu hushed. They moved to the rear. Kani’s focus remained on the fly as he reluctantly walked turning his head backward. “No.”
As the bus exited at the Woodlands interchange, Somu continued, “You know Anu, I couldn’t help telling him, why don’t you go back since you get paid low here. But he left the place abruptly without saying much although he did tell I must learn to be happy.”
“You?”
“He meant us, Singaporeans,” Somu said lowering his voice. “I think.”
Near the exit, seated at the center of the bus the three domestic workers dressed in their weekend best, dolled up in all accessories, started watching videos happily, ready to enjoy their off day. One of them answered a call, “One angparaan, sanaymaging late,” assuring their punctuality to the friends on the other side.
Seated right behind his parents, next to the Bangladeshi worker, Kani kept getting up restlessly from his seat to look at the fly.
When a plump middle-aged Malay woman boarded at the Marsiling station, one of the foreign workers seated behind the driver spontaneously got up to give her the seat. The lady hesitated for a second and was about to lumber her way to the back when the other guy at the window seat followed suit. Happily, she sat on the aisle seat keeping all her bags and belonging on the window seat before she started looking out of the window.
Taking a look around within the bus, Anu said, “It’s fine, Somu. Not like you’d feared. I can even see a few empty seats.”
“You don’t know, darling. This bus really gets crowded on Sundays. We could have gone Diwali shopping next weekend after our car is back from servicing,” he sulked.
“Oh come on. Look at him! Kani seems to be enjoying the bus ride.”
“If not for the parking woes in Little India area, I wouldn’t choose to travel in this bus,” he sulked for the third time. “especially during the weekend.”
When the fly flew to the rear, it landed on the tab the domestic worker was holding. She jumped and shooed it off with a loud giggle. Her two friends joined in the amusement.
Kani got excited and shrieked, “Pa, look he is flying this way!” Suddenly feeling shy for having expressed loudly, he sat on his seat quietly observing.
The insect had comfortably settled on the glass window near the exit. Fixing his gaze on the fly, Kani sat calmly, glancing at other things once in a while. He shared his discovery, “Musca domestica,” tugging at his mother’s shoulder from the back of her seat. He pointed to the fly when Anu turned from the front seat to smile at him.
After the first few stops, at the Kranji station, foreign workers boarded in groups.
Somu gave her a, “I told you!” kind of a look.
“Kani needs to see some real world, at least, once in a while,” Anu smiled gathering the locks of hair and tugging them behind her ears with her right hand.
There was an empty seat after the exit. A tall and slender looking Chinese woman who’d boarded looked around, extended her hand with a pointed finger, “Go and sit there, lah.” The construction worker appeared to be a Tamil guy got up like an obedient student and moved to the back. With a haughty expression, “Thank you,” she said curtly, almost half-heartedly.
“What do you mean Anu?” Somu chided with a laugh. “Don’t tell me that only crowded bus rides are real life.”
“Not exactly,” Anu beamed. “But in a way yes.”
Many were startled when the Malay woman, in her attempt to alight at the Bukit Panjang CC advanced to the back saying, “Cannot taahan this anymore. Why are these people so smelly?” Right after getting off the bus, she threw an angry expression at the bus from where she stood.
“Ma, why is that old lady rankling for no apparent reason?”
“Hush, hush, no. Are you bored? Want my mobile?”
“No,” he said and went back to watch the big fly.
As the bus entered the BKE, most of them got busy texting. Most of them dozed off in their seats. The bus suddenly quietened.
The two high housing board blocks of flats followed by a few private condominiums beyond the green wilds, on the right disappeared within minutes.
The long terrain ride with the lush natural habitat on either side of the expressway, as always brought a serene feeling, Anu thought.
“Oh my God! I took the wrong set of shopping bags! I didn’t buy these live crabs,” the Chinese man suddenly jolted. He held up the tied bag with a large partially visible creepy crab within.
He stood up to go near the driver. “You have to get off at the Tanglin CC and cross the road via the overhead bridge and board a bus back to Bukit Panjang,” the driver said calmly, smartly kept his eyes on the road.
Kani was eager to have a look at the crab from near, but Somu said, “No need to go all the way there. We are speeding in the expressway, Kani. It’s enough to look from here. I thought you were scared of crabs,” he chuckled.
“Of course, I wouldn’t dare touch it, pa. Thought of talking a closer look. The crab looks unique,” Kani said but sat back in his seat.
