Series#2 To you…“O LOVER!”

Series#2  To you…“O LOVER!” 

Love Letters Jernail w: text HD

 

If you were true, 

We won’t be far away,

Why these pangs?

Why separation?

 

Knowst thou?

Only bodies differ.

Not minds.

Souls never.

We are one in essence.

Yes, i see birds flying in a trance.

Rivers flowing and winds

Blowing in ecstasy.

Animals grazing 

Butterflies lazying in flowers.

They are not in a hurry

Except in times of turmoil.

Why are thy turmoils

So incessant? So insistent?

Thou crieth making me cry too?

O Lover!

The day says if you love me, 

Love my fog too.

Love my dog too.

How can you, you love my skin alone?

Love is not skin deep.

I am a package, 

And love is a package deal.

I am rich here and poor there.

High here, and there low.

Some flesh, some blood, 

And tending this wholesome show.

I love you too.

Fly O bird, in thy flight lies my delight!

Flow O waters! Stop you stink.

Let me too flow, O lover!

Flow is life’s immortal brew.

Join me in my mortal delight

If thou lovest me true.

DR JERNAIL SINGH ANAND

21 November 2019 thursday 1:04pm 

Series#1 To the “man i love”

Series#1  To the “man i love”:

being in-love

is like summer

in wants of rain…

     It is summer and on my way to Taj Mahal via Delhi India, a very short 3 day sojourn, to snap a  glimpse of that historical love story attached to a beautiful, white-marble mausoleum, built by Mughul Emperor Shah Jahan, for his beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal,  on the southern bank of the Yamuna River near Agra, it took 22 years to build, finally completed in 1653.

     During my 24-hour stay-over, i get comfortably seated on the visitor’s lounge, “at last i shall get to mirror the love affair i once had.” It is a faraway flashback; 

i am on my full bloom 38age

i would wear 

a flimsy flowered chiffon blouson 

rugged faded jeans

lol…one hardly notices

i am braless!

He too is 38 age 

a top lawyer and superbly very cosmopolitan

his language speaks gently

classically praised 

but in a common street language

“luv, you look so exotic

like a crowned swan 

without her feathers

a flip of  your arms 

exude  an  intoxicating 

slap of orgiastic spice 

from faraway India

the Taj Mahal!

     love, the polyphony of  delightful pleasures: the giggles, the conversations, the gossips, kisses, dripping chills( gelato, crepe, pezzi duri)such amorous pluralities which are simultaneously aesthetic, psychological, metaphysical, sexual—jumps from a level to another without sensing a slightest hint of guilt, we both love the irregularity of moods.

landscape of love

like a novelty book

always comes 

to an end! 

Now

i image i mirror Taj Mahal, 

my lovely love affair.

__adeline  ( the woman in-love)

for submission to WPC 20 nov 2019

written by: __ade caparas manilah

wednesday 2:56pm 20 november 2019 sydney australia

Series “Love Letters”

“Love Letters”

cover page Love Letters 2019 by acm [ade caparas manila]

 

this gold glimmer

this passing breeze

though 

i may take 

a snap of it…

it will never 

be back, 

never 

to be duplicated!

ahhhhhhhhh

if only if only 

time will keep still…

for a few seconds 

yes few seconds

then,

i can get 

a glimpse 

of eternity.

      

acm ade caparas manilah

tuesday 1:52pm 09 july 2019 sydney nsw australia

‘Man, the Individual Man’

‘Man, the Individual Man’ 

man is alone… an individual man

cycling a cycle for his existence

mimics nature!

doesn’t the moon

get hidden by the darkness of clouds

yet, comes back in its full glow?

doesn’t the sun’s burning heat

gets over-powered by a heavy rainfall

then back to his smiling shine?

doesn’t a star, a shooting star, fall but recovers?

doesn’t the extensive gentle sea needs to flex with the wind

but gets back to normal?

but… O’ gads!

the ‘individual man’

the best of creations

competes with God.

developed tentacles

of pride lust envy greed…

 finds himself alone in death.

__ade caparas manilah

wednesday 10:29 am  20 november 2019

sydney australia

 

for submission to WPC 20 nov 2019

“a Woman of Essence”-Dr. Santosh Bakaya

consumere

One day, a sunday morning like today the sun is nowhere and i lazily lounged on a hammock,  “am i an indolent cloud floating in the sky, waiting for heavy wind to carry me through, to usher rain,  usher storm”, as i look at the clouds, it asked me.

