“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…

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 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.

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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

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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

“a Woman of Essence”-Ngosi Olivia Osuoha

Perseverantia (perseverance)

      The amorous soul kept asking her lover, ‘do you love me’?, to which she gets an answer, ‘i do’, is totally meaningless__ divagating self-proffering to boredom but she holds, holds on plane, as if in hallucination… moves mountains… perseveres…making a dictum, an authoritarian air __ humans are created purposely to man to supervise to use everything around her, to reach to achieve whatever end. “Life is divinity inculcated into humans to physically man the universe especially,“ Ngosi claims. __ade c. 2019

ngosi final HD photo WOE 2019

Ngozi Olivia Osuoha, a poet a writer a thinker an author from Nkwerre, in Nkwerre L.G.A of Imo state, Nigeria. Born and bred by teachers, she was moulded by very strict parents, concrete disciplinarians, more  especially her Dad. She loved the church, participated in many things while growing up which she still does. She has published over two hundred and fifty poems in over twenty countries and featured in over forty international anthologies, authored five poetry books and co-authored one… all published outside Nigeria, some of her works have been translated and published in other languages. 

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 Once she posted in FB: ”This is the second time I am posting this type of footwear. If you people don’t buy it for me, I will post it again.” 

 

ngosi WOE 2019

 She wrote in 04 july 2015: 

THE INFIDEL

You must listen

So attentively, hasten

No hiding place
A little breathing space,
You are a spectator
I am the dictator.

You are a neighbour

This is my parlour,

There is a wall

Any move, you fall

I am the faithful

You must be fearful.

You are inferior

I am the superior

You are fake

I am the make

You are a stranger

I am the danger.

You are not smart

I draw the chart,

You are a learner

I am the winner

You are a child

I tame the wild.

Fine, if you admit

Better, if you submit,

Bad, if you resist

Worse, if you persist

You are a beginner

I am the teacher.

I was born to rule

Even within your pole

I can march your soul

Down with my sole

I am the captain

I guard the mountain.

you have not grown

Else you should have known,

I am the master

You are a pester,

Game reshuffled

No retreat No surrender.

-Ngosi-

For her…

Love is the chemistry between living things. Love is nature, it is natural and supernatural too… Love is when there is cordial union, understanding, relationship, interest, goal, dream, passion, and or sex between people, it is the tranquil or calm that transcends troubles. It could be physical, spiritual, mental, political, religious, social, marital.

Peace is when there is calm, calmness, tranquillity and mutual quietness among people, when they live in one accord. When they learn and master their differences and similarities. When they respect their diversities.

Life could be short or long, peaceful or stressful, forward or backward. Life is tremendous, it is overwhelming. Since I started writing, over two decades ago. I feel I am no longer that crude and unharnessed being. I am beginning to evolve into someone and something more destined. Even though, I am yet to arrive.”

Her Philosophical thoughts… too numerous, I have hundreds of words on marble. But take this, “Writing is life, life is writing. Living is a book”

Perseverantia… “do you love me… do you love me still,?” the amorous eyes kept to his eyes and his eyes kept to the book he reads and  replied, “i do”… a scenario that has become a litany prayer everyday of her life. While, she is not une ‘insistant âme’ (soul) nor a demanding nor dictating nor an ordering queen, she seeks with upmost bliss, yes at a point of orgasm… not really at the answer but the fact that she could make him know how much it means to her to hear him reply… that he is there! 

The biblical story of Job’s skin to skin perseverance, where Satan, testing Job’s faith in God, he afflicted Job with painful skin sores,  but Job still maintains his integrity, blameless and upright spirit__ he took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes… “i will  take joy as well as sufferings”.  Satan lost;  Job got healed, rewarded years of good health and an abundance unsurpassed.

There’s also the story of a woman who, everyday visited their town council, to award her two sons  some jobs though they haven’t any educational background, so they could survive their everyday subsistence… “no never nooooo” was the usual reply  but she still came everyday to ask__ the council, tired of seeing hearing her, just gave up and awarded the two sons some jobs.

