“a Woman of Essence”- Lily Swarn

Primulaceae

A first rose, even the eternity of Time and Space in its rolling upside-down movements, won’t ever be changed nor be moved by the pressing darkness of  the winds… in fact, its aromatic splendour can’t even  be stopped. Anyone it touches gets infected with love, a love that would never change course till the end of never.

HD lily final WOE 2019

Lily Swarn, first to exhibit at my WUP Virtual PoetEncomium Galleria 2017, and who was awarded a distinctive certificate, “Global Poet Encomium Of Peace and Universal Love, has been on continuous wings… seemingly, her talents are blessed by the naughty ‘Time and Space’. She has written four books. Her poetry collection , A Trellis Of Ecstasy, has been lauded by the Journal of Commonwealth Literature, London as a “ veritable delight “. Her novel The Gypsy Trail , was launched by the Governor of Punjab? History On My Plate is her latest book. She won 27 awards till date like the Reuel International Prize for Poetry 2016… quite continuous trails other poets find difficult to mirror due to‘Space and Time’ misty tantrums.

But who would be surprised, when she grew up in an enchanted world of multi-hued dreams visualized with coloured glasses . A daughter of a brilliant lawyer father and a gorgeous gentle encouraging mother whose generous soul lived in her large limpid eyes, and though given all the things she ever wanted, her disciplinarian father had still successfully infused on to her, the noble decency and beauty of feminine being.

Her city of birth, Chandigarh, North of India, brags of its well planned City; broad tree lining the avenues with vibrant bursting blossoms in its every changing season, compliments Lily’s life fascinating dreams. Schooled in the best convent in town, Carmel Convent, her super-devouring reads, made her an outstanding student both in studies and extra curricular activities; her teachers so loved her  her first award; a short story written for the Blood Bank Society of India, when she was barely  eleven age.

“Sometimes i get perturbed by my diminutive stature so I wear high heels during my gawky teenage years. My flowing tresses, my expressive eyes, flaunted on  my passion for elocution and dramatics, where upon  leaving school, I earned the title “versatile genius “.

College was a joyous medley of Honours in English, French Optional, History and Hindi. She  discovered learnt various arts of literature thereby,  collected impressive caches of medal and award, judged as the Best All Around student,  received a Gold Medal .

Spiritualism and Religions caught up with her too. Nothing second best for her, a real Primulaceae, she was  an active student leader, created a Wall Magazine in which she and other students poured their  hearts. “I won two university colours . One for Dramatics as best actress and one for Histrionics. Roles were  being offered for films but I had education on my mind. It was by a strange stroke of luck that I was offered a job as a lecturer of English in the coveted Sacred Heart College, Dalhousie. I was barely two years older than the girls I started teaching and my results had still not come.”

Her arranged marriage to an army officer changed the course of her small town life… she travelled all over India in various cantonments, her two children schooled in myriad schools.  The death of her 23 age son, stabbed  jolted her joyous life for a while, until poetic language, which is inside her, activated her pen to creating beautiful verses, phrases… becoming her crutches, alleviating her griefs, which gifted her over 27 awards and four highly appreciated and widely acclaimed books to her credit

A Trellis Of Ecstasy ( Poetry )

Lilies of the Valley ( essays )

The Gypsy Trail (a  novel )

History on my Plate ( the origin of food)

asked about Life:

“It is said that life is a whim of several billion cells  to be ‘you’ for a while. I feel that there has to be much more to this fascinating thing called life . The pessimists feel, you are born, wet, naked and hungry ,then things get worse! Sometimes you get a splinter in your thigh, sliding down a rainbow. For most of us, life is a foreign language, which we often mispronounce. A famous man’s grandfather told him that life is like licking honey off a thorn! For all these dismal creatures , I entreat and beseech you to see the wondrous  creation that we are. An astounding , accurate, bewildering  jigsaw of nerves, skin and veins which is infused with a  powerful , immortal soul. We are  venerable; we are divine; we are the world. We are indeed staggeringly stunning. A magical creature that is breathing, walking , dancing, singing. So let us be grateful for the gift of life and not ruin it by mourning and cribbing about the package it is in. Let us measure out our life with the proverbial coffee spoons. Life is to be lived in its minuscule moments of tiny joys.”

asked about Love:

“A balm that soothes frayed souls and dejected beings .The panacea for all ills and the manna from heavens that keeps one inebriated and immersed in a meditative state of thankfulness.Love is life . Hate corrodes the vessel it is in . Love makes it glow with irradiance and luminosity. Love has the magnetic power to open doors that no dynamite can ever blow off. Keeping the flame of love alive and shining is the secret of perennial bliss. Love can help you achieve Nirvana for the love of God is more potent than the love for any mortal .As the legendary love story of Punjab Heer Ranjha says “ Ranjha Ranjha kardini.”

lily2 draft

Mai aape Ranjha hoyi                                

By chanting my beloved’s name

I have become one with him 

 

 

 