O cloud O cloud 

consume me… consume me!

You’re a magic to my eyes

you are the curtain that hides 

the beautiful sunrise…

you are the thought

that opens the words

creating a language 

of poetry. _ade c.

 

Santosh Bakaya final photo HD woe 2019Santos Bakaya hails from Kashmir, [India] which is called the paradise on earth, she was born and brought up in Rajasthan, where her father was a professor in the department of English, and where she got her first posting as a lecturer in a post – graduate government college. “I find the silver linings in the grey clouds, my eyes turn to exciting new colours – the colours of the rainbow, the azure blue of the skies, the flamboyant colours of the birds, this how I find myself. One day… I wrote my first poem The fort, but showed to no one, then wrote limericks, which again, I showed to no one.” 

She stays in Jaipur with her husband where they both teach, while their daughter, works in Delhi. Her husband and daughter are both very passionate about literature, there are times of healthy discussions and she considers them as her greatest critics and strongest supporters. A die-hard optimist with a high self-esteem, “ no definitely not bordering on narcissism,” she claims. “ i am an emotional fool, because I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and become attached to people easily.” She has always been an incorrigible romantic, a die – hard dreamer , staunchly believing in  Martin Luther King Jr’s Dream and John Lennon’s’ ‘Imagine’ yearning for  a day when ‘there is nothing to kill or die for’ and ‘all the people sharing all the world’  and  the hues of peace to be splashed all over the world.  I firmly believe that it is love which propels life forward, and if there had been no love, the world would have long back slipped down a dark abyss. I have been relentlessly instilling these values in my students. 

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VENOM POCKMARKED  

Hatred scribbled in the dust of Aleppo. 

 Venom pockmarked on the walls of Manchester Arena.  

 ‘So one last time, I need to be the one who takes you home. ’ 

Lovingly kids echoing, ‘one last time, one last time’. 

Exhausted, they fall silent, hatred once again takes its toll.

 Hatred dripping,  

 Surreptitiously walking the back alleys. 

Venom pouring through eyes

 Hate trying to insinuate itself 

through cracks in ravaging rhetoric. 

Sarin – coated hatred reigning in triumph. 

Hospitals Bombed out, schools crushed.  

  Black, thick pungent hate, bubbling up unexpectedly,   

 snorting out malicious guffaws, unexhausted.  

Rests on a sofa- swing, sharpening its nails.

 Ears plugged against humanity’s wails 

 It mulls over the next attack

 Yearning to be back.

Somewhere a mocking bird 

searches for its lost notes in the raging threnody. 

__Dr. Santos Bakaya

The desire for universal peace is so much a part of her, has written countless poems on peace. Her first book of poetry, ‘Where are the lilacs?’  She had 101 peace poems triggered by the unfairness of an unjust world.

UNDER THE APPLE BOUGHS [2017]. 

Poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi, BALLAD OF BAPU [2014] is all about the significance of love, forgiveness and peace, the relevance of Gandhiism.

Biography of Martin Luther King Jr. Only in Darkness can you see the Stars, has just been published [2019]   

A column, MORNING MEANDERINGS, in Learning and creativity, a very popular E-zine, wherein she raises the issues of poverty and societal disparities. 

No matter what my delusions were,  my muse has always been my dad; he hurled away my essay on Charles Dickens in the tenth standard, remarking that I lacked style, so that time when he gave me the thumbs up, i started to be an exciting consuming cloud. When I feel strongly about something: turbulences in my homeland Kashmir; a sunbeam tickles me on an intensely cold morn; first moonbeam of the night silently in shaft into my room; birds serenade me at the crack of dawn; a toddler chortles happily; an elderly couple holding hands, trudging towards destinations unknown __i either vent on my anguish  or spin excitedly into verses.

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH? 

Where is the truth?

 The Truth and nothing but the truth 

Lost and gasping in the riotous wilderness? 

 Where is it?

Why this ferocity; this dread persistent? 

Why does our laughter have undertones 

of a termite-ridden pine?  

 Truth lies battered, shattered

 Scattered in bloodied shards. 

 

Now, truth matters not!

 Who will stem this rot?

Back then, it mattered a lot.

Now it is torn and tattered, 

 hounded, trapped and hated. 

A vicious blot berated.

A bizarre mixture of shimmering terror 

 and a shape –shifting ferocity.