The Bangladeshi worker was sincerely trying hard to look away from the young Anglo Chinese couple in secret and mild canoodle at the right end of the long back seat. He’d been talking seriously to someone for more than ten minutes. Sensing the network was bound to go erratic in the PIE, he winded up his conversation smartly, “Jaanish. Achchaa, thaarpor kotha bolbo, han?”
The road widening works near the exit to Eng Neo Avenue and Adams Road suddenly reminded the passengers of the city life.
“You look ravishing in this sari,” Somu whispered in Anu’s ear.
“And you’ve said that umpteen times, Somu. I still can’t forget the day you stood at the shop dead against me choosing this one.” Reminiscing, they laughed together and turned to look behind, at Kani.
Much familiar with the expressway, traffic, the downtown line works along the Bukit Timah Road, Kani was observed all that he could, mostly within the bus as if he might never a get another chance to travel by bus.
Once along Whitley Road, the louring urban face of the city showed. “This comes under the suborder Cyclorrhapha,” Kani bent down to whisper into Somu’s ears. The father forced a smile and looked at the fly.
The Chinese man holding the large shopping bags alighted, grumbling.
With not many passengers boarding or alighting, the bus streamlined through the Bukit Timah Road.
When the bus reached Little India bus stop, most of the commuters alighted. “Bus ride was damn interesting, Pa,” Kani mused as he got down. Though sunny, the roads glittered wet. The rains had just stopped.
Not losing sight of the Bangladeshi worker who’d also alighted, Kani told his parents to wait for a few minutes. When Anu pulled him, he said, “Ma, please wait just for a few minutes.”
“Can I have a few dollars, Pa?” he said hurriedly keeping an eye on the foreign worker.
Taking out his wallet from his pant pocket, Somu asked impatiently, “But what do you need money so urgently for?” Kani pulled out a ten dollar note.
He pointed at the Bangladeshi standing with a lost expression on his face. “He needs to top up his EZ link, Pa. I heard him cry over the phone. He is broke and in a dire state.”
“Don’t tell me you can understand his language.”
“Oh, I’ve been picking their language for more than a year,” he said. Always observing, he would smile and wave at the Bangladeshi workers who cleared the garbage chute and cleaned the common areas. But Anu never expected him to have learnt their language.
Kani swiftly went near the foreign worker and asked, “Where do you want to go?”
“Paya Lebar,” said the foreign worker, looking at Kani a little hesitantly.
With all kindness, Kani said softly and slowly, “You take the train to Bugis from here. And, from there you board the green line towards Pasir Ris, you understand?” The Bangladeshi just nodded shyly.
Gently, Kani thrust the ten dollar note into his hand and hopped back to join his parents. As if trying to prevent them from looking at the Bangladeshi, he pulled them both by his hands. Curiously, he turned to look and was titillated to see the housefly riding on the tattered backpack of the Bangladeshi worker. “Eureka! Single pair of wings! Comes under the higher classification of Diptera,” Kani squealed
[1]Poochchi – A generic term to refer to any kind of insect.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Charudutta Panigrahi introduces us to to the eighteenth century literary giant, Upendra Bhanja, who gave up his crown for the love of words. Click here to read.
Ravi Varmman K Kanniappan highlights the contemporariness of Sangam Literature with discussion about a narrative based on trust and power politics. Click hereto read.
Art by Joseph Mallord William Turner (1775–1851). From Public Domain
Floods, heatwave, hurricanes and storms — wild weather rips parts of the earth. While experts attribute these to El Niño and climate change, one wonders if peace and lifestyle choices could have any impact to reverse the changes on our home planet. Do wars add to our deep distress? We lose people, homes, what we nurtured and loved, the beautiful cities and structures we built, even forests, fields and rivers. The nuclear holocausts, the killing fields of the World Wars, the mined fields of Cambodia and Vietnam which continue to maim farmers… all these should have taught us to avoid wars but now when the television throws up images of war-torn zones, one wonders if those are worse than climate disasters?
In climate disasters we lose lives, homes and cities too — but people can step in to help and rebuild after the disaster. In a war setting, rescue workers are at a risk as bombs mow down terrain and destroys the tenor of daily lives. The disasters born of climate change too can be irreversible — especially with rising water levels, depleting shorelines and warmer climes ripped by storms. Which is worse — wars or climate disasters? What do you think? Could we go back to a pollution free world and reverse the darker impacts of climate change?