Poem 1

If 

If the gleaming beads of perspiration  just above your upper lip morphed into diamonds ,

I wouldn’t ever try to steal them

and I would let them glow on your ecstatic visage 

Sanctifying my prayer room with their divine luminosity 

If the rivers from your mountains went into spate as they meandered over my plains 

I would let them break their embankments and rush across my fields 

My paper boats would wobble and tremble till I drowned in the tsunami of your love 

If the burnt sienna of the maple leaves would lie fuming on their own carpet 

I would add incense to their smoke and dance like a dervish in trance 

My white turban singing a soulful melody with my ballooning robes 

If the world was going to vanish into the ether along with your soul 

I would pick up your shreds from the shrapnel in my heart and whisk you away 

Safe in the caverns of Peace and repose where 

I could watch you sleep like a dreaming baby 

If the ifs in my life were not the ifs in yours 

Then this verse would still be waiting to be read by you 

Copyright Lily Swarn 6.4.2019 

[end]

 

“a Woman of Essence”-Nagasuseela Panchumarthi

endurante

A tough mountain, uncorrupted untempered Space and Time, a silhouette  of endurance is what life is…. when one, finally releases a smile, then she has found life.  “Sip the best in life, emit the essence through out, meet all pains with smiles,” Seela says.

HD final nagasuseela WOE 2019

Nagasuseela Panchumarthi, a lovely woman from Guntur, a lady-nut to crack… not by the pouring rains or roaring lions nor the earth-moving upheavals __nooooo, not Seela!  She is inside that force, she seeks defines overcomes  all routes not by anger or hate but by love. A character of friendships and hospitality, a giver from the heart, she is the biblical image of humility, a being of in and out beauty.

 An image of movement, the perpetual uprooting and planting, she paints life, “life blooms like a flower, coughs like toddler , snakes life a river , melodious like a dove… life can be both gloom and glow.” .As a poet, she is outside the language, words comes in spontaneity; drive her pen to verses and phrases in a most paradoxical flair. 

Push…!

Life flows all alone

Sprinkling memories

Incessantly all the way

Creating counter flows

Every now and then

Leaving indelible

Rhymes and rhythms

Into the world of oblivion

Saga of live feelings

Enchant eternally!

FB_IMG_1562640044325

The ripples of silences 

The waves of vexation          

The tides of despair                     

The pools of ecstasy

Touch the shores

Of heart throbs

Recite the tales 

Of strange fate

Weave the tunes

Of fresh hopes                 

Push the dusk into dawn

©P.Nagasuseela

Prof P.Nagasuseela is a Bilingual Writer, Poet, Author, Editor, Critic, Translator, Short Story Writer, Motivator, Event Manager, Propagator of World Peace, Designs the Title Covers, Posters, Post Cards with Poetry on it, Painter, Interior Designer, Social Activist, a Good Host and a Culinarian, Organizer , Comperor and Sponsor of International Poetry fest.

An A-Z littéraire complice… 

she produces poetry festivals every year; presented more than  90 research papers in International Conferences & Seminars and Symposia, chaired the Sessions, Radio Talks, delivered  50 guest lectures on Communication Skills , Personality development, Phonetics, acted as Resource Persons, organized  60 Work shops, Seminars etc for teachers, lecturers and students in different colleges in our state.

Indeed…!  You told me, You’d change me, Indeed….!

You changed me You changed my life my fate my lot my state

You told me, You’d change m e,Indeed….!

You changed me You changed my thoughts my words my deeds my paths

You told me, You’d change m e,Indeed….!

You changed me You changed my hopes my wishes my desires my dreams

You told me, You’ed change m e,Indeed….!

You changed me, You changed my ideas my ideals my beliefs my feelings

You told me, You’d change m e,Indeed….!

You changed me You changed my aims my plans my waysmy means

You told me, You’d change m e,Indeed….!

You changed me You altered me, You faltered me, You fixed….

A bolt in my throat, A clot in my mind, A stunt in my soul

You told me, You’d change m e,Indeed….!

You changed me You changed , My treasures Into trash….!

You changed My tracks Into cracks….!

© P.Nagasuseela

At present she is working as Associate Professor in the Dept of English, J.K.C.College, Guntur, A.P. She is the Vice -Chairman to College Magazine, Vistruthi -Extension Activities Wing & Women’s Wing in the college. She is the Joint Secretary to All India English Teachers Association, Executive Member to Dr Jayapradamba Degree College, Kakatiya Student Welfare Society, closely associated with many educational Institutions and online groups. __ade c. 2019 Sydney Australia

      

[end]

“a Woman of Essence”- Pramila Khadun

determinare

am i created alone, left under the sky, to rig and pull the heat of the sun, the pouring rains… wary of oncoming tsunami, tornado, war… all,  to batter movements of beings?

Am i abandoned? Shirk whatever may come? No… abandonment is a valuation of my determination; a gift allowing my superhuman nature to shine its armours… so i may create me, paint me, sculpt me… a portrait of my own love, my art of life!