A veracious vitality- gone – outdated. 

 It is just hidden behind a majestic façade

 reeling under delusions of grandeur, 

 and dizzy heights of exaltation.   

Perched on high horses of arrogance 

spewing words of brazen belligerence. 

It lurches forward, a coward. 

An imposter boasting, 

a braggadocio, a blabbermouth bloated 

 with pride and vanity. 

 Ah, there it is! 

 The truth and nothing but the truth 

peeping from   behind the chuckle of the feisty infant, 

riding side- saddle on his sick mother’s 

skeletal body as she picks bricks 

at the construction site.    

 There it is, again, shining from the brow 

of the diligent farmer [And how!]. 

Yes, I just saw truth 

in the frenzied flight of a frightened bird, 

flapping its wings maniacally, 

leaving a trail of droppings 

in the rampant gloom,

 in a windowless 

room; 

Shackled,

 tethered 

Unfree. 

Truth prevails. 

__Dr.Santosh Bakaya

asked about the feeling of self-detachment:

Self- attachment to the point of narcissism is no… be bothered by the wrong perpetrated around us. Keeping up with the Joneses is a Never… keep feet firmly planted on the ground. Atrocities, wars, poverty, hatred, injustice, intolerance, bigotry, are heaviness that consume her heart, and not self-involvement. She raises her voice through her writings… Dr. Santos Bakaya, a story writer, a poet, an author, a teacher… consumere; like the clouds break-open the freshness of sunrise and the beautiful dawn. _ade caparas manilah 2019 sydney australia

asked to philosophise her Life:

WITHIN ME 

I am the obsolete and shabby, 

spring less chaise of Chekhov’s The steppes, 

rumbling noisily through the maze of life 

clattering, rattling, shattering peace. 

Battling odds; creaking in every sinew, 

unable to begin anew, under a petrified sky.

Short, crashing sounds, howling of hounds.

 Alas, the flowers and the leaves in the bowers,  

all withered from the heat. 

 Half –dead and brown, a symphony arid.

How does one deal with the turbulence within?

Bear and grin, this sound and fury and din?

Ah, soft, what do I see?

Hush, it is so surreal, the air so still.   

 A symphony silent.

Is that an azure stream, tranquil? 

A hibiscus swaying in the breeze? 

Luxuriance hanging from the trees?

Ah, soft, do I   hear the notes of an invisible lyre?

Joints creaking, back aching, but with a spirit unfailing

 I walk on towards the azure stream, 

 no longer creaking in every sinew. 

The new dawn breaks; the sun rays pummel and poke me

 into a pulsing energy. 

 See, the spring in my walk? 

Dr. Santosh Bakaya

(end) 

“a Woman of Essence”- Nargues Mohammadi

doxastikos

“the sky i see seems so near and reachable

yet, no one has ever reach it”

An artist is rich in creations; his colour articulations, his  blends  of shade and light… where his art speaks an ambiguous language yet, in most cases, he dies poor.

The doxa, a literary translator is far more an ‘excellent  literatura’ than any literary writer because he/she has got to extract the very soul of the written piece, before he/she could effectively translate it to another country’s language, i.e without blurring or losing the author’s imparted soul. Translation is not a mere word for word translation, rather it is choosing the right word or grouping of words from original language, to the adoptee country who will read it, it has to be understood well and accepted positively. __ade c.nargues HD final photo woe 2019

Nargues Mohammadi, a language translator from Iran, says, “Spring is the symbol of renovation and  freshness, we renovate our soul and being… hereby as the new year arrives.” A special tradition of mankind to set such table for new year, its called ‘haft sin’ according to Nargues. 

Translation has always served me as a means of transferring and sharing unique and unsaid values to the target language audience. Literary translation of Dr. Jernail Singh Anand books; an Indian intellectual and author of many spiritual works, has opened the door of possibilities to me. Possibility of sharing noble ideas and different viewpoints to the audience whose mindset and thought patterns may vary from many points.

57159879_2286203824764098_6460295802970439680_n

To know, respect, share and introduce, would be the translator’s mission from my viewpoint. Translation of Dr. Anand’s “Bliss” and ” I Belong To You in Farsi, rather than awakening my spirits, received many positive feedbacks from Iranian readers at International book fair of Tehran and Mashhad in 2017 & 2018. After some time, I felt an urge to translate Stephen Guise’s best sellers ” How to be an Imperfectionist?” and “ Mini Habits” as an ointment to the open scars of today’s ambitious man, who seeks everywhere for perfection and faces no achievement.