Ngozi Olivia Osuoha, is a gifted writer warrior, a poet warrior, whose ink, whose pen speaks openly without fear because she knows, she speaks the truth, this truth pursued and persevered in the greatest excitement… and as  i worded, to a point of ORGASM… Ngosi is a  perseverantia!!!

__ade caparas manilah 2019

 

comments by: Dr Jernail S. Aanand

critical analysis by: Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil

to follow upon publication

“a Woman of Essence”-Swagatika Samantaray

a waterLILY

you are the high above and the depth below, up in clouds and down in mud, there’s no in between… you survive in the upmost of beings… never a wounded amourous, surviving all denseness of circumstances.

O lovely scent!  O petals!

Silent… how silent the Wind!

like a passing  wind

an enigma, 

a puzzle a conundrum… 

a tear, a smile, a water  lily

a few facts…

a thunderous lightning

a horse power of courage

her voice wanders 

shrilling whispering 

in the silence of her being.

 

final swagaika photo HD WOE 2019

 

A spring dew of freshness, her thoughts defining languages… never fail to enchant the bussing bees, like readers hungering for more. Swagatika Samantaray, a writer un poéte supérieure, the un-match   13 age young when she started writing during their school poetry competition… she wrote about a grade 9 boy, who escaped the tragic massacre because his alarm clock failed to wake him up for school. “When I sink deep into the whirlpool  of empty feelings, I pick up my pen and write… an incident that stirs me from inside, makes me write.”

Asked about Life: she says, “The fine line of separation between your shadow and the blazing sunlight might portray life for isn’t darkness and light together make life? ‘The seven Ages’ of Shakespeare shows life is nothing but a play that starts and ends at childhood (senility as the second childhood). Of course it is, more of a never ending journey life is, where death is but a mere landmark. Some say ‘Fame is the food that a dead man eats’; doesn’t that mean that there is a life beyond death? Enlighten others while you are alive and let the imprints of your noble work enlighten the fallen, after death hugs you.

 

Asked about Love: she says, “The sweet smell a flower gives after it is crushed, well isn’t that love? The burning desire to burn just to give the other light, isn’t that love? The moment you know that your numbered heartbeats are outnumbered by the thoughts of the other, that’s when you know you are in love. Love is often polluted with the frame of two souls entwined in the whirlpool of lust and desire. Well, mortal brains can never squeeze the vastness of this little word. 

“Come close and let the breaths whisper..
Look at me, let each eye Pierce into the other…
Touch not an inch, talk not of love,
For lust shall come, the soul it will rob…
No, feel this with your eyes, not with your skin,
Dance with me in the rain, while the clouds grin;
Come on, let the rain calm down the burning fire,
For this is the love, that love has not found so far.”

 

Asked about Peace: she says, “I don’t think peace is all music and silence. It is but the tranquility sealed lips in the tsunami of yearning and complaints. It is but the eye of the storm, calm but powerful. “I will tell God everything” was the last line said by a boy who was tortured to death. In the world we live, half of the population dies for an apple and the other half dies to eat it. You want to know what is peace- it is what that the rich doesn’t put in his banks, it is what that the hungry eats, it is what that sometimes cannot be owned in silence, but in the crowds. It seems like the ruined debris of sluttish time has pieced peace. The peaceful life that you are living, is but a luxury and prayer for someone else. Make sure you value it and have discovered the inner peace before you find it in the promises of the graveyard.

 Asked what when she has that ‘sigh of smile’: “I don’t know what gifted talents I have. I don’t know if I have any or if humanity has ever been benefited by it. But the ‘sigh of smile’ often comes to me after I have lent my shoulder to soak the tears of the pain and struggle of anybody. It comes after I have given the best of my effort to restore the curve of smile in the face of those, whom life has gifted rusted pimples of struggle and dry lips. And the feeling of completeness bestows when I feel that I am the reason of someone’s happiness.