Just as history accepted wars and moved on, perhaps the time has come when climate change has to be accepted as a part of the new reality, and we have to find new ways of life. Exploring such stories is a book by Rajat Chaudhuri,The Climate Crossroads: Literature’s Encounter with a Planet on Fire. It has been reviewed by Bhaskar Parichha who tells us: “It reminds us that the climate crisis is not solely a scientific or political problem but also a crisis of imagination. Rajat Chaudhuri demonstrates with remarkable insight that stories are among humanity’s most powerful tools for understanding uncertainty, confronting ecological loss, and envisioning more just futures.” Somdatta Mandal, on the other hand, has brought in more on environment with her discussion of Siddharth Kak’s A Fire over Mount Everest. Andreas Geisbert adds colour to this section with his exploration of Angel Ramon’s Requiem of a Lost Nation. Satya Narayan Misra has reflected on Bhaskar Parichha’s Icons of Odisha – Lives that Shaped a State, a non-fiction whose excerpt tells us much about the journey of the author to bring to us community builders in various streams of life. We also have a bit from Kanupriya Dhingra’s non-fiction about a book bazaar that flourishes despite bookshops finding it hard to survive, The Sunday Book Bazaar: Daryaganj and the Making of a Reading Public in Delhi.
Our interviews this month touch upon environmental issues with Keith Lyons conversing with Helen Townsend, environmental entrepreneur and plant enthusiast who is high on sustainability and earth friendly solutions while Suzanne Kamata has interviewed Lily West who has travelled to all the countries in the world and has put it all down in her memoir, West goes East. Like Kamata, she teaches in Japan now. Kamata has also given us a humorous piece on remote controls. Humour is a sentiment that has also been wrought into our nonfiction with a flourish byDevraj Singh Kalsi too. He writes of his wedding sherwanialmost with a passion like the Dickensian Ms Havisham[1] exhibited for her crumbling wedding gown, except it has a different tone — that of wry tongue-in-cheek irony. Farouk Gulsara has a similar twinge of sarcasm as he muses on uncertainties in the future. Ian C Smith brings in a bit of the weather as he muses on a rainy day while Subramaniam Cheemalapati muses on the star-studded sky, dwelling on his anecdotal childhood experiences. Gowher Bhat introduces us to an aid worker who helps war victims. Meredith Stephens continues on her sailing adventures in Western Australia with photographs by her husband, Alan Noble. The photograph of the pink jellyfish is awesome. Do check it out!
Translations have brought in a shower of poetry with Tagore’s poem on a rainy-day hinting at shared confidences. Professor Fakrul Alam has translated Bengali lyrics Nazrul wrote for his friend and mentor, Rabindranath Tagore. Ihlwha Choi has brought to us a whiff of the Korean summer with his verses and Fazal Baloch has brought to us soulful poems from Balochi by Mohammad Hussain Anqa. Isa Kamari’s translations carry a flavour of Malay life in Singapore, and this set of verses bring to a close his book, The Lost Mantras. We are very privileged to have his entire book translated solely in our pages. Isa Kamari is an eminent literary voice of the Malay Singaporean community.
We have news about our hardcopy poetry anthology. We have had six media coverages in less than three months. Professor Malashri Lal deems: “For those of us who still believe in principles of care and compassion, humanism and amity, Wild Winds is a lifeline to keep afloat…It is especially commendable for wrapping global concerns in the fine tissue of hope.” And Mandal tells us: “Reading through these one hundred poems is indeed a pleasurable experience even for readers with a more prosaic temperament.” We are delighted that the book has had a warm welcome. Huge thanks to our publishers for giving us a hardcopy platform.
Thanks to all our contributors, readers and the fabulous team that make borderlessjournal.com come alive each month with a vibrant soul. Huge thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. Do pause by our contents page for the July 2026 issue.
Keith Lyons in conversation with Helen Townsend, an environmental entrepreneur and a plant enthusiast
Helen Townsend speaking to women at Girls-in-STEM that aims to close gender gap in science in 2026. Photo sourced by Keith Lyons
Helen Townsend has spent her career uncovering the connections between people, plants and the planet. From working with herbarium collections in Nepal and Bangladesh to leading campaigns against single-use plastics and creating nature-based toys for children, the environmental entrepreneur has come to see climate change, biodiversity loss and waste as deeply interconnected global challenges. In this interview, she reflects on the power of plants, the importance of global responsibility, and why reconnecting children with nature may be one of our greatest reasons for hope.