Persian roots have absolutely impressed my personality and enriched it to the degree that I can claim Cyrus the great’s slogan, “good thoughts, good words & good deeds” has been my motto all lifelong. In young age, when I got familiar with Rumi’s “Sama dance”, which is a symbol of praying  God restlessly without any predetermined rule; I realized the essence of getting connected to God. Attar, Sa’adi, Hafez, Rumi, Avesina and other  Persian poets, mystics and other known sages have thought me to seek God somewhere rather than sky, which is too aloof and far to get close to, but within myself. I believe in the God who is as close as the neck’s vein to get connected to. That devoting life to serving those who need help, is the key to happiness.

Dr Jernail S. Anand’s “Bliss” was as an alert to my stagnant being. His words awakened my soul and flowed it in the direction of consciousness raising. I can claim that my viewpoint about life changed drastically after studying his words. sacrifice is the ultimate magic”, these lines were so inspiring and laid the foundation of my current belief, the words that i can never forget: “Men are either Indians, Greeks, English or Americans, or the Hindus, the Sikhs, the Muslims, the Jews or the Christians. Such divisions of mankind are highly illusory. The differences are purely accidental. Born in Pakistan, one becomes a Muslim and born on this side of Wagah border makes a man Hindu or a Sikh. Souls don’t carry such nomenclatures which are essential for bodies.”

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asked about her philosophical thoughts: 

Look at the well of truth. 

Seek the subconscious, 

to realize yourself, not your ‘self’.           

Pass the labyrinth of 

a thousand twist,

Search for the weeds which suffer you,

Go to the battle of

your inside snakes, 

monster and insects.

Make peace with your animus

which is

the true guide.

express it

reconcile with it

with anima.

this is what

you crave for

all life long.

asked about Peace:

Those who seek Peace, may sooth the restless in different ways, however, real peace comes only if one finds his whole soul devoid of all worldly belongings… only possible way of salvation. Most of Persian poets and mystics as Sa’adi, Attar and Rumi left all possessions to start a journey which is albeit in the outside world, but in fact an inner journey to seek the subconscious being on the path of evolution. I close my eyes for some minutes to seek the ‘Why’ am I in this world and the ‘what’ true meaning of Life? Nostalgia is what I experience mostly.

asked about Love:

To me, love is the essential spark which has lit up the flame of my inner peace in life; that’s a covert pattern which must be discovered by everybody him/ herself in the path of enlightenment. Confining Love to opposite the sex, would be a false definition of such a vast concept. In fact, making love to whatever God has created, is the true meaning of love. And the answer to the question of how to love, have inner peace and go on life, is profoundly simple; make love to every bit of universe, to every living being, from plants, animals to humans and galaxies and then you can receive the reflection of love from cosmos. Inner peace would be established this way, and a peaceful life could be conducted. Rumi expresses

the power of love, 

Apart from love, 

happiness and peace won’t burgeon

Apart from love,

a full-fledged and harmonic being, won’t exist

A thousand drops, 

if shower into the sea of the cloud

Apart from love’s react,

the drop won’t change into the occult pearl

:perception

God is inside our being from the moment of our breath, but like Adam and Eve, our ‘Pride’ takes over… we need to  reach beyond God.

__ade caparas manilah 2019 sydney.

(end)

“a Woman of Essence”- Dr. Sigma Satish

aloneness

It is in aloneness that i realized moi… 

a home walk that opens my mind heart spirit to alertness!

I have always enjoyed being with friends, with the family, with a lover… where loud laughters, some disparaging sadness emanate… but when faced with such boulders of negative nebula, i suddenly pray for aloneness… a solitary corner, where i can pour out my tears, my pains, my alarming scene of death, my various misdeeds, my bleeding self-esteem… and there i find a precious gift for myself: I Must Love Me!!! __ade c.

final HD sigma WWOE 2019

Dr Sigma, an Assistant Prof in English working in a college at Trivandrum, India, is also a prolific  writer  and a poet, also an editor, reviewer and advisory board member in seven international Journals. Dr Sigma has got eleven years of teaching experience as a Professor in India and abroad. 

co-authored book HaikuShe and Taro Aizu of Japan, a well known haiku writer and peace activists,co-authored a Haiku book on 100 countries,title, ’OurLovely Earth’. The book is dedicated to Barack Obama and Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi,both world known leaders, so they may spread the message ‘world is beautiful: human beings should not destroy the harmony, spread love and peace… through out the world.’