Asked when the feeling of ‘detachment: “In the dead hours of the night, alone in the terrace bathed by the moon or when a thick blanket of clouds roar above me and I suck every fold of it with the divine rain or when solitude takes over me and I am  left with  the feeling of nothing, that’s when I feel that feeling of self-detached. Every cell of me acts as a cell for me. I long to arouse from cemented debris of bone and flesh and merge into the air. I yearn to be that ‘NOTHING’ present in ‘EVERYTHING’. That feeling of omni-sansness (omni in the context of everything, and sans in the context of nothing or void) takes over me and while my physical being time travels to the future, I am left behind, stuck in the tentacles of ‘detachment’ and ‘emptiness’.

Asked about her roots: “My roots are negative, I suppose. I write when I feel pain, when I melt within myself. Whether it moulds my being or I mould the aura of negativity I don’t know.

_20180524_135407

“Have you ever felt this feeling?
This feeling of feeling nothing.
Your loud cries piercing the heart of silence,

 Loneliness testing the patience of your patience.
Heavy are your breaths, heavier are the beats,
You scream so loudly but couldn’t hear your screams.
You shiver and shake , every inch, every fold;
Your tears are warm your veins are cold.
With the death of the sun, the feeling grows,
That ‘nothing’ mortem everything and no one knows.
So tell me, o’ tell me , hey you I say,
Have you felt like this, that I feel everyday”

Succumb my desires and empty my thoughts

Inch down closer, no ‘and’s’ no ‘but’s’

Behold my eyes, the tears need to roll

Behind my cheek into my burning soul

Entwine the fingers, let the hearts melt

Dream our dreams, the beats can wait

Life, love, peace rise- above their ashes

Look beyond sight, Exist beyond existence.

Copyright: swagatika samantaray 2019

POEM 1 

In the frozen aroma of slain memories,
She had built an igloo with moments from diaries.
The hedonic rhythm of his heart’s beat,
Still echoed in her, though an age had died since their last meet.
The dried black petals questioned the redness of the rose,
The tattered paper had digested the promises and vows.
A new mole had appeared on the moon’s face,
But her love hadn’t aged an atom or less.
Even the wettest cell of her eye had dried,
The vapours of love, still limpid and bona-fide.
‘No calendar can bring him back’ they said,
But the surgery made his heart beat inside her, so how can he be dead????

 

One day when the time would have calmed

I would be sitting there besides the blue…
Watching the waves rising and dying,
Holding the sand and thinking about you…..
The breeze would blow away the sand,
But couldn’t touch the printed memories…
My eyelashes would be wet, as the past will melt,
And your image would make my heart go freeze…
And then the sky would turn violent,
And black clouds would start grinning…
The waves would roar, hitting the shore,
But I would be still there calmly sitting….
A heart stabbed brutally, a soul hurt roughly,
Would not complain about the stormy rain….
With melting eyes I would be only comparing,
Which would be saltier, my tears or the main..
And then the sea would exponentially enlarge,
And the awful waves would engulf me..
My lungs would be blocked, choking my breaths,
I would then kiss death, from life I would be free.
swagatika samantaray 2019

 

comments by: Dr Jernail S Aanand

critical analysis by: Cijo Joseph Chennelil

to follow upon publication 

“a Woman of Essence”-Paramita Mukherjee Mullick

radiance

An amourous skin is like a buzzing fly in the air,

emitting shinny streams of rainbow over the blue sky, 

seemingly, a dust of gold that leads route of joy…

thus defines essence

when a woman finds discovers completeness

in whatever puzzling situation she encounters.