I should thank God for coating my outside with a determined soul, a built-in character that images Him. My dreams, expectations, hopes… i would face like a battering ram: all the roughness of the seas, the violent winds in the sky, all the boulder-rocks that would block my routes… these are giant Goliaths and i the created David. __ade c.

pramila HD photo final WOE 2019

Pramila Khadun from Mauritius, born in a remote village, Camp Ithier, married  to a wonderful man, Raj  Khadun, and blessed with 3 lovely children, who themselves have found their excellent place under the sun. She grew up in a family who had to strive their daily share of sunlights but who trained her and her other siblings… that rainbow is somewhere there to be reached. 

Her mother has been the main motor in forging her destiny, inculcating the right informal education and philosophy about life. The poem below is a summary of what she learned from her. 

 mother’s message

When your senses are numbed

With fears of a disturbed tomorrow

And the candle of life flickers in melancholic brooding,

Say to yourself, ‘I cannot dance to all music.’

Shake off the pernicious bend of your conceptualized  mind

And trace out another route, rational and compassionate.

Like attires in the wardrobe, trouble always hangs around,

The everyday paraphernalia.

Ease the agony of the raging inferno.

With a cuddle sometimes and a snuggle at other times.

Silent and shy, be a woman of substance.

When your hopes are clouded with cold calculations of others,

And dreams shattered by their blunt manipulations,

Fear not, be poised.

Creative and assertive, live in the indicative spirit,

Keeping the subjunctive aside.

With elegance and brilliance of your soul,

Be a woman of grace with a beautiful mind. __pramila khadun

“I went to India to pursue my tertiary education in Food and Nutrition in S.N.D. T College. Since my young days I believe in peace and love and have always treated people alike in spite of financial status, religious belief or caste and creed.” She worked in Modern College as a Food and Nutrition Educator, where she failed none of her students in this subject, few of them got state scholarships which is usually reserved to the star colleges…a trophy of joy for my heart”.

And God danced with me

Whenever I felt a bit dead inside,

And needed a time for retreat and self-renewal,

My higher state of consciousness
Guided me towards meditation.
Nestled in God’s lap, I looked
At the colourful fish swimming coquettishly
In the pond under the shade of the weeping willows.
I smiled and God smiled with me unabashedly.

Whenever I felt drowned in troubled waters,

With the bleak hope of seeing a straw,

As if planet earth was under a cataclysmic asteroid impact,

The lush green grass invisible,

And the grapes perched in delicate silence,

My shrivelled heart deprived of warmth,

I cried and God cried with me uncontrollably.

When I think of serendipitous poets

Who write about poetic adventures

And sensual ecstasy with consummate skill,

Resonating with universalism of human identity,

I feel a deep satisfaction and I am swept off

By the aesthetic beauty of their outstanding intellect.

I sing a song and God sings with me beautifully.

When I saw walls being broken

And bridges being made laboriously,

Deafening silence replaced by brotherly dialogue,

Love-drenched souls emerging from savvy grounds,

Rose gardens made in place of battlefields,

Men radiating a gentlemanly demeanour

And women smiling with love of oceanic depth,

I danced and God danced with me gracefully.

—pramila khadun

Her poetries have moved the heart of people around the globe through the hundred books of anthology that printed her works. A various awardee from many Literature groups:

  1. Reuel International Prize for writing an literature in 2015. 
  2. The inspirational poet for year 2017 for Pentasi –B under the care of Dr Penpen, based in Philippines. 
  3. As one of the Incredible women of India, having published
  1. A text book for food and nutrition for school certificate students. It is being used by seven colleges across the Island.
  2. Understanding Diabetes 
  3. Six collections of poetry 
  4. Two novels namely : When love speaks and He left everything for her.  

pramila 2            pamila 3           pramila 1

“I do not believe in hoarding wealth, of things… I believe in giving and sharing and that we are the reapers of our own karma. I love humanity as a whole and consider all men as brothers and sisters. All children are  ours without any discrimination. On the whole, this is what gives me the feeling of self detached.”

My Philosophical Thoughts:. 

The minutes of our time

I have been thinking of Darwin’s theory

That living beings evolve by natural selection

And I have been thinking as well

How these living beings

May have natural extinction,

From this dimensional plane

By a natural or supernatural selection.

Without being too ceremonious or ingenious,

I this ruthless world where

Brickbats are many and bouquets few

And my pen is not yet a cow-gone-dry,

I shall cry from the canyons,

Emotions gushing through my veins,

Until my marble-skinned throat

Goes dry singing the unsung songs.

Look at the volcanoes spewing volcanic ash,

The earth shivering in fear,

The lands calling for the waters to drown them,

The social unrest, the injustice,

The totalitarian and Machiavellian rule,

The listless eyes in cavernous sockets,

Looking for a brighter tomorrow

And the tricking of the simpletons

Where men are no longer brothers.