Keith Lyons (KL): How did you find yourself in Nepal and Bangladesh, and what did you do there?
Helen Townsend (HT): In 2006 I was working in the herbarium of the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh on a project digitising African plant specimens. The aim of the project was to increase African botanists’ access to their countries’ important specimens which had been collected during colonial exploration and taken to the UK. In 2009, the project expanded to Asia, and I went to Nepal to train staff and set up the digitising project at the National Herbarium of Kathmandu. I also spent six months in Bangladesh volunteering at a girls’ school in Dhaka.
KL: How were your experiences in those places influence your awareness of environmental issues which are both linked with modern society and global?
HT: While growing up in New Zealand and living in the UK, I knew we used too much plastic packaging and tried to avoid it but it was when I was in Nepal and Bangladesh and saw plastic rubbish on the streets and in the rivers that I started to realise the scale of the plastic pollution problem. In New Zealand we produce so much more rubbish than people in Nepal and Bangladesh but because it’s collected weekly and taken away, we never have to confront the environmental impact of our purchasing choices.
KL: What fascinates you about plants?
HT: Plants are beautiful, especially trees! But the more I learn about them the more interesting they become. Plants are often seen as the backdrop to a scenic view or ‘nice to haves’ for people living in cities but they are absolutely essential not only for the survival of all life but also for our physical, mental and emotional well-being.
How has this interest run through your study, work and approach?
HT: Both of my businesses have tackled systemic issues by providing alternatives to single-use plastics and reconnecting kids with nature. These issues are directly related to protecting the environment and helping parents pass on their love of nature to their kids.
KL:What broader lessons have you learned from working with plant collections, botanical gardens and herbariums?
HT: Working on projects to return botanist’s access to plant specimens taught me how interconnected societal problems are and how our current problems are grounded in colonial and capitalist thinking. Europeans taking plant specimens from Africa and Asia in the 1800s directly impacts the work of today’s botanists from those areas. In the same way, climate change and the biodiversity crisis have been caused by rich countries’ exploitation, again taking more than their share of nature and resources.
KL:Waste is often seen as a local issue, whether it be plastic, uncollected rubbish, dumping, or pollution in waterways. Why do you see it as a global issue?
HT: Billion-dollar companies headquartered in the USA or Europe take oil from the Middle East and turn it into plastic to be made into products in China which are then shipped to New Zealand. After we’ve used the product, we put our plastic ‘recycling’ out to be collected, and it’s shipped to Indonesia where it contributes to enormous landfills contaminating the land, water ways, oceans and health of communities we will never visit.
This is not an accident. It is a planned devaluing of the global south so rich countries can continue to consume overpackaged and unnecessary junk to make a few people extremely wealthy. If we look at waste as a local issue, we can pat ourselves on the back for taking part in a beach clean-up, while ignoring the capitalist system that created the inequality and environmental destruction of countries we do our best not to think about.
KL:What initiatives have you been involved in which have looked for solutions to problems, and how did you go about turning ideas into action?
HT: After returning to New Zealand, I set up a company called ‘The Rubbish Whisperer’ to provide replacements to single-use plastics. I made reusable produce bags and introduced paper straws to cafes and restaurants in New Zealand, advocating for straws on request. Providing reusable alternatives was an important component in the grass roots movement to eliminate single-use plastics. Working alongside activists, scientists and community groups, we were successful in achieving New Zealand’s 2019 ban on single-use plastic bags and restrictions on plastic straws.
Now I have a company called ‘Sustained Fun’, the world’s first climate change focused toy company. Toys are vital to climate change because they teach social norms and shaped how kids see the world. The toy industry works on a fast fashion business model and is training kids to be over-consumers of cheap, disposable plastic junk. If we want adults who care about the environment, we need kids to learn how to love nature. Luckily all this entails is to get kids out into it! We make fun and sustainable toys and games that encourage kids and families to connect with nature.
Anthea Bell and Helen Townsend, co-founders of Sustained Fun with their reusable water-balloons. Photo sourced by Keith Lyons
KL: When it often seems that environmental problems can feel overwhelming, what gives you hope?
HT: This is something I struggle with a lot. It doesn’t always feel like things are getting better. I make an effort to seek out positive news and connect with others who are excited about nature and are making a positive impact. Running ‘Sustained Fun’ also gives me hope as I can help to create a more positive future for kids and families.
