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.


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! 


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


i may take 

a snap of it…

it will never 

be back, 


to be duplicated!


if only if only 

time will keep still…

for a few seconds 

yes few seconds


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


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. 



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.


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.


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 





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:


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


“a Woman of Essence”- Nargues Mohammadi


“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.


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.”


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


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.


“a Woman of Essence”- Dr. Sigma Satish


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 


ordered to subjugate fear forever …

And his love entwined me 

without any demands. 

He loved unconditionally. 

Under the infinite sky, 

we healed our scars


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.


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’s beauty. Romanticism is an emotional attachment between two people… here between writers and society



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


his moist lips

sealing my lips 

his soul my soul 

are one.

perceptive poetry by: __ade caparas manilah

“a Woman of Essence”- Nagasuseela Panchumarthi


A tough mountain, uncorrupted untempered Space and Time, a silhouette  of endurance is what life is…. when one finally releases a smile, then she 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 overcomesall 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. Born and bred in a very traditional family: strict discipline is a must, and though an only daughter in the entire family, she was never pampered, never allowed to roam with friends to picnics, parties or movies.  Instead she has gained expertise in cooking unique dishes, painting, interior decoration. She married at 20age to a bank manager but it was when at 22age when she joined the teaching profession, that she discovered life’s reality.

Prof P.Nagasuseela is a Bi lingual 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. Her eyes glint in joy while she says, “Life, Love and Death are the three thing I’ve been constantly fascinated, mesmerized, meditated deeply for over years… without friends, parties, picnics, without TV, without watching movies, I’ve been spending life ….dedicating every minute to my teaching profession and rearing up children, looking after my parents.”

All my poetry

is the Echo of my heart

Symphony of my feelings

Replica of my mute responses

Soothing balm to solace.


My Pen – My Pal


My pen, my bosom pal, my all

Listens to my smiles and sorrows

Walks through my woes and worries

Touches my soul with rainbow hues

Dances to the tunes of my feelings

Paints my dreams and fancies

Shares my ideas and ideals

Soothes me with fine lyrics

Exposes my zeal and zest

Carves my deep inner thoughts

Gives solace to my heart and soul

Erases all my crazy fears

Sings songs of true emotions

My pen, my chum, my best pal

A fine ‘ part ‘ of my ‘soul’!

 @ Nagasuseela

asked about Life:

“Life teaches what’s life, an incessant struggle: face tsunamis __a long song with many tunes left unsung, balancing my mind and soul…I’ve been searching the real meaning of  “Life”  for decades, inquired, interacted with the elite of the world, Professors, Poets, Prophets, Scholars, and Common men…but in vain.”


 Though all roads lead to Rome,


All rifts rewind the burning problem

All words provoke only negative sense

All feelings flow into heart’s furnace

When we’re twisted in the clutches of fate


we need to be unfelt, unknown and undeterred

To fight for justice without losing confidence

An inevitable struggle to pull life…

 Though all rivers merge in the ocean,


All peace burn in the ashes of arrogance

All dreams vanish in the clouds of deception

All hopes nipped in the garden of hypocrisy

When we’re crushed in the fangs of problems


we need to forget, forgive and proceed…

To tread towards tomorrow without losing patience

An inevitable walk to push life…

 Though all that glitters is not gold


All discussions remain futile

All justice end up in vain

All values lost in the vast sands of desert

All bonds lost track on the island of chess

When we’re drowned in the tsunamis of shame


We need to be quiet, cool and strong …

To face the battle without losing hope

An inevitable war to win life…


asked about Love:

Love  is magical and infinite:  one can fill oceans with it, win lives by it, can show wonders and splendours. Love is like a concrete foundation on which everything else is built, though one shares it to all his bonds., it doesn’t  get drained, one  always finds some space to fill it. As one grows, his love to people and things, also grows and expands, perspective to love… shifts from mundane to divine.


asked about Peaces:

Life revolves round peace: at home, in life, mind, work places, society and the world. Where Peace is… there Heaven is.

Path of Peace

Went an extra mile

Through sands of poetry

Painted my words

With flesh and blood

Checked them twice

With heart and soul

Churned them deep

With love and affection

Reared well with faith

Filled them with care

Into the pen of my life

Fused with all elements

Mused all into fine rhythms

Lit the fire within

Let the senses sing 

Blissful precious songs

To inspire, to move, to touch

The lives of near and dear

To make heaven out of hell

To soar high on the path of peace


Her ‘sigh of smile’ 

Being philanthropic in nature, i feel the sufferings of people; kids, old people, i give my unconditional love and affection in all possible ways and pray for the entire humanity.

Standing before God

Folding my hands…

I pray Dear God…’See that all are well and good’

‘Let the world sail smoothly…’

Never prayed for personal things.

She organizes Poetry Fests along with her Literary partner, P.Gopichand, since 2007 saving their hard earned money, charging no registration fee, and free accomodations. “The very presence of   poets, artists, authors and publishers… serving them with pure heart and mind, with mission and passion gives me that

sigh of smile” and when I see my students reached their goals; Principals , Directors, Heads , CEOs and Secretaries of Multinational Companies and Institutions I feel, I’ve climbed Mt Everest!” But according to her, as an individual, “there’s still much to be done, the word completeness can only come when i breathe no more.”

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. 

An ‘endurante’… A LADY-NUT TO CRACK!!! Suseela!!!

__ade c. 2019 Sydney Australia



“a Woman of Essence”- Lily Swarn


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 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 



“a Woman of Essence”- Pramila Khadun


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