My brain, like a train is screeching to a halt

When I think of all those facets of life,

The futility of opulence,

The elation of accomplishments false,

The cardinal sins no one cares about,

The scapegoating of the feeble,

The undeserved gains and pains,

And the angelic stature of maidens’ beat

Like worms inside the rose buds.

It is believed that a change of attitude

Favours a change of altitude.

Let us rise up, free and unimpeded,

In a togetherness bound in

An uncompromising hard-edged candour,

Recycled, immaculate and glorious

As the minutes of our time

Are hastening to their end

Slowly but surely.

__pramila khadun

Has man really evolved?

A veil of melancholy hangs over my face

When I think of the way the earth

Is reacting to the accumulated

Sins of mankind.

The prominent and pioneering leaders,

The makers of civilization,

The saints with a halo round their heads,

The reasonable and reachable trend setters,

The poets, painters, singers and path finders

Are all perched in delicate silence like grapes.

I feel so suffocated thinking of air pollution,

A nausea grips me thinking of water pollution

And noise pollution is about to make me deaf.

The sky scrapers are touching the sky

And the farthest recesses of the mind

Are being dug out to be able

To settle on the moon and Mars

When down below, children are dying of hunger,

Snowfall killing the homeless

And brothers are making walls

Instead of bridges.

Can we say that man has evolved?

Hearths and homes are many

Mourning the deaths of beloved ones

In attacks, confrontation, wars and blasts.

Nobody has time either for God or for oneself.

The rat race for amassing wealth is irresistible

As if wealth is everything in life.

When will man realize that we are all one.

The day this happens, it will mean

That man has really evolved.

__pramila khadun

comments by: Dr Jernail S Aanand

critical analysis by: Cijo Joseph Chennelil

TO FOLLOW UPON PUBLICATION

“a Woman of Essence”-Padmaja lyengar-Paddy

elle es completéte 

yet her woman’s mysticism,  the what if’ surfaces…

When God created Eve, the objective was for her to be Adam’s companion and helper, she wasn’t created to be the mother of civilization! Everything in paradise were in its perfect need, beauty, want, a being of completeness. Eve would wander around in laughters of satisfaction, but the the ‘snake’, [ a character-created by the story teller] which in fact is an inner abstract thought of every living being, called MYSTICISM heated Eve’s soul…
h  er “what if”.  And she ate the apple, the aiming-PRIDE, to be like God… the rest is history, she became the mother of civilisation.

This feminine mysticism would somehow open and explore her mind to this vast horizon could offer. Like Eve, our World-Eve, who knows what she wants, will seek and will get it, yet upon reaching there, her insatiable spirit will wander in the field of “what if”. A world renown  actress would ask herself, what if i pursued my first inclination of being a world-leader; what if i married so and so, instead of my husband now; what if i pursued my being a nun? This mysticism of what-if, in most cases, occupies a woman’s mind of silence._ade c

patty HD final WOE 2019 photo

Padmaja Iyengar- Paddy, a senior ex-banker and a former urban governance consultant, is currently  the Hon. Literary Advisor, The Cultural Centre of Vijayawada and Amaravati (CCVA), and on the Advisory Panel of International Society for Intercultural Studies and Research (ISISAR), Kolkata. 

Patty’s “what-if”………

MY RESTLESS BEING …

Sometimes, days just come and go;

Time flies and I don’t seem to know

What I did, how the days really went,

Why I was so and what it really meant.

Mind seems to aimlessly wander;

Precious time it seems to squander.

No aims, no objectives, no vision;

Life plods on, on a goalless mission.

Eyes appear to see unseeingly,

Mind seems to think mindlessly,

Heart seems to feel heartlessly,

Confusion continuing endlessly.

Why am I like this, I don’t know.

What should I do, I don’t know.

How do I solve this, I don’t know.

Where am I headed, I don’t know.

My poetry bows in humble supplication

To my restless being crying for salvation.

Gone is the brightness from the inner self aglow

Padmaja Iyengar-Paddy

She has compiled and edited 5 International Multilingual Poetry Anthologies, one of them ‘WWW – Women, Wit & Wisdom’ of women poets across the globe. The latest Amaravati Poetic Prism 2018 has 1111 poems in 107 languages contributed by over 630 poets from 76 countries. The 2016, 2017 and 2018 editions of this unique multilingual poetry anthology, have been recognized by the prestigious Limca Book of Records.  

paddy draft

 LOW MOOD – GHAZAL

Everything seems so dark when the mood is low            

Like the candle on a burn out and a death slow

Life seems to be slipping off when the mood is low

Thoughts caught in constant ebb and irregular flow

Mind unable to think straight when the mood is low

“This too shall pass” adage seems really hollow

Everything seems so shallow when the mood is low

Depression troops in to deal me a solid blow

Ennui and fatigue set in, when the mood is low

Hopelessness follows everywhere like a shadow

Oh ‘Paddy’! Nothing seems right when the mood is low

Padmaja Iyengar-Paddy

Her maiden poetry collection ‘P-En-Chants’ has also been recognized as a Unique Record of Excellence by the India Book of Records. An official Member of the World Nation Writers’ Union in Kazakhstan, she is regularly invited to national and international literary events to read her poems and present her papers. Her poems, articles and short stories, some of them prize-winners, have been published in various national and international anthologies, print journals and e-zines. Her poems have also been translated into several languages. 