Me too

In the laden age of insecurity,

designed by fate,

Summer sky got

embroidered by vibrant colours,

Silver oaks stood straight, 

in the shadow of dusk.

Birds flew to nest.

But everyone walked alone with everybody,

Lips remained bolted

in silent space.

Her eyes glittered into

the far corner of crowded city.

and thirsty cameras 

executed her. 

She tried to climb

topless steps of hope

Tired world 

closed its clock tower 

She swam in a pool of blood

and he got lynched in ‘me too’

Me too…

Dr sigma

She authored four poetry books and recently her ‘Feminine Blues’ got translated into Serbian language. ‘World Institute of Peace’ Nigeria, awarded her ‘World Best Poet of the year 2017’. Recently she received ‘Mirabhai Literary award’ from Organization of united working Journalist forum supported by Public Relations Department, Puri, Govt of Odisha on National Press day 2016. She is an international director of ‘World Union of Poets’ and has participated in several prestigious National and international Poetry festivals.

Sometime in 2017, Dr Jernail S Aanand and I had the chance to interview DrSigma; I asked, “how can you be so beautiful and talented… are you married? Do you have kids? Do you do household chores…please, how do you accomplish all these laurels?”

“Yes, I am married. I have one kid… a smart boy. And I do all house hold chores. I am a normal woman with infinite dreams. In fact my dreams take me to achieve these laurels.. My visualization meditation and never ending day dreams made the me in me. Of course I met a god father two years back who inspired me to publish books and chase my dreams.”

asked about her writings: 

I support, I like free speech and free expression of thoughts;  but as I live in a very orthodox society I don’t mind censoring. Yes… I always censor my thoughts and modify the theme. It is like tip of the iceberg… the real iceberg is that which we don’t see; IS THAT NOT IMPORTANT? __ when we are dealing with text?

about literary ‘madness’:

I believe poets are mad people. Many famous literary and social figures have got psychosis or some disorders… Beethoven, Ernest Hemingway, Nietzsche, Darwin, mood swings, mood disorders, dramatic depression, all quite common among genius people. So we have to do an analysis or reach a conclusion or do some research __is genius a mental disorder? So, poetic creation depends on many such elements.

Love, anger, madness are  trilogy. Madness can be evil and divine gift. I was an average student and an extraordinary dreamer and I dream high. This dream makes me write. Let it be a secret. As poets keep secret and they have such madness inherent in them. Her rich and thematically assorted poetry is characterized by ethical aspirations with an eloquent feminist, human and features of intimacy.

Dr sigma satish WOE HD photo final 2019

Ode to Love 

Night started growing 

And he approached me, 

when I messed up …

I masked pretty well 

but he flowed 

like a river in me.

I saw a man with black eyes 

who spelled secret language of

raw emotions of love.

An enchanting emotion 

to his woman. 

He mumbled himself love, 

love and love.

My heart bleeds 

suddenly and his wondrous touch 

bloomed hue of emotions in us …

Perfume of love, 

numbed our senses 

Sacred flame in his eyes 

commanded,

ordered to subjugate fear forever …

And his love entwined me 

without any demands. 

He loved unconditionally. 

Under the infinite sky, 

we healed our scars

DrSigma

It’s the perspective and wish of the poet or the writer to make it classical. I gave the title ‘Ode to Love’, but I never followed the rules of an ode. It doesn’t follow the strophe or antistrophe or epode, this poetry can be sung, and is addressed to a person.

66344619_1605512339579060_7510156298839654400_n

Vitality of utterances determines the immortality of the poet. Even I, don’t believe in rules, but I gave the title so. Once you polish a work of art beyond a limit it loses its purity..it’s beauty. Romanticism is an emotional attachment between two people… here between writers and society

 

perception:

Dr Sigma’s poetries are picturesquely languaged in all her writings, here i poetize the sensual fetishes: ahhhhhhhhhh… it is in aloneness… in her own little corner that every poet discovers his/her reality madness.

he kissed 

my toes

the ticklish noise

i made

brought 

his moist lips

sealing my lips 

his soul my soul 

are one.

perceptive poetry by: __ade caparas manilah