KL:What helped shaped your perspective and desire to make a difference?
HT: I’m not sure. I don’t understand why everyone wouldn’t want to make a difference? We all want swimmable rivers, clean beaches, forests, amazing animals and breathable air. And, especially for those of us from rich, privileged countries, it’s our responsibility to make sure a healthy environment is there for all people and the next generation.
KL:If someone could see the world through your eyes just for one day, what do you think they would notice differently?
HT: Plants! Instead of seeing plants as a green backdrop, they would see them as the view, noticing which ones are native and which are invasive. They’d look at deforested hillsides and imagine them covered in mature forests. They’d look at a polluted estuary and see it teeming with life. Wherever I go, I imagine what it used to look like before we cut down the trees and what it will look like again, once we’ve restored them.
KL:What kind of world would you hope today’s young people inherit?
HT: I would love it if every year wildlife numbers increased so that when young people look back at 2026, they are amazed at how far we’ve come. I can’t wait for my grandchildren to say to me ‘I can’t believe you were excited to see one whale in the harbour, I often see hundreds’.
KL:If you could leave one message for readers around the world, regardless of where they live, what would it be?
HT: Do more and speak up. We need to move swiftly and urgently to prevent the worst effects of climate change and stop biodiversity loss. Whatever your skills, experience and profession, turn them to protecting the environment. And if you have kids, teach them to love the environment by getting them out into nature as often as possible!
Heen hugging moss in UKHelen treking in NepalPhotos sourced by Keith Lyons
Keith Lyons (keithlyons.net) is an award-winning writer and creative writing mentor originally from New Zealand who has spent a quarter of his existence living and working in Asia including southwest China, Myanmar and Bali. His Venn diagram of happiness features the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee, the negative ions of the natural world including moving water, and connecting with others in meaningful ways. A Contributing Editor on Borderless Journal’sEditorial Board, his work has appeared in Borderless since its early days, and his writing featured in the anthology Monalisa No Longer Smiles.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Nazrul’slyrics ofMor Ghumogore Elo Monohor (In my Sleep, Came the Enchanting One) has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
Four of his ownMalay poems have been translated by Isa Kamari. Click here to read.
The Heartless, a Balochi story by AbdulQayum Sarbazi, has been translated by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.
Dragonfly 2 has been composed and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.
Tagore’s poem, Amra Choli Somukhpane(We Look Forward and March), has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Clickhere to read.
Pandies Corner
Songs of Freedom: Pink Dreams is an autobiographical narrative by Priyanka, written and compiled by Deeksha Vats. These stories highlight the ongoing struggle against debilitating rigid boundaries drawn by societal norms, with the support from organisations like Shaktishalini and Pandies. Clickhere to read.
Larry S Su, who migrated from a mud cave in Shaanxi province to America, shares his story of the changes he sees during three visits to his home and muses on the gaps he has observed between these two places. Clickhere to read.
Summer, Dune in Zeeland by Piet Mondrain (1872 – 1944)
Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past.
‘Burnt Norton’, Four Quartets (1941) by TS Eliot
If we look back in time, we have a better life than that of our ancestors. Though conflicts rage and climate change is a reality that we all dread, it can safely be said, we have progressed beyond the imagination of those who lived a hundred years ago. The fact that some books from the past still reverberate with echoes of what the present holds says much for the outliers or authors who could think out of the box. Despite this complex intermingling of ideas and times, perhaps the world will change more now than before. We do not know anything for sure though experts are always predicting a future that for most of us remains unknown. What we can present is our own estimate of what can be and a definite assertion of what is. Truth as such is a matter of perception. That complicates it further. However, one of the changes that is definitely here to stay is climate change and our changing environment. Given that this is the month that homes World Environment Day, we have a smattering of writings that revolve around nature and also the human spirit that defies age.
We have featured a writer who revels in nature and is an ageless voice that bridges multiple cultures, Ruskin Bond. As he turned ninety-two last month, he published multiple new books. We have an excerpt from one of them, Scenes from the Magic Mountain: Five Seasons in the Mussoorie Hills and Beyond, a brilliant collection of snapshots of his interactions with nature over time — be it frogs, snakes or just trees. Some of the vignettes are humorous and some, as all classics are, thought provoking. Bond puts into words how he chose to work in Landour (a small town in Himalayas) and continued to write from there for sixty years. He talks of the spell the mountains cast on him, “I like to think that I have become a part of this Magic Mountain; that by living here for so long, I can claim a relationship with the trees, wild flowers, even the rocks that are an integral part of this landscape.” The other book excerpt is a contrast to Bond’s, a non-fiction called Burnout Highway by Anmol Diddan. It explores the collective suffering of stress at work where achievements distance humans from nature and a fulfilling life and urges readers to be open to changes.