I AM …

the falling leaf

the gripping grief 

the fading sunlight

the bird in low flight

the overcast sky

the eye with a sty

the receding hairline

the onset of a whine

the empty heart and soul

the overflowing manhole

the withering flower

the mind bereft of power

the dismantled home

the gaping-teeth comb

the much-dog-eared book 

the one with a caged bird look

the tell-tale signs of age

the burden of heavy baggage

the crack in my aging bones

the voice in hushed tones

the epitome of confusion

the definition of conclusion

Padmaja Iyengar-Paddy

Paddy is the recipient of the SETU-2018 Award for Excellence (Special Mention-Individual) instituted by SETU the Pittsburgh-based bilingual e-zine, “Ambassador De Literature” Medal from Motivational Strips and the title of “Distinguished Literary Personality” from Vishwabharati Research Centre / Sahitya Anand, India, for her contributions and service to literature. She was the Guest Editor of ‘Women, Power & Creativity’ edition of SETU-March, 2019 issue, in which she has presented 312 poems by 110 women poets from 25 countries.

Why Feedback…?

I read everything that comes my way.

And also post a feedback as my say,

On what has been painstakingly written
For public viewing and an honest opinion.

Do I post my feedback on others’ works,

Hoping to get their comments as perks

On the poems and articles that I write,

With a fond hope of not being taken light?

Most definitely, a feedback enables to improve;

Any glitches in one’s writes, it helps to remove…

Feedback is a process of mutual assistance;

A process that promotes literary coexistence.

A feedback signals a positive sign

To the writers to rectify and refine

Their works with exacting and total care,

To make the final product a delectable fare!

To give feedback, please don’t ever hesitate.

And a little of your time, please do dedicate,

To write a positive and meaningful comment

And forge a partnership for each others’ ascent!

 

A WOMAN’S MYSTIC

a woman’s dream

to fall in love

to be married                                                

to have children

but 

not to be addressed                            

as Tom’s wife

nor Peter’s sister

no not as 

Ely’s mother

a woman is

her own 

she has created

but then

the what-if 

surfaces

in the midst                                                                                      

of her laurels…                                                                              

A WOMAN’S MYSTIC.  

__ade caparas manilah

2019 sydney nsw australia                                                                     

                                                                                                         

comments by: Dr . Jernail S. Aanand

critical analysis by: Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil

TO FOLLOW UPON PUBLICATION

“a Woman of Essence”- Dr Deepa Ram

verisimilitudo

a seemingly true actual reality

 One has varied desires interests, dreams, wants and has the freedom to acquire any  or all those but is one really free? While it’s true, i love to sing; i can sing any time i wish to, yet it is but a mere subjected mask…  i am enveloped  swallowed by cautiousness  to please others… it isn’t a pure freedom, i must perform clean render practice worry, anxious to conquer other’s passion race religion language nation, like the endless flow of sea waves in this vastness of the world. 

Because moi, singing for myself alone, would eventually be a boredom. Freedom goes hand on hand with conquering… be a fighter a survivor __ i need to feel i have captured, a victor… an inner victory that must be reached attained, to catch that silence of joy;  an essential attribute for innovation and originality, leaps and bounds.!

deepa final HD WOE 2019 photo

Dr. Deepa Ram is an Indian born, Australian poet, artist, lecturer and Scientist. Poetry, music and painting  was in her veins right from childhood, although she pursued Science as her profession. “Talents that I have nurtured, semi nurtured, not nurtured and unrealised… SELF… our pervasive consciousness, a creativity in motion, is the reservoir and ‘one tap’ to our spontaneous creative computer, it ebbs off in a turbulent chaotic ocean. Our subtle creative seeds need a still ocean to propagate as constructive ripples to manifest itself to a lush  forest.”                                

She did her schooling in India, and secured her phD in Chemistry. Later, she migrated to Australia where she currently works for Deakin College. She lectures Chemistry to students from around the globe, and actively engaged in Science Education research.

She was selected as one among the five best International Poet of 2016 by the World Union of Poets and has innumerable publication of poems in many global anthologies including The World Poetry Book and The World Peace Anthology. Her poems were recited in British radio podcasts. Her publication, The Inner Quiet was displayed at the Los Angeles Times Festival of books. She is also a vocalist and Veena player. She has also participated in many International art exhibitions, to name a few, Alliance Francaise in India, Index exhibition, World Trade Centre Dubai, Emirates Plalace, Abudhabi, and the New York Art Expo.

Deepa poetises:

Poetry

A natural endowment,

Creative or intellectual,

Artistic or technical,

Social or personal,

Perception of myself

Complex and hidden,

With metaphors plenty,

Open to be demystified..