She gets into a settled course of sweetness; assigning turning a night of darkness to love… love into a romance and an adventure of three parts: first, the amorous gets ravished by the fronting darkness, second, faces the rapturing encounters, third, she ecstatically deplore it to her orgasmic satisfaction… like giving birth at her beautiful daughter with  those curly black hair, huge black eyes that looked at her from the nurses lap; those moments of sadness emptiness, when her husband looks at her with concerned eyes; when her mother, who has Alzheimer’s has shown a blink of recognition in her eyes __life becomes interestingly marvellous! _ade c.

paramita HD final WOE 2019Paramita Mukherjee Mullick, a    daughter of the famous Anthropologist and renowned professor of the University of Calcutta, India, Prof. D, P. Mukherjee and the multitalented Mrs. Sima Mukherjee who is an exponent  of Rabindra Sangeet ( songs of Tagore) and a great recite of poetry with many books to her credit, is LOVE.

“ Life ends, but love never ends,” she says. Life is love—love for nature, love for your work and love for others. Life is a treasure trove of infinite possibilities. If there is life there is hope. Life is continuity. Life always gives a second chance. Life means overcoming evil with goodness. I am quoting a  line from my poem ‘Infinite’, ‘ I am a woman of infinite possibilities and talents’. Life is a miracle…  beautiful experience becomes momentous. Lines from my poem ‘Miracles’ read, ‘ Where do I search for miracles o’ye pilgrims? It is in  the smile, a teardrop of love in my eye’s rim.’ Life is a mystery unravelled gradually. I end by saying ‘life is completeness…” by being kind and supportive we not only bring completeness in our own life but also in others.”

Born in a cultured Bengali family she had to learn to sing and read number of poems written in Tagore. Her parents have enwrapped her with love always… no discrimination between her brother and her sisters in their house. Her father died in 2015 but her mother’s love for him has not faded.  “ Life ends, but love never ends” this is the last line of my poem ‘ Love Grows’.  I love nature a lot. This love in fact is one of the reasons I became a poet, I love travelling and travelled almost all corners of the world, expanding  my horizon and thinking capability. Love has made me  a complete woman.”

 Ph.D. in Genetic Toxicology, her love for  Science and Literature is her skin, her colour, her radiance… teaching Genetics in a college and then became a Principal.  Her latent love for Literature resurfaced five years ago with the publication of her first collection of poems: Life- A Collection of Poems ii) Paradigm iii) The Maverick’s Journey iv) The Sun through my Wine Glass.

She has taught hundreds of students in college and still mentors hundreds not only in Genetics but also life skills and regaining confidence. This confidence building in young people gives tremendous meaning to her life. She, also for the last two years, have started inculcating moral values in schools students through her poetry. Poems of responsibility, on honesty, holocaust poems, poems on freedom and many more— these build ethical values in young minds,  projects that give her immense pleasure and happiness.

Married to Mr. Sudip Mullick who is a well respected lawyer and  though he never shows his love, is always there for her, like an oxygen… “You don’t realise its presence but you cannot live without it. He has made me so confident and I feel beautiful because of him.”  Paramita is a dedicated mother to her daughter,  Sankalpita Mullick, who is very creative and had written a novel when she was fourteen. Her first book, “Stories from Fantasyland”was written way back in 2006 to celebrate her daughter’s becoming five years.

Paramita’s poetries have been read around the world and she has been a recipient of some awards like the Sahitya Shree, Sahityan Samman, Sahitya Bhushan and The Poetess of Elegance 2019. She remembers what her parents said when she was small and these have helped her to be who she is. “Never be afraid of anything or anybody if you are going in the right path”, her father said and her mother told her, “ Be so educated that everybody will be respectful towards you”. All the adoration and admiration all over the world for her poetry sometimes makes her feeI  she has reached the peak. Yet she said, “I know there are miles to go before I sleep.”

 

paramita2

 Love Grows

When life passes by and by 

When you want to leap

And reach the sky

When you first fallen love

It is mere attraction

Not the deep rooted love.

 

Love grows by and by

Love expands like the blue sky

Love has no definition

It is neither  mere fascination

It is something which grows with age

It is a lifelong process, not a short phase.

Love grows by and by

It is like  the unending sky

Love is not a fairy tale

True love can, those stories pale.