In keeping with the theme of environment, Bhaskar Parichha has reviewed Stephen Alter’s The Fragrance of Rain: A Brief History of the Monsoon. He tells us: “The Fragrance of Rain is much more than a history of weather. It is a meditation on nature, culture, memory, and belonging… Like the season it celebrates, the book is refreshing, nourishing, and lingering in its impact…” While Rakhi Dalal expresses her delight with Shyam Manohar’s The Cold War of Sadanand Borse, a novella translated from Marathi by Jerry Pinto, Meenakshi Malhotra revels in Giti Chandra’s debut book of poems, Setting Traps for Light.
In translations, Professor Fakrul Alam has captured the flavours of Nazrul’s Bengali lyrics, which also echo of the rainy season or monsoons. Isa Kamari brings to us more of his Malay poems in English and Ihlwha Choi shares a rendering of his Korean poem, ‘Dragonfly 2’, into English. One of Tagore’s poems from Balaka (Flight of the Cranes, 1916) has found its way into this issue after being translated. We also have a touching Balochi story around social gaps from the late Abdul Qayum Sarbazi, brought to us in English by Fazal Baloch.
Hughes has continued sharing his short fables, which are absurd but also, comical! A sensitive story about the natural world mingled with Maori concepts by Keiran Martin seems so much in sync with the oceans while Jeena R Papaadi has woven a strange narrative located in a land that only one man could visit. Plamen Vasilev shares a human-interest story set in Europe and Rabiya Rehman takes us to Lahore in quest of a missing destination! Naramsetti Umamaheswararao’s narrative takes us back to a village that opted for trees, thus enriching the environmental lore in this issue.
We have a real life heart rending story from a young girl in our Pandies Corner, written and related by Deeksha Vats, based on the story told by a victim of familial violations and violence.
Our non-fiction section homes Larry Su’s essay on how his life took him from a rural mud cave in Shaanxi province to the glamour of Chicago. Reflecting on the changes he has experienced on his rare visits to his original homeland, Su muses on the cultural and socio-economic gaps he has observed between the two places. Charudutta Panigrahi – as if in direct opposition — shares similarities between two diverse geographies.
Suzanne Kamata explores a custom which may not be that eco-friendly in her column from Japan. Jun A. Alindogan brings home the impact of climate disasters while dwelling on blessings with his narrative about a narrow escape from the Typhoon Ondoy (2009). While Meredith Stephen writes of sailing to Timor Sea with photographs by Alan Noble, Farouk Gulsara takes us on a cycling adventure around the mountains of Titiwangsa. In another musing, he also explores the idea of good and evil in a sardonic tone while Sai Abhinay Penna dwells on the grandeur and vastness of the universe over his morning jog. Gowher Bhat writes of a man for whom age seems to be just a number as he publishes his debut book at 93! One wonders at the frequency of such occurrences — we have writings about two authors above ninety in the June issue. In contrast, Devraj Singh Kalsi brings in mortal fears while writing of visiting doctors with a soupçon of humour – some of it directed at himself.
Perhaps, laughter is really the best medicine to keep well! Ruskin Bond makes us laugh and writes of nature in a way that touches hearts and makes us forget the contrasting glitzy world, where we suffer stress and burnout. Our environment makes a difference, doesn’t it?
With that we wrap up our June issue. Huge thanks to our fabulous team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her wonderful artwork. To all our contributors, heartfelt thanks — we are because you are. And gratitude to our readers who make it worth our while to write and publish here.
We will next meet you during the monsoon months of South Asia though, near the equator, it rains almost every day and, in the Southern Hemisphere, it will be peak winter!
What does it mean to write poetry in an age of climate crisis, internet overload, and late-stage capitalism? Few writers tackle those questions with as much intelligence, humour, and urgency as Erik Kennedy. The acclaimed contemporary poet talks about finding his voice, life in another hemisphere, the pleasures of performance, and why writing remains central to how he makes sense of the world.
For readers who may be discovering your work for the first time, could you tell us a little about yourself and the kinds of writing you write?
I’m Erik Kennedy, a poet, critic, editor, and performer in Ōtautahi Christchurch in Aotearoa New Zealand. I’m originally from New Jersey, but everything good I’ve ever written was produced here. My three books are There’s No Place Like the Internet in Springtime (2018), Another Beautiful Day Indoors (2022), and Sick Power Trip (2025), all with Te Herenga Waka University Press. My first and third books were shortlisted for best book of poetry in New Zealand’s national book awards, the Ockhams. I also co-edited an anthology of climate change poetry from Aotearoa and the Pacific called No Other Place to Stand (Auckland University Press, 2022).
How do you describe your poetry?
In a recent fellowship application, I wrote that with my style I am ‘intense, wry, and willing to seem unhinged if it makes the writing real’. That seems fair. The adjectives ‘political’ and ‘funny’ are often thrown around in discussions of my poems. I think I have taken a more solemn turn with my recent work, especially in Sick Power Trip and in the manuscript I’m working on now. Subjects I return to over and over include climate collapse, the internet, labour, illness, warfare, addiction, and dysfunctional late capitalism. I try to use every tool in the poet’s toolbox: free verse, rhyme, collage, prose and hybrid forms, personas, etc. As a poet you get to shapeshift; I try not to forget that.
I also enjoy writing criticism, and I think I’m good at it, but it’s not something I’m driven to do unless I’m asked by an editor. (Hit me up, editors.)
When did writing first become important to you, and do you remember the moment you thought, ‘I’d like to do this for a living’?
I have never thought that I can write for a living! I do various kinds of work, including as an editor in book publishing, but I don’t expect the kind of writing I do to buy me truffles and Audis.
When did I first realise that I wanted writing to be a central part of my life? I was about thirteen when I started to write really seriously, autodidact-ing myself into a position where I started to have a style and ambitions. I was the classic teen poet filling notebooks with poems that, mercifully, remain in what Thomas Gray would call ‘dark, unfathomed caves’. I have never really looked back. Writing is a vital part of how I live. Of how I process the world and the things that happen in it. I have always produced new writing, except in periods of personal turmoil, and in those circumstances I think the not-writing made things even worse.
What kind of work have you done in this space, and how has it shaped your writing?
In an earlier period of my life I was doing a PhD in English at Princeton, and while I didn’t complete it (by writing what surely would have been a tragically uninspired dissertation), the many years I spent at the coalface of literature and history at universities were not wasted. There is a part of me that still thinks that The Poet Who Knows Lots of Stuff is the ideal artist.
Being a copyeditor is an underrated literature-adjacent job. I know loads of writers who teach creative writing (it’s not for me), and that obviously makes you think constantly about how texts work, but there is something about the technical, competence-driven, problem-solving nature of copyediting that I have always found appealing. I like coming up with answers! Every book you work on upskills you in one way or another. That’s so valuable. I’d like to point out that AI is not coming for copyeditors any time soon. The sheer amount of random facts, hunches, preferences, and human judgements involved in copyediting a book definitely makes it a craft for flesh-and-blood knowledge workers.
Also, I have edited poetry for litmags for years. There is simply no better way of seeing what writers are actually doing than by reading hundreds or thousands of real-life examples of contemporary writing. Editing offers you examples of writing to emulate and to react against. It’s also a crucial part of a writer’s moral education; people are entrusting you with important parts of themselves, and as an editor you have a responsibility to treat their work with care and respect.
What readers/listeners do you most like writing for?
I feel really fortunate to have a thriving literary scene on my doorstep, quite a lot of it grounded in performance. I have gained so much by trying to make my work resonate with live audiences, who of course only get to experience the text once, via my voice and expressions. (Also, I was a theatre kid, and I just really like performing.) Page versus stage is a false dichotomy, but page plus stage is a great way of thinking about making work that draws people in. Publication is always my goal with my poems, but I also want to entertain, to commune with real people I can see and chat with. So in some ways the reader I have in my head when I write is a punter at a reading series. These people have been wonderful barometers for me over the years.
You grew up in the US and now live in New Zealand. How has this influenced your outlook?
I can imagine my answer to a question like this being shown to me by agents in some dismal room at Newark Airport. Let’s just say that I am glad that I am where I am. Also, I have published work that probably makes the points I wish to make better than I can make them here.
Where does your writing usually begin: with a character, a situation, a question, or something else entirely?
A line. I am a compulsive notes app user. I raid my poem ideas document all the time.
What does your writing routine look like, and what conditions help you do your best work?
‘Routine’, lol. As is the case with many poets, I would say that there are certain aspects of executive function that I don’t excel at. So my process can look a little chaotic. I try to set myself up for success with my note-making habits. And I work on things when the moment feels right. I am opportunistic, a jackal who doesn’t miss a trick if a corpse is nearby. I only occasionally sit down with the intent to write. (It does work sometimes, though, which feels like finding $50 on the ground.) Walking is a great imaginative stimulant for me; we could call that an important part of my routine. I’m like a moustached twenty-first-century Wordsworth.
Every writer faces difficult days. What helps you keep writing when inspiration is absent or a manuscript feels stuck?
If I haven’t produced anything vaguely satisfactory for a fortnight or so I start to feel so inadequate and despondent that not writing doesn’t even feel like an option. I suppose if, despite my best efforts, I ever get full-on writer’s block, I will dissolve into a dejected slime. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.
What aspect of the writing craft took you the longest to master, and what did that journey teach you?
The dark art of ordering a poetry manuscript—of making disparate elements into a coherent whole—is something I will always want to get better at. It is hard. My most recent book, Sick Power Trip, feels of-a-piece in a way that neither of my first two books did, because I set out to make it that way and because I allowed my preoccupations to come through. Maybe what I’ve learned is that artists need preoccupations. I am thinking about artistic unity earlier in the process now. Is this good? Maybe. Do I feel I’ve cracked the case? No.
What role does reading play in your life as a writer, and are there particular authors or books you return to for inspiration?
I don’t like the name-your-influences game because 1) my influences change all the time and 2) I am terrified of offending someone by not mentioning them.
Anyway, it all starts with reading. Sure, living is useful too, but I’ve always found that an encounter with the right text at the right time is transformative, alarming (in a good way). It’s like a nineteenth-century galvanist is jolting me with electricity.
I do a lot of reading for professional purposes (keeping up with what’s coming out), so I sometimes must remind myself to let my fancy wander and read . . . whatever the hell I want. Another thing I need to remind myself to do is to read things on my TBR pile! You bought these books, you idiot, maybe you should look at them. A constant problem.
What has surprised you most about the experience of being a published author?
I’m always amazed that people take the time to write to me out of the blue. I can only imagine what it’s like if you’re, you know, actually a big deal writer.
How do you navigate self-doubt, rejection, or the inevitable setbacks that come with a creative career?
I am a world-class user of defence mechanisms.
What is the most valuable piece of writing advice you have ever received?
I find that the example set by other writers I admire, especially peers, is more motivating to me than maxims. It’s more valuable to me to observe the ups and downs of other people’s careers than to hear, like, ‘the brain is a muscle—exercise it’.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers?
Make sure you like writing, not just having written. I think there are some truly terrible temptations available to writers who want to get to the end product too quickly. (Yes, I am talking about generative AI.) But if you really do like writing, then probably nothing will stop you. I believe in you. We are so lucky to work in an artform that requires very few material inputs. I don’t need a tuba or big canvases or a theatre to do what I do. Life presents obstacles—of course it does—but in theory literature can be such a democratic artform.
If you could go back and have a conversation with the writer you were before your first book was published, what would you tell them?
You were a ‘real writer’ then, even if you barely felt like one. Having books doesn’t make you a writer. Writing does.
You can read two poems from Sick Power Trip by clicking here.
Keith Lyons (keithlyons.net) is an award-winning writer and creative writing mentor originally from New Zealand who has spent a quarter of his existence living and working in Asia including southwest China, Myanmar and Bali. His Venn diagram of happiness features the aroma of freshly-roasted coffee, the negative ions of the natural world including moving water, and connecting with others in meaningful ways. A Contributing Editor on Borderless Journal’sEditorial Board, his work has appeared in Borderless since its early days, and his writing featured in the anthology Monalisa No Longer Smiles.
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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
In conversation with Teresa Rehmanwith focus on her non-fiction, Bulletproof: A Journalist’s Notebook on Reporting Conflict and a brief introduction to her book. Click here to read.
Translations
Robihara(Sunless)by Kazi Nazrul Islam has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam from Bengali. Clickhere to read.
Four of his ownMalay poems have been translated by Isa Kamari. Click here to read.