Painting

Gifted from childhood 

With pigments and tools,

I am a tree

That grows quietly and slowly…

A painting for me,

As painful

As a sharp knife piercing my skin

And the locked up 

Walk out free…

A symbolic journey

From marshland of origin

Creeping to my psyche

As the birth of time…

pic 5

Music

A hereditary seed 

From womb

Dissolved in every cell

And as I breathe out 

Permeates 

to ignite a fire

in my low days…

1huekqz55n41s-1

 

Science

An acquired mirth

Not pre-packed from birth,

My favourite best

Of zest and test..

It kicks a rebut

On my genetic butt

Of intellectual craving

And scientific learning…

1huekqz55n41s

 

Deepa claims, “although science on a broader perspective deals with materialism, innovation and wellbeing, Iwas always fascinated by pure science faculties which capture imagination and nurture creativity. Poetry, painting and music is all about discovering and articulating my inner world. Two sides of the same coin, but with shared experience.”

I kiss the Earth
with my insane feet,
and the river of time
with my muddy lips..

My ears oscillate
to my incoherent breath,
my lungs inhale
my drunken pride..

The cure spells,
gates of moon,
spruce and swaddle
my monkey mind,
to a quieter ocean…

I mix water with air
in my dolorous ether,
make ash less carnage
of my flame of severance..

My inner light
accord with the Sun..

I realise..
My manifoldness is oneness!!

Philosophy 

A feigned oath, at the axis of exhale
A fervent tree, rooted on sun’s trail
both besmeared by the same brush
with chafed blood, sweat and flesh…

The world
A filthy porridge with leprous bones
meditating on holistic clones,
Its monstrous unjust waves
pronounce misspelled celestial phrases…

Quiet hollows in your ugly roots
Serpents disown
Worms devour…

Now the universe awaits
to drink my erupting volcanoes,
Taints of liberty, hyphenates
my reckoning maledictory tornadoes…

Day after day, time after time….

Love still hawking through the narrow ridge
Seasoned for another fudge
Let me grab your dusty hand
and crave the consented woodland…

64423262_2728916787138403_5825081594569818112_n

 Loneliness has put me in its own image. Having fun with my imaginary friends, I’m dying of self-esteem in my kulsitamāya singularity, the organic expression of truth and life. I was proud of the raṅgāviṣkāra of the fake human being, and followed the heroes of my race as a madness.

I was searching for me in the darkest parts of my rented house. I can hear the vibration of my blood in the flowing rivers. The useless hands that were blooming in the spiders of the trees that were blooming there were māṭiviḷiccukeāṇṭēyirunnu me. The tongue culture that praises my naked body knows the words that have been letter against me with the vyākulatakaḷēāṭe of a hunter. My kaṇṭhanāḷattile uminīർ kurukkukaൾ in black clouds. The violent winter that came out of the fake memory of the black sky made my dead flesh a black light.

65768652_2762772560419492_3751812846845952_n      59079103_467170830693903_981595439558033408_n

asked about Love:

Love just happens,

As a night of constellations

Far 

From the burning marrow..

As a green granary

Away

From the forest of delusions..

As a slow fire,

Abandoned

By gushing waterfalls..

As Sun

With dissolved images

On his wrinkled cheeks..

As a little bird

That feather and perches 

On my valley of ashes

A paradox 

In contrast….

asked about Life:

Deepa says, Life is a ceaseless attempt to attain freedom. We are enslaved to a multi armed demon within us, with thousands of arms of chronic thoughts, fear, lack of compassion, emotionless attitude, anger, jealousy, swollen feelings and shimmering insights deep rooted in every cell. We try to deny it, suppress it and hide it with an appealing expressive ‘I’. We feign it isn’t there and try to design and build a whole new culture and civilization to distract ourselves from this monster and to prove its nonexistence. But it never goes away. It remains as an inner noise in atomic form in our subconscious and manifest itself in perceivable subtle forms in all our actions and relationships. Realising this monster within us is our own key to absolute freedom and the road to a peaceful coexistence.”

Life

Is a 

Quest,
uncomfortable,
a ferry to inside..

Seeking new realms
of unanswered probes…
Aisles of the untrodden,
sky and the sea…
Expanse of wilderness
of bushes and weeds…
The nothingness,
camouflaged by ego…

My ferry is adventurous..

Why to refuse this call,
when my journey itself is home…

asked about Peace:

In the pause of a breath,
the inner emptiness

neither polluted nor pure,
that which neither appear nor disappear,
opens the window
to embrace life of imperfections
and endless delusions…

 

1huekqz55n41s-1

A verisimilitudo, an accomplished being in her given freedom, she has  penetrated and has attained all  her desires, but at the end, still succumb  to the whiles of this world, her hopes her fears her imagination her perceptions, all  habits of sensibility are subjected  to customs traditions and values which have been handed down to the whole world commencing from our first parent. Blessed with the youth, the beauty, the health, the opportunity, the time the space, she has reached all her desires, yet she still has to smile and cry, talk and listen, allure contemporaries, bothers, sisters, friends, parents… to belong  to. Such irony; we determine what we want, the world determines how we handle it. Freedom in a sense is an abstract dream.

 

comments by: Dr Jernail S Aanand

critical analysis by: Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil

to follow upon publication

“a Woman of Essence”- Dr. Deepa Ram

verisimilitudo

a seemingly true actual reality

One has varied desires interests, many dreams, plenty of wants and free to get into any of those, tagging it as freedom but is one really free? While it’s true, i love to sing and i will sing any time i wish to, but i am a mere subjected mask…  i am enveloped  swallowed by cautiousness  to please others… it isn’t a pure freedom, i must perform clean render practice worry __anxious to conquer other’s passion race religion language nation, like the endless flow of sea waves in this vastness of the world. 

Because finding moi singing for myself alone, would eventually be a boredom. Freedom goes hand on hand with conquering, i become a fighter a survivor __capturing an inner victory that must be reached attained, to catch that silence of joy ! deepa final HD WOE 2019 photo

Dr. Deepa Ram, is an Indian born, Australian poet, artist, lecturer and Scientist. She did her schooling in India,  and secured her phD in Chemistry. Later, she migrated to Australia where she currently works for Deakin College. She lectures Chemistry to students from around the globe, and actively engaged in Science Education research.

Poetry, music and painting was in her veins right from childhood, although she pursued Science as her profession. She was selected as one among the five best International Poet of 2016 by the World Union of Poets and has innumerable publication of poems in many global anthologies including The World Poetry Book and The World Peace Anthology. Her poems were recited in British radio podcasts. Her publication, The Inner Quiet was displayed at the Los Angeles Times Festival of books. She is also a vocalist and Veena player. She has also participated in many International art exhibitions, to name a few, Alliance Francaise in India, Index exhibition, World Trade Centre Dubai, Emirates Plalace, Abudhabi, and the New York Art Expo.

 

Yes… Deepa has the youth the beauty the health the opportunity the time the space, she is a very much an accomplished woman, yet she still has to smile and cry, talk and listen, allure contemporaries, bothers, sisters, friends, parents… to belong  to. We determine what we want, the world determines how we handle it. Freedom in a sense is an abstract dream. 

Deepa wrote a poem sometime in 2015: 

The Journey too long and heavy

slow tread, trembling,

with crossroads and detour,

I find myself a sinking star

on the isle of wild blue yonder.
I bleed as I tread through
the sharp stones on my swollen creeks.
Demons laugh, I ignore,
the world is too small for its deceptive lanes.
Death mean it, but not to yield to,
for the purpose hold its beacon high
and swing to and fro as the path narrows.,
I read myself, but it little profits me,
as my vaulted wishes cry for mercy.
Life seems so meaningless,
as I try to swim on swamp.
Where am I now
And my distant cloud who wrap me warm?

Dr. Deepa Ram  05 june 2025

my perceptive version au contraste:

i trut trutting 

a turtle trut

bumps and corners

bother me not

my  thoughts

are focused

laughters sneers

kicks stamps 

hit me 

hah! my hardback…

but i arrived

still whole. 

my freshness

against fastness

is their death

my victory? 

_ade caparas manilah

64423262_2728916787138403_5825081594569818112_n

Loneliness has put me in its own image. Having fun with my imaginary friends, I’m dying of self-esteem in my kulsitamāya singularity, the organic expression of truth and life. I was proud of the raṅgāviṣkāra of the fake human being, and followed the heroes of my race as a madness.

I was searching for me in the darkest parts of my rented house. I can hear the vibration of my blood in the flowing rivers. The useless hands that were blooming in the spiders of the trees that were blooming there were māṭiviḷiccukeāṇṭēyirunnu me. The tongue culture that praises my naked body knows the words that have been letter against me with the vyākulatakaḷēāṭe of a hunter. My kaṇṭhanāḷattile uminīർ kurukkukaൾ in black clouds. The violent winter that came out of the fake memory of the black sky made my dead flesh a black light.

Green Assault

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I have lately been working on some political topics with a new political party… 

this one is a bit of comedy, kinda dark but still.

If you have concerns of 5g make a share..

 

pic 5    1huekqz55n41s    1huekqz55n41s-1

Deepa, a verisimilitudo, have accomplished beautifully in her given freedom, she has  penetrated and has attained all  her desires, but at the end, still succumb  to the whiles of this world, her hopes her fears her imagination her perceptions, all  habits of sensibility are subjected  to customs traditions and values which have been handed down to the whole world commencing from our first parent. Now, are we born free? Free to have but still have to conform? Are you giving me a free cup of coffee but still have to drink it accordingly?__ade c. 2019

comments by: Dr Jernail S Aanand

critical analysis by: Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil

to follow upon publication

 

“a Woman of Essence”- Hana Shishiny

honey

in the bible, honey is milk-sweet

amongst lovers, honey is sweet-kiss

from a Mom to a child, it is a sweet-love. 