In love, thoughts count,

When you need him, he is around 

It’s nice to know that love is around

It’s nice to know in love you abound

The joy of life encompassed in love, has no end

Life ends but love never ends.

 

 

comments by: Dr Jernail S Aanand

critical analysis by: Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil

 

to follow upon publication 

“a Woman of Essence”- Maria Teresa

Longing

   “i smell nothing but stenchful dew coming from the neglected well, every gesture i make is an image of verloren hoop, a rusty rod, a forgotten song… i  long the amorous touch of her toes, her tickling my right foot, those soulful eyes that send my heart in galloping beats…O! my ISABELLA my ISABELLA  the sunrise never come… can’t you see i still stand on the same amorous position? Isn’t it possible to recreate the episode of the enchantment?” Ahhhh…yessss, rainbow of petals, a language trembling with desire, a desire overflowing with Life, cascading into Love, an spectacle of glaring lapis lazuli of amorous being!_ade c.

maria reresa final HD woe 2019

 

 Maria Teresa comes from a family of good social and economic level, “my parents instill  in us to face life  with great responsibility, to worked to help others…   that LIFE TAKES AFFRONTATA.” From  her mother she inherited the great pleasure and love of reading. The knowledge of many literary genres, obviously relate to her different stages of age, and have greatly enriched her literary knowledge from youth to adult life. At 21 years old, she married a wonderful man, a husband with whom they were blessed with 3 beautiful kids. “My passion for music, painting, sculpture, architecture became synonymous with my grasp and understanding of what joys, sufferings, love, life, peace is in relation with others.”

mt-1           mt 2      mt 3

mt 4                 mt 5                   mt6

mt8               mt9                  mt10

 IL TEMPO DEL SILENZIO 

Passano gli anni chiusi

negli affanni del tempo

senza vergogna, senza attese, 

vuoti di speranze.

Invano ti guardi intorno,  

invano cerchi una mano

che ti sorregga, vecchio, 

chiuso sei nella tua canutaggine

che ti abbandona su quella fredda

panchina solitaria

mentre incalza intorno la festa…

Quante feste han passato

i tuoi giorni quando il canto  

degli uccelli rallegrava, 

quando le piccole mani stringevi 

dei tuoi figli a proteggerli.

Oggi nessuno stringe le tue

raggrinzite mani 

consumate dagli anni, 

nessuno accanto a darti la gioia

di un sorriso, 

oggi solo il tuo pianto

e la tua infinita solitudine, 

accovacciato a riscaldarti al sole

tiepido, di un freddo mattino

che ti ritrova solo, 

oggi il tempo del silenzio!

poetry by: Maria Teresa

perceptive translation by: __ade caparas manilah

THE TIME OF SILENCE 

years had gone

the wind of times

sans shame sans waiting…

with full of hope

yet hopes in vain

none but empty palms

no more… nothing                          

only a portrait of abandonment.

left in the cold

on an empty bench

parties holidays

left him scarred 

those days full  of songs

of twitting birds

where his hands shakes

in protection of them

but today, no one there

his hands now, dried by the years

 begging  joy of smile

yet nothing but tears

his endless loneliness

waiting  for warmth.

 in the cold morning

 in his aloneness

only 

The Time of Silence.

__ade c. version

APRIMI LE TUE PORTE 

Sto per arrivare Signore, oggi finisce qui

il mio camminare.

Parto, lascio il mio mondo e gli affetti,

addio ai miei desideri, alle emozioni, ai sogni.

Lascio per sempre la vita che tanto mi ha dato,

lascio le speranze e i sogni e i desideri e il corpo 

che mi donasti in un atto d’amore, mamma,

oggi sarò con te, ti rivedrò.

Lo so che sei lì, che mi aspetti.

Eri lì quando ti cercavo nel mio dolore,

nei pianti, nelle preghiere.

Sei lì dove TUTTO inizia, mentre qui 

finisce il mio cammino.