     Somewhere in a forlorn corner of a train station, she slouches on the concrete platform floor-tiles to wait for another hour train-arrival; she had missed the last one. Withered like a branch in anticipation of her lover’s reaction on her being late, “ah… he’ll leave me!!!”… and she unknowingly fell asleep yet awoken by a tap on her shoulder, “hi, would you rather take my seat Miss?”, a youthful man, with all his mile-smiles offers. “O, thanks, I’m fine”, yet he is already holding her hands, leading her to his vacant seat. The genesis of love; accident in the midst of despair.

hana leaves final WOE 2019 HD

Hana Shishiny, a petal of love, a milk of honey, a sweet kiss, a sweet-love, is from a divine part of  Lebanon… her  roots, family..surrounding  and system of life, grew  the enthusiastic desire in her, to seek beauty and perfection. Her innocence filled her with such landscapes of nature… “I am keeping in every step of life; the mountains the Cedars,  where I enjoy visiting the areas where Jibran lived during his  early days. His first  words of wisdom affected me, blew me !”  Hana, a heavy reader, Gibran engraved in her the love for purity… where she craves craves craves,  traces traces all Gibran’s  philosophie about Love. “I am thankful to that part of my life  before I got on to the mundane world’s social masks.”

asked about Life: Naked Life is an endless desert of burning sands under a heavy sun of hard inquiries and self-truth searching identity.

asked about Love: Love is the touch of shade, the breeze of Eden, the shelter and the healer when days get  unfair __the Balsam when the aching sun engraves  our skin with burning scars of unending chaos; the meaningful rising of Hopes when drown  in nothingness of losses. It is the beauty of soulfulness rays of moon, the sensuality of storming waves upon the shore and the kind warmth  of the caressing tide.

asked about Peace: Peace is the holder of this existence… performing a paradisiac calm and a heavenly  atmospheric environment, to keep the equilibrium till the end. In childhood, i used to look around through colours and shapes, lights and shades… painting my dreams.

Hana is an Interior Designer, she aims nothing but more than marvelous ambience; as an artist, her shades of lights and shadows, spell-bound her patrons during her few exhibits; but as a poet, she is a lover __ her poetry-painting: the words, the verses, the  languages, silhouette her soul her spirit her emotions her dreams fantasies imaginations, source from some   hallucinated realities that come to attain the perfect actuality. 

Hana, a Lebanese, experienced the civil war, she didn’t want to leave her country, with the hope of seeing the end of it… the horrors on the streets, the innocent blood staining her beloved Beirut city, while being aware of  the politic commercial  side of the war wherein the selling and buying prices of  arms were discussed while number of victims increased. She  had to run out of this inferno … left for Egypt, where she discovered a new her, a self-growth within her,  a new perspective of life…  a new principles.

Now looking back through the years, her innocence, her dreams… the deceptions the despairs, those black and white canvass of lights and shades,  of lightnings and thunderstorms,  the thirsty desert’s sands, the rainbows of flooding rain… ahhhh… she poetises. __ade caparas manilah

Personal photo1

 Do I regret..?

My life                                              

My life is a poem

The muse held the pen

Light couldn’t be forgotten

While Scars keep to sustain

Bleeding in every word

Loving, and healing the pain

Changing…yes changing

New every now and then

There was some mysteries

Some flooding  and drenching  rain

But river of words keeps flowing  

within days that remain

And the poem…. will remain…….

Personal Photo2

 

You said

 You said in your eyes, i see words

As green as on Cedar’s tree

And hear the chirping birds

Sheltered from snow, loving and free

In those eyes, I hear your loneliness

Telling your nostalgia, for a caressing rain

And million pregnant clouds, holding tears

Of disappointment.. and unforgotten pain

And i hear seagulls, singing in silence

And waves of love with rippling light

The webb and flow of warming tide

All waiting for dawn to come again

On your skin i smell the spring

Of a land forgotten.. Forests and sea

Stream of lost promises

Homeless hearts,

Of you and me

So close your eyes, and back in my arms

Let our love answer your hidden calls

Let the moment hold our untamedness

And wild flowers, will bloom in souls..

By Hana Shishiny

December 2018

Personal Photo4

 

My muse

 Leaping between magical moments

Words running in front of me

Became again the child of heaven

I joy..I pray ..i wait to see..

The river keeps flowing with time

Muse ripples in glowing shine

My heart is a sailor in loving clime

Intoxicating me a forever wine…

Days scroll toward eternity

My door to escape into fields of freedom..

Beyond a world of banality

To a paradisiac garden where flowers bloom..

Naked Angel with wings of love

Under a sky of raining grace

Snow flakes of blessing from above

Butterfly sucking nectar of life’s face….

By Hana Shishiny

October 2018

comments by:  Dr Jernail S. Aanand

critical analysis by:  Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil

to follow upon publication