Prendimi per mano, dammi la forza

di affrontare questa via che mi fa paura, aprimi le tue braccia, mamma,

stringini forte, tremo, guidami verso la luce dove tu sei,

prendimi per mano come quando bambina venivo a cercarti e tu  

mi rincuoravi.

Aspettami mamma, mamma mia,

tra poco saremo insieme di nuovo,

per non lasciarci MAI PIU’!

Maria Teresa Manta

Copyright 2012

OPEN YOUR DOORS FOR ME

I’m coming to the Lord, today it ends here

my walking.

I leave, I leave my world and the affections,

goodbye to my desires, emotions, dreams.

I leave forever the life that has given me so much,

I leave hopes and dreams and desires and the body

that you gave me in an act of love, mother,

today I will be with you, I will see you again.

I know you’re there, waiting for me.

You were there when I was looking for you in my pain,

in the tears, in the prayers.

You are there where EVERYTHING starts, while here

my path ends.

Take me by the hand, give me strength

to face this way that scares me, open your arms, mother,

hold on tight, shake, lead me to the light where you are,

take me by the hand like when I was a little girl looking for you and you

you encouraged me.

Wait for me mom, my mother,

soon we’ll be together again,

not to leave us NEVER AGAIN!

 

E’ TEMPO  

E’ tempo di ritrovarci, amore,  

sotto quel cielo buio, ove una fredda luna  

accarezzò le ombre del nostro rancore , 

allontanandoci in lacrime, credendoci 

lontani e persi, al nero spettrale 

 della morte siderale di un amore 

che pensammo finito, 

il corpo pieno della nostra rabbia, 

ingigantito dal buio di spente stelle 

che ci resero cattivi e distanti, 

le mani staccate e lacrime inspiegabili, 

allora, a rigare i nostri volti , 

a portarci a cercare in altri occhi, 

 in altre mani, in altri passi 

le nostre nostalgie,  

l’amore che credemmo perduto, 

per sempre … 

NIENTE fu  più come allora, 

come noi due insieme, come 

SOLO NOI fummo. 

Finito il tempo degli inganni, 

NESSUNO  MAI fu te, fui io, 

FU “NOI! “ 

E’ tempo di ritrovarci, AMORE, 

E’ TEMPO di accendere il cielo, 

riempirlo di stelle, luminose e belle,  

di riportare il sole dentro e fuori noi, 

di darci l’amore nostro IMMORTALE 

 e VERO, oltre il tempo, oltre tutto 

 il silenzio che ci vide lontani e 

 insieme dentro, 

infiniti e mai del tutto finiti. 

E’ tempo di ritrovarci ,amore, 

E’ TEMPO ! 

IT’S TIME  

It’s time to get back together, love, 

under that dark sky, where a cold moon  

caressed the shadows of our resentment, 

and turn us away into tears, believing in it 

far and lost, to the ghostly black 

 of the sidereal death of a love 

that we thought was over, 

the full body of our anger, 

Enlarged by the darkness of fiery stars 

that made us bad and distant, 

detached hands and unexplained tears, 

then, to scratch our faces, 

to get us to look in other eyes, 

 in other hands, in other steps 

our nostalgia, 

the love we thought was lost, 

forever … 

Nothing was like it was then, 

like the two of us together. 

ONLY, we were. 

The time for deception was over, 

NEVER was it you, it was me, 

IT WAS “NOI! “ 

It’s time to get back together, LOVE, 

It’s time to turn on the sky, 

fill it with stars, bright and beautiful, 

to bring the sun back in and out of us, 

to give us our IMMORTAL love 

 and TRUE, beyond time, beyond everything 

 the silence that saw us far away and 

 together inside, 

endless and never completely over. 

It’s time to meet again, love, 

IT’S TIME! 

maria teresa 2

 

Maria Teresa, a multi awardee poéte, has her skin as her amorous language, as her skin is touched, the amorous language transfigure into an aesthetic creation of love discourses and of passionate  romantic poetries.


 

comments by: Dr Jernail S Aanand

critical analysis by: Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil