63 thoughts on “Poems of the Month ( In Full )

  1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    * 2013 * : A month by month retrospective

    JANUARY : – Calcutta Confessions – Mukherjee Twish

    FEBRUARY : – Landfills – Reena Prasad

    MARCH : – So what happens to the words that I read ? – Martin Waterhouse

    APRIL : – As your beauty unfolded – Jan Christian Sorensen

    MAY : – Kaviguru Rabindranath Tagore – Ampat Koshy

    JUNE : – The infinite mirrors of Ocean – Iulia Gherghei

    JULY : – Listen to the Whirlwind – Ogunjimi James Taiwo ( Poem of the Year )

    AUGUST : – Tapestry,silhouettes and ink – Iulia Gherghei

    SEPTEMBER : – Dhaka University – Moksedul Milon

    OCTOBER : – Kunjumon – Reena Prasad

    NOVEMBER : – On Children’s Day – Nalini Srivastava

    DECEMBER : – On a Pier – Rahul Aithal

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  2. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JANUARY 2013 : – Calcutta Confessions – Mukherjee Twish

    Week I
    How strange must we be?
    Strangled by forces of love, must we desert our very humanity in the pursuit of a sick, lost cause?
    And then, must we celebrate it, immortalize it, and eulogize it, with an ink like this on a paper like this, until the night of the blind?
    But, when the blind poet finds his light, it burns him into ashes.
    He wakes up in a body bathed in sweat, in a mind brimming with memories of feverish nightmares, train of eerie episodes that his miserable, mortal soul sprinted through, in its snatches of solace in the guise of slumber.
    Until the planets stop, the spirits breed contempt for all that is contemporary.

    Week II
    When all the steel claws have crumbled into lustful rust, the dust clogs the lungs of the poet from the beach town who wants freedom from freedom’s phantasm, while breathing his last on an imported harmonica.
    Confused daylight invades the smug darkness of his idle workshop; glides over the ancient spare parts waiting to be assembled at the bid of a beggar.
    No shattered glass shall wield a piece sharp enough to bleed his consciousness to death, to life, or the heaven between.
    Until the planets stop, diseases and disorders will define the destinies of well-educated minds.

    Week III
    A rave underground life, a visual constraint, a girl with big eyes and a sprained ankle will mock the myopia of patriotism.
    Howard Roark and Dean Moriarty will meet in a room with two and a half windows and analyse the angst of Antoine Doinel.
    Summer-burnt faces will fill the rectangular spaces of this decaying city; their sweat pores will swallow all the clear streams of labor; our robotic protégé will spit our daily deities out, like morsels of an inexpensive delicacy; sticky, skinny, bony, bare and bruised.
    Until the planets stop, my private London will lie rotting beneath a murky green pond.

    Week IV
    I met a misty-eyed woman on the train, who leaned on the rail, her pretty nostrils dancing to the invisible rhythm of the odor of perspiration. She sustained my city tonight. Tomorrow, the stench will be unbearable for her.

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  3. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    FEBRUARY 2013 : – Landfills – Reena Prasad

    Reminiscences stuffed into frayed pockets, she walked
    in no particular  direction, going as far as house waste goes
    in search of a treasure trove of  stinking landfills
    Tattered as her life of forty, are her gathered  clothes
    Fading grey underskirt with trailing,weeping ends
    ignorant of the  boundaries that defined the sari-remains above.

    She poked around the stagnant mound, not particular about any find
    Bits of  plastic, broken bottles, an abandoned diary of teenage throes
    All lay in companionable silence in her brown sack of unwanted orphans
    She picked in  silence, watched by a scraggly, one-eyed, stubbed tail cat
    Twin wandering  souls, united in casual neglect, relegated to the night-soil trenches. Previous birth karma, wrinkled noses, anti-beggar sentiments and disgust
    compete for supremacy.

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  4. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    MARCH 2013 : – So what happens to the words that I read ? – Martin Waterhouse

    What happens to the words that I hear?
    Do they float into one, and then out the other ear?
    Or does something more horrible happen in my brain,
    Are they pulped into mash and never heard of again?

    Or do they just echo around my skull? It could be,
    Because that would explain all those voices in me;
    They never use words I’ve never heard before,
    I always understand what they mean, and what’s more,

    Some of the speakers sound like folks who have said
    Enough over the years to have filled my head.
    I know one of them sounds a lot like my Mum
    And wants me to calm down when I’m having too much fun.

    Or are words recycled and stored in my mind
    On well numbered shelves, so they’re easy to find,
    And when I’ve got something to say, and I speak,
    They’ve been taken down and dusted all ready for me.

    Because that would explain what happens to people
    When they know what they mean but they’re just not able
    To find a word, and it’s on the tip of their tongue,
    Instead of the shelf it’s supposed to be on.

    So what happens to the words that I hear?
    Do the words full of joy explode into cheers?
    Do the sad ones melt and turn into tears?

    And what about the big ones like onomatopoeia?
    Do they dazzle then buckle and crumbling disappear …?

    So what happens to the words that I hear?
    I asked a wise man once, but it’s still not clear.
    He said, “What happens to those words is obvious indeed.
    They  go to the same place as the words that you read.”

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  5. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    APRIL 2013 : – As your beauty unfolded – Jan Christian Sorensen

    As your beauty unfolds before me I am reminded… That no matter how well you guard something it can always be lost… Or in this case did I give it away?

    As your beauty unfolds before me I am reminded… That you cannot walk forward to a place that you have already passed… And you should always welcome a new day with more joy than the last…

    Much smarter now… There are urgent matters at hand… There are urgent hands that matter… Touching places that have not existed… Until your beauty unfolded before me… Gloriously…

    Until your beauty unfolded before me I thought passion existed only in the minds of Poets and songwriters… And it seems I have become one of them… Because You have become my favorite song…

    And when I am not singing it I hear its music as I recite… Words that describe you…

    And words that can’t describe you… Tapping my feet as some type of continuous applause… This would have been strange behavior…Before your beauty unfolded before me Passionately…

    Until your beauty unfolded before me… Time had a pace that outran me… During workdays and lonely days… Time had another name Loneliness…

    It is Next time, your time… That is what is important nowadays… The next time I am next to you Precious time… No longer my enemy

    Before your beauty unfolded before me… Instantly… Isn’t it funny? That a heart once so weak Beats rhythmically sending a message… Through the jungle that announces… A new space inside of itself where only visions of you cover the walls…

    With unfolded beauty… That caresses every sense… Touch everlasting and untouchable…

    Since your beauty unfolded before me… Tastes like what Mama puts in her food…

    Since your beauty unfolded before me… Smells like the grass after the rain falls…

    Since your beauty unfolded before me… Sounds once foreign sound like we…

    Since your beauty unfolded before me… Mercifully looks like you…

    Since your beauty unfolded before me… Standing there in an archway with my Heart… Secure in your hands… Its fluorescent light only out shined by the smile you wear for only me…

    A slight tilt of my head enables me to recognize Love… Beautifully… Gloriously… Passionately… Instantly… Mercifully…

    As your beauty unfolded before me Finally I did understand…

    It was in my darkest hour that I realized the light came from within… That was when I truly learned that I wasn’t blinded…

    My eyes were closed…. All this as your beauty unfolded before my eyes…

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  6. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    MAY 2013 : – Kaviguru Rabindranath Tagore – Ampat Koshy

    Your shadow fell across my mother and father.
    I listened to the Song Offerings’ best parts
    learned by heart by my loving father,
    heard my mother speak of Paresh Babu
    as one of her ideal characters from books.
    I read Wreck but was blown away by Gora
    for teaching me how to invert a tale,
    subversion before the word became common;
    agreed for that you deserved the Nobel.
    Heard of the man from Kabul,
    felt sad when the Homecoming did not take place.
    I wanted to be Upagupta,  love Chandalika and Kadambari
    did not like the essays that showed intolerance.
    I keep on multiplying my reading of you.
    I loved Shanthi Nikethan so have not gone there.
    Arya Samaj and Brahmo Samaj
    impressed the Mar Thomites
    (my mother was one before she wed)
    who believe in ecumenism and wider ecumenism
    and impressed even us C.S.I.
    I taught your anjalis, archanas and Yeats’s introduction
    so many times that I lost count –
    my students blown away by ‘my’ insights.
    Some shadows seem to grow longer as time goes by.
    I no longer know if you are a curse or a blessing.
    I only know your shadow now covers
    – your songs, plays, paintings and all –
    the entire horizon
    while others who think they love you threaten
    to blot out my cheerful, pure blue sky
    for daring to think your lesson to me was
    that I can be as great a writer as you
    even if, unlike you, being born in a dull time
    I cannot be as epic, collosal or epochal.
    Happy birthday, Gurudev;
    not to the you they all bow down to,
    the one they think none can equal or surpass,
    stunting all growth with that narrow view;
    but to the one my mother and father
    inspired me with, to take up the pen, among others:
    The one they loved and passed on to me
    in the same mode as you
    in a clear, lyrical, simple and purely Tagorean way.

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  7. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JUNE 2013 : – The infinite mirrors of Ocean – Iulia Gherghei

    Why do we call this planet Earth
    when it is the vast waters that gave him the colour
    no matter where you look a tide
    will answer the moon call
    a breeze will caress the seagull wing
    a blade of sand will sting a thirsty eye

    Where else but at the shore we will meet
    the horizon line uniting sky and ocean vastness
    a kiss in the infinite mirrors
    a taste of no boundaries
    a fear that the next tide
    will slap and crumble all your certainties

    When if not in the middle of storm
    God becomes a dry shirt
    a farewell tear
    a letter never to be mailed
    a list of sons abandoned at the shore

    Again calm waters, little joyful waves
    enormous blue wearing a sky
    breeze to comb my curly hair
    Ocean, the moon lover, you,
    hung my star in your tide!

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  8. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JULY 2013 : – Listen to the Whirlwind – Ogunjimi James Taiwo

    I will consume; Oh yes, I will
    I will ravage; don’t doubt me I plead
    I see blood even though the world can’t see.
    I see death when life is what your preachers preach.
    I feel it approaching, the consuming anger of the wind.

    They want us in chains; will we allow them I ask?
    They like us jobless; should we sit under their tables praying for crumbs to fall off their laps?
    They thrive on our fear; should we not dare to take up the fight?
    They like us fighting ourselves; should we not forge our path?

    The world stands watching; waiting to see if we’ll get it right.
    The helpless kneel praying; hoping we’ll neglect our fear.
    The enslavers sit in dark corners watching; keen to see if we’ll bring our words to life.
    The one question lies hanging: Who will bell the cat?

    Listen to the whirlwind as it speaks in clear tones.
    Listen to the whirlwind as it promises to sweep through and pull down their poles.
    I will come when the eyes of the people are opened.
    I will sweep through, visit the oppressors and break their stranglehold.

    I will not come when timidity still reigns supreme.
    I will not come when your voices are not united in tune.
    I will come when your minds are made up.
    I will come, I am coming, and they will fall.

    Listen to the voice of the whirlwind as it promises to the oppressors death.
    Listen, they say, or thy tongue will keep thee deaf.
    The anger of the People will come as a whirlwind; it will cleanse, it will consume.
    Listen; oh listen to the voice of the whirlwind as it calls out in revolutionary tunes.

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  9. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    AUGUST 2013 : – Tapestry,silhouettes and ink – Iulia Gherghei

    A tapestry of promises I seen in your
    shadowy eyes
    your silken syllables have woven the sonnet
    for our moonlight serenade
    the silhouette of Love passed through our loneliness
    our senses laced in a kiss:
    a velveteen touch of the night breeze within,
    carried away on your fragile lips
    a rose, a stolen heart, a dewdrop rolling on my cheek
    fragments of paradise, the echo of a forgotten symphony
    the eclipses tattooed deep on my retina
    you in your intoxicating splendor
    me, starry-eyed, wooed,
    completely lost in ink
    gathering rhymes
    alleviating beaded sighs of pleasure
    poetic delirium on ice

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  10. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    SEPTEMBER 2013 : – Dhaka University – Azmm Moksedul Milon

    Seven long summers, I slept in your lap,
    With thousands thirsty bugs in your sari
    And millions mosquitoes over your head
    Sucking all my jaundiced blood drop by drop.

    In rainy days, I heard you cry and sob,
    Seeing me take some stale rice and rat-smelt dal
    And live on just two modest meals a day,
    Turning myself into a bag of bones.

    I used to wake up late to miss my milk,
    And save some coins every cloudy morning;
    My friends and field work used to freak me out,
    You just warned me not to miss the tilting.

    Like the old Ant you kept advising me,
    But this Grasshopper indulged in idleness;
    Seven Late Autumns, I missed my harvest,
    But you kept feeding me with what you had.

    When all my little hope used to wither,
    Like the leaves of the trees by my window,
    You watered it with the tears of blessing
    And helped new hope sprout and rejuvenate.

    What I am today is what and how much
    I drank from the little springs of knowledge,
    Gushing out in stream of your skinny breasts
    That still do suckle thousands thirsty lips.

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  11. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    OCTOBER 2013 : – Kunjumon – Reena Prasad

    Sprawled near the shop door
    dangling coir, bright plastics, baskets
    flimsy balloon balls, flower pots
    and you-
    a fallen statue reeking of neglect

    Irritating to bustling feet
    but they stepped over your motionless form
    and left the air fouler
    with curses that you inhaled

    You were the underworld
    without the beard, gun or pot belly
    ribs painfully embossed
    upon your sallow youth
    We fattened up our kids
    using your nightmare shamelessly

    Mariamma
    the luckiest woman of all
    three hefty sons she had
    A thief, a madman and a drunk but no girls
    so wasn’t she blessed!

    Septic tanks and cow urine tanks called you
    armed with a bottle of the cheapest toddy
    you swung down holes
    where no devil dared to breathe
    scooping up discarded human bits

    Our girls under your protective stagger
    safe as they quickened their steps
    from the lonely bus stop to the
    lamp-lit shadows of motherly forms
    none would look at their budding youth
    while you thrashed out your lungs
    and limbs at the road romeos

    Kunjumon, you fell out of life suddenly
    just like you did everyday
    but among the fallen
    you still stand tall

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  12. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    NOVEMBER 2013 : – On Children’s Day – Nalini Srivastava

    Ingenuity and credulity,
    Mark their wisdom.
    Big innocent eyes ask
    Thousands of unspoken questions.
    They mark the survival of humanity,
    And with them we are so inhuman.
    Being almost unwanted and uncherished,
    Are they just pests crawling on earth?
    Born out of a human’s choice,
    They are left to beg and eat.
    Whether orphans or orphaned
    They are children too..
    What is our future?
    If we treat them the way we do.

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  13. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    DECEMBER 2013 : – On a Pier – Rahul Aithal

     

     

    Outstretched I lay on a pier wide, square,
    gaze up at the sky which stares down at me.
    when the dusk-sun, a different colour wears,
    and eve-winds aid a flock of birds to flee.
    Deeper, the long white sails lazily sway-
    a romance with blue waters as they waltz.
    And my mind saunters away from the bay-
    if only the sand in the glass would pause.
    Far, the sun dips further into the bowl.
    Wonder if you too are seeing it from miles.
    I look up and watch the dispersing clouds
    to find your face flash and sparkle a smile.
    Nor distance nor time can untie the lace,
    forged by your memories – a boundless trace.

     

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  14. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    * 2014 * : A month by month retrospective

    JANUARY : – The Dawn of a Change – Ogunjimi O Joel

    FEBRUARY : – 1947 – Sarita Jenamani

    MARCH ; – In Winter – Michael Yates

    APRIL : – Autism – Neetu Wali ( Poem of the Year )

    MAY : – The Picture – Sana Rose

    JUNE : – Golden – Witty Fay

    JULY : – Blank Diary – Maaya Dev

    AUGUST : – Fakery – Reena Prasad

    SEPTEMBER : – Weighed against the ashes of the tears – Keith Wallis

    OCTOBER :- Not This Song – Never – Marieta Maglas

    NOVEMBER :- Seashell – Rahul Aithal

    DECEMBER :- Wild Meadows – Sunita Prasad

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  15. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JANUARY 2014 : – The Dawn of a Change – Ogunjimi O Joel

    Living the life everyone wants for me
    Blindly following instructions that ain’t real
    Walking paths already picked out for me
    But I wanted to be me,
    i wanted to be real

    Going the way of the Lord
    Cos i never knew any other
    You tried to teach me to be a leader,
    The best among peers
    tried to teach me to grow up
    and let change take over
    i kept being a kid for so long
    Blind optimism and dumb reasoning
    expecting so much from people
    and being let down everytime
    the cycle of raised and dashed hopes continued

    Influences; good and bad
    pulling right and left
    but you wanted me to stay
    right where i was
    till the awaited dawn rises on me
    till change comes
    and overshadows me
    like a cloud pregnant with rain,
    and sweeps me off my feet like a whirlwind

    I was naive
    young and stupid
    Fell for love
    foolishly in love… I was naive
    but it passed, like all infatuations do
    the hunger came though
    the need for company
    the need for friends
    but not just friends, fans!
    people who cherish my opinions
    who respect my views
    I found them amidst my peers
    it was great, the look in their eyes
    the passion!
    like fire in the wind, so it danced in their eyes
    we felt the love, that great connection
    We were one…
    but not for long
    till the cynics came in
    with them came their kind of change
    defiling the sacred circle
    jealousy and envy, hate coated with affection
    never knew what they had up their sleeves
    like the cankerworm,
    destructive and yet harmless
    back-stabbings, telling tales

    And so the fans were gone
    friends, not so friendly anymore
    with it came the heart break
    couldnt stand it, friends turned enemies
    it hurts still

    amidst the hurt and heartbreak, though
    the best times of my life were embeded
    Times of laughter, tears, fights, make ups
    life goes on.
    My mistakes I named experiences
    But that chapter of my life ended
    Bitter sweet memories still linger
    And in no time, I moved on
    and another chapter began to unfold.

    Ogunjimi Joel O.

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  16. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    FEBRUARY 2014 : – 1947 – Sarita Jenamani

    They depart
    And more houses sink
    into darkness
    The street shrinks a little bit more
    Night clenches
    the morbid left-over light
    From the Tower of Silence
    flocks of fear-symbols descend
    in quest of a morsel
    Those remaining behind
    continue to slumber
    under a thick layer of indifference
    They wake up
    only to move
    from dream to dream
    and murmur
    unanswerable questions
    They depart
    And life shrinks
    a little bit more

    Sarita Jenamani

    partition

     

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  17. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    MARCH 2014 : – In Winter – Michael Yates

    In winter we become crystal, blood
    coagulates, turns cold
    like the skin of ages,
    loses its colour. Say
    we are transparent, but we could
    be invisible except old
    breath hangs in the air, engages
    attention, gives us away.

    In winter we are thinner than
    the surface of water, light
    as dead butterfly wings.
    We use our voices only
    to exercise our lips; scan
    the sky for sign, bite
    into a glut of sour things,
    notice the road is empty.

    In winter we marvel we survive
    the small hours given us, we
    list tiny predicaments, ease
    the fright in our brains
    with memory, strive
    with dead spirits to see
    a hint of ourselves, freeze
    attitude so one thing at least remains.

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  18. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    APRIL 2014 : – Autism – Neetu Wali

    Regret the mismatch

    Wish I was like everybody else

    Not because I want to

    Don’t want them to take

    The trouble of reaching

    My levels

    Though they think

    To be better off

    I know I am the special best

    How magical

    Balanced steps to a misbalanced life

    Dis-balanced steps to a balanced life

    I heard a friend is around

    Hiding behind that corner

    Enough for me for the rest of my life

    Why then change

    And honestly speaking

    Have a secret desire

    I pray for them

    To be deprived of

    Such wonderful life

     

     

     

     

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  19. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    MAY 2014 : – The Picture – Sana Rose

    Melting lollipop

    I can see the distances growing, 
    The childhood rhymes fading, 
    The lollipop memories melting, 
    The irreversible gluey drops 
    That can’t be savoured nor 
    Saved for another day… 

    I can sense the gaping holes, 
    The frozen icicles in souls, 
    The rain-washed, lonely strolls, 
    The one-sided page left behind, 
    That can’t be imprinted nor 
    Scribed for another age… 

    I can see the fingers unwinding, 
    The held hands departing, 
    The dripping dreams returning, 
    The new green leaves curling 
    Back into their branches – 
    A picture of non-existence… 

    – May 15th, 2014
    © Sana Rose 2014

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  20. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JUNE 2014 : – Golden – Witty Fay

    As in the petals of roses after the hoarfrost,

    A sickening shade of late bloom

    And whithered summers.

    Barely the metallic shine of your gaze at dawns,

    As you unfold from my touch.

    Rather the vivid yellow of canola fields,

    As they encircle my waist into unfolding grace,

    And distil my laughter

    Into the slippery dust of your lens.

    As the age of our youth,

    Brief, yet meaningful, summerlike mostly.

    Like the oyster that adorned the fleece

    At the depth of a forgotten sea.

    And, definitely, the music that comes

    From the swing of things.

    As for the rest, I’ll come to you in colours.

    Reply
  21. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JULY 2014 : – Blank Diary – Maaya Dev

     

    diary

    A blank diary lies on the desk.
    hiding the purpose on its pages.
    It is willing to absorb
    the unkempt emotions as ink.
    Moisture of ink is ready to get dry
    as scribbles of an untold tale.
    It may reveal its destiny as testimony
    through mysterious mist as saga.

    The papers are fragile so as fingers.
    Thin texture may not bear the accumulated weight
    of emotions the heart carry with much ease.
    As all emotions are frost in compressed past.

    The chamber is sealed by the present
    and key is lost in the depth of future.
    But the heat of burning memories
    melts the chamber creating flash flood
    and gush from the heart as tears.
    It reflects on cheeks as rainbow hues
    masking the melancholy in its splendour.

    The destiny of diary remains blank
    as it never got wet by ink or contrive the tale.
    Heavy emotional down pour rewrites
    the destiny of  an unwritten tale.

    Diary got into the shelf as a mundane routine.
    While disclosing a truth of life for us.
    ‘Some tales are better left unsaid’……

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  22. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    AUGUST 2014 : – Fakery – Reena Prasad

    The music will soon cease
    The trapdoor will shut without a creak
    The pied piper was never a friend

    The mirror was always enchanted
    We have fought our way into it
    to get whipped over what we desire most

    The sunlight is polite
    It stays behind brocades of heavy clouds
    keeping away from illuminated beings

    It is  the dark heat
    sweltering in the trodden pavements
    that now lines our thoughts

    Burnt sockets
    where eyes might have once
    seen past the horizon of lack

    An immaculate waist
    A beautifully arched eyebrow
    An angry sun tears at motherhood

    We have picked up stray suns
    that gnaw into our fabric
    while we sweat

    A beach album
    snuffs out cheer from the lives of those
    without suntan lotion

    Envy eats us for breakfast
    alarming us with the un-shareable
    unenhanced images of our lives

    Honey merely tastes like more malice
    Greed branded as ambition
    chews up the spaces between skin and soul

    Somewhere in this voyage to One World,
    our nights wade through rainforest tapestry
    stripped of any fragrance

    We hang on to sensory orbs
    spinning past
    our etched  lifelines

    A giant advertisement
    blots out the old sun
    Give it a decent burial

    From post to post let us run
    Could there be somewhere
    a better sun?

    Goodbye to
    …awkward pauses
    There is always a key to depress

    Reply
  23. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    SEPTEMBER 2014 :- Weighed against the ashes of the tears – Keith Wallis

    Untidy time and tide return
    as blood unfolds
    and houses burn,
    as children cry as they journey on
    to other lands
    for theirs has gone.

    And limbs lie strewn across their way
    unattached
    from easy prey
    who simply lived before migrant fear
    destroyed the old
    and they fell victim here.

    And all who seek to move frontiers
    with bomb or gun or knife or spears
    should place them in a balance
    weighed against
    the ashes of the tears.

    Reply
  24. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    OCTOBER 2014 :- Not This Song-Never – Marieta Maglas

    In the night the song waves start to disappear
    Like white trees, when there is no one their fall to hear.
    Earth’s shadow hides the moon, a harp without strings.
    Lasting love shines on crazy engagement rings.

    What does love mean, when the elves come life to cheer?
    In the night the song waves start to disappear,
    And in the moonlight your feelings become blue.
    The flowers cry for our time with tears of dew.

    Bud butterflies become whispers in our dreams
    To complete our entwining in the life’s streams.
    In the night, the song waves start to disappear
    On the moon, a double-meaning pamphleteer.

    The green knows that through the darkness shines the light.
    And love has sense, when the saints pray for the height.
    And life blooms, when the God’s angels hurry near.
    In the night the song waves start to disappear.

    Reply
  25. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    NOVEMBER 2014 :- SEASHELL – RAHUL AITHAL

    Sprung from the depths of the sea-
    lay half-buried in the sand,
    Shelled with stories and mystery
    of the deep, brought to the land.
    Often unnoticed remain,
    mingled with pebbles ashore.
    Adrift in the soft terrain
    the relics roll and unfold.
    Should I pick up to picture
    or let it nestle, linger?

    Reply
  26. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    DECEMBER 2014 :- Wild Meadow – Sunita Prasad

    I carried,
    Those wild berries
    In my fist,precious,
    Like my old friends.
    Reminiscing the lost childhood,.
    Those were the paths,
    Where childhood left footprints
    Etched on its barks,
    The birds homed,hopes danced
    Wild berries rested among
    The tall sentries of time
    Fanciful abundance leaped,
    Where innocent cherubs laughed
    Through the tinted canopy.
    Those were the days
    Where freedom breathed freely
    The carefree days
    Had an essence,
    A vigorous zest for life
    And the spirit felt the breezy sunshine.
    And now, the glazed reflection
    Reflects in the shunted vastness,
    A bleeding,chaffed soil, seeking refuge
    In the heart, of an aquamarine gorge.

    Reply
  27. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    * 2015 * : A month by month retrospective

    JANUARY :- Invoked – Lopa Banerjee

    FEBRUARY :- Shadows of my Poetry – Shamsher Singh

    MARCH :- A Lovelorn Gypsy’s Last Love Song – Shashikala Sasidharan

    APRIL :- Ashtavakra – Vineetha Mekkoth

    MAY :- Exchange of Sorrows – Reena Prasad

    JUNE :- Living in the Shadows – John Anthony Fingleton

    JULY :- The Last Whistle – Rekha Moothedath

    AUGUST :- New Delhi 1966 – Vijay Nair

    SEPTEMBER :- My Own Water Diviner – Witty Fay ( Poem of the Year )

    OCTOBER :- The blow ,the glow – Mangeni W.Obwaya

    NOVEMBER :- Stone Eyes – Elizabeth Kuriakose

    DECEMBER :- Promise of the Morning – Kamlesh Acharya

    Reply
  28. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JANUARY 2015 – Invoked – Lopa Banerjee

    Time had sung its inevitable song, a body

    That had once planted a tree of love,

    Had burnt to its last finishing embers.

    The face, hung in silence, floating around

    Unspoken words, etched in the timeless annals of memory.

    The face of life, a sudden, elemental burst

    A gleam of hope along the rusty corridors of nothingness,

    Hungered for the pitter patter raindrops of a moment in time,

    In the plastic quiet of the hospital room, death waited,

    A silent companion at the next station, while life

    Chewed on his final wishes of a succulent meal.

    The finishing touches of words, beneath the breathing tube,

    The pinching ache of the intravenous, the seeking out

    Of lovingly knit faces, the hands gripping unfulfilled promises

    A flash of seconds, then hanging loose.

    Life had been beckoned in an unknown itinerary.

    Twenty-one years since the sun had last gone down,

    Memories unfailingly water, nourish the roots, the leaves,

    The fruits the tree had borne, while the face

    Hangs in the wall, a dusty portrait, in a home full of the living.

    Reply
  29. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    FEBRUARY 2015 – Shadows of my Poetry – Shamsher Singh

    The shadows of my poetry
    Shadows thy swirling
    And, sparrows chirping
    Sky and I both are awake
    Me with my tears flowing in words
    And sky too cried whole night
    Paper of grasses became greener with Dews
    Oh the greatest irony
    All are here listening to my words
    Don’t know what these words means
    But believe me my silence have infinite poems
    For withered yet untethered was my soul
    For it was the conspiracy of resonance
    That I die every moment to breathe
    For a moment of my love
    And yes don’t dare to ask me of love
    I here say ,Before you and Before all
    Am ready to embrace infinite deaths for one live
    But again the shakespearean tragedy
    Won and I failed
    For its written by you, I won’t say by almighty
    And I kept dying, dying, dying
    But nobody could feel the pain nor my silent sober
    They ask what happened??
    What should I say
    My life is lifeless because so and so..
    I don’t need few words of empathy or sympathy
    Let you pray for my darling death
    My dream, my destiny
    That my thrust remained thirsty
    With its own unparalleled impulse of love
    You won’t see ever,
    You won’t feel ever
    You won’t understand ever
    And the silence of mine is teasing infinite mirrors
    But who cares
    Neither sunflower stops kissing sun
    Nor waves stops drinking the wine
    And here my heart is out
    And ‘ the shadow of my poetry’
    Sprouts but alas to fade only

    Reply
  30. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    March 2015 – A Lovelorn Gypsy’s Last Love Song – Shashikala Sasidharan

    Gypsies living for the day, it’s joys and sorrows,
    Never saved a penny of thoughts for tomorrow,
    Spent it all buying solace of that moment silent,
    Echoing mellifluous like old songs forgotten.

    Searching for some old forgotten poems,
    Some savings left of memories’ balance sheet,
    Rummaging through yellowed piles of years,
    Found old accounts all spent and defunct.

    Blank pages stare back a while then diligently stoop,
    Back into words lilting on templates of yesterdays,
    Tracing the lost face of dreams, fingering through,
    Those strands of hair flying with wind to times bygone.

    I catch that fragile parachute seed, silver like the
    Beard of a lovelorn gypsy singer, treading vast
    deserts in moonlit nights, with his sobbing sarangi,
    Perched on the memories strung tight and tuned.

    One more night he sings, one more love song that,
    Hums, cries and croons melodious, resonating…
    Within all the pain wrenched out of gut, heart and mind,
    Searing the soul evenly, even on such chilly nights.

    A lovelorn gypsy’s last love song…

    Reply
  31. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    April 2015 – Ashtavakra – Vineetha Mekkoth

    Boiling like prawns
    in an earthen pot 
    we lay.
    The brine
    seeped into every
    cell of our being.
    Suffocating.
    There was nowhere
    to hide.
     
    My palms
    split into two,
    my legs
    twisted outward.
    Every nerve
    racked, tortured
    and there was fire raging
    where my eyes
    would have been.
    I cried out mutely
    yet there was
    no release.
     
    As I twisted out
    of my mother’s womb,
    my parents unaware
    welcomed me.
    Smiles faded.
    Eyes glazed
    they stared at me
    cradled in their arms.
    Broken, twisted,
    skin stretched over
    my ribcage.
    Deformed.
    The Endosulfan baby.
     
    I am waiting.
    My siblings will arrive
    in similar glory,
    cursed in the womb
    by the Fathers,
    unlived lives shattered,
    we the modern
    Ashtavakras!

    Vineetha Mekkoth
    All rights reserved.

    Footnotes:
    1. Ashtavakra – According to the Hindu mythology, Ashtavakra was cursed by his father while in his mother’s womb because he dared to correct the mistakes of the former. As a result of the curse Ashtavakra was born deformed, with eight crooks or bents (hence the name. Ashta=8, Vakra= bents). He was a scholar and he later saved his father from a dire situation. Ashtavakra is an innocent victim of man’s arrogance as well as a symbol of learning, filial love, patience and forgiveness.

    2. Endosulfan – a pesticide which was used extensively in the cashew plantations of northern Kerala, India. It was administered through aerial spraying. This has affected all life forms in the region leading to congenital disabilities in humans as well as animals. After widespread protests throughout the state the government has decided to phase out its use gradually. Because of its threats to human health and the environment, a global ban on the manufacture and use of Endosulfan was negotiated under the Stockholm Convention in April 2011. The ban has taken effect from mid-2012.
    (Source for Endosulfan:Wikipedia)

    Reply
  32. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    May 2015 – Exchange of Sorrows – Reena Prasad

    Why do I write
    of flowers that bloom outside imaginary windows
    of leaves cried by absent trees
    of the stream that stays poised at the hilltop
    in the wall painting
    real to me as much as it might once have been
    when it flowed into the artist’s veins
    These don’t exist except in me
    and I don’t want to
    without them in me
    It is not easy to breathe in the odour of living
    and to pump out life
    though the punished potted plant does it all its life
    The rooted ones want to chop off their lower selves
    and imagine they will float upwards
    The floating clouds drop rain seeds
    hoping to latch on to a steady hearth
    and clutch a gnarled claw worth of brown dirt
    The homeless and the trapped
    always in a troubled quest to be the other
    not seeing that it would be just an
    exchange of sorrows

    Reply
  33. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JUNE 2015 – Living In The Shadows – John Anthony Fingleton

    Here no one can see my tears,
    Here no voices form my name.
    Night and day eclipse this place,
    Until my eyes just stare into the darkness
    Of unrealistic hope;

    Here, only you knew of my existence,
    But you stayed silent –
    Far too long.
    Here is where you abandoned me,
    To be devoured slowly by the Shadows.

    Reply
  34. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JULY 2015 – The Last Whistle – Rekha Moothedath

    It was a long winter night here
    I’m arriving home ,with the wild wind
    breaking those venetian blinds
    belgium mirrors and dark rooms
    Drowned in the snow,wet with dews
    forest shivered,bare and naked ..
    Stirred by the dying breath of leaves,
    Trees waited worst testament of storm
    i have been wishing all the way
    Without a choice or compromise
    Whether i breathe him or
    meet him at the grave..
    Every beating of my heart
    Played a rhythm of secret
    through my nerves and veins
    Intensely desiring him
    In unhappy hours of this journey
    No storm could beat me
    as those memories did
    No hurricanes could toss me
    as those words he filled me with..
    Would you forgive me again
    seeking those days left behind..?
    It was an unnatural beginning
    And waiting to sum up naturally..
    A promise that swift past me long back
    Last train stopped in the midnight
    through the mist and meadows
    My eyes haunted for the sweet vision
    Only once before the last whistle..
    When the footsteps approached
    Its his arms take hold of me now
    Now i’d burn myself in the fire
    And breathe in closing lips.

    Reply
  35. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    AUGUST 2015 – New Delhi 1966 – Vijay Nair

    With all the new banians
    Neatly folded in the almirah
    Father at his rustic
    Subversive best
    Gestured magnificently- –
    Seemingly ambidextrous
    Displaying
    Two perfect
    Holes
    In the armpits
    Of a vintage vest – –
    Entertaining a host
    Of faithful relatives
    Who came visiting
    With guffaws
    On sleepy Sunday afternoons – –
    Slapping his thighs
    While making a point
    Urging smug faces
    To munch
    Monaco biscuits – –
    Amma, seething behind
    A convent-educated smile
    And a tray
    Groaning under
    Steaming cups of tea
    Muttered beneath her breath
    As she moved endlessly
    From kitchen-smoke
    To drawing-room smoke
    And back
    Exhausted by
    The fiction
    Of her reality:
    “He wears this on purpose
    Every time.”

    Reply
  36. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    SEPTEMBER 2015 – My Own Water Diviner – Witty Fay

    A woman a man leaves
    Is bound to smell a cornucopia
    Of semantic imperfections
    In the way her vowels string
    Around her crane-like love,
    Up above the snowflaked heart,
    Where her arteries bear anatomy.
    A woman a man keeps
    Is sure to taste of apple fennel
    Pistachio apricot in the combs,
    The thighs, the whispers, the lobes
    Of the dangling guilt of staying
    Within the sheltered promise,
    Right in the middle of things.
    A woman a man de-meanings
    And re-meanings first into a noun,
    Then a faltered adverb of dainty
    Struggle and human awkwardness,
    Shall burn and luxuriate in the disease
    Of his own incarceration in bareness.
    Such woman a man cannot contain.

    Reply
  37. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    OCTOBER 2015 – The blow ,the glow – Mangeni W.Obwoya

    The blow, the glow,
    Flashing on the surface flows,
    – A drop on a mirror.

    The smile I wear,
    Smeared with the hurts inside my core,
    – A goat’s smile

    Time is young,
    Life, a briefcase of thought,
    – Hiding sad memories time brought.

    Frown with confidence,
    Ride and rhyme in happiness,
    -Hymns to a grieving soul.

    Songs, in grief heal,
    Tunes from the hill fill,
    -The crevice, time created.

    Ask not, about the singing you hear,
    For it might take what you most fear,
    Just listen and sing along,
    And forget, those who did wrong.

    Reply
  38. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    NOVEMBER 2015 – Stone Eyes – Elizabeth Kuriakose

    eyes shut
    he prayed fervently
    the pain in his appeal
    cruising down his cheeks
    opening his eyes
    he saw the stone eyes
    of the deity
    nary a change in
    her expression

    he walked out
    pondering
    forgetting to drop
    in the temple hundi
    the 100 rupee note
    he held in his closed fist

    realising it only when
    bending to put on his shoes
    he looked around
    he saw the old beggar woman
    wrinkled hands outstretched
    putting it in her hands
    he looked at her face
    no god’s eyes
    ever lit up
    like hers did
    he knew
    his prayers
    would be answered

    Reply
  39. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    DECEMBER 2015 – Promise of the Morning – Kamlesh Acharya

    Every morning holds
    a promise for me.

    That unknown moment,
    when I return to myself
    and shuffle slightly
    in the crumpled bed
    as I wake up,
    holds
    the hope of a better day,
    the power of my potential,
    the lustre of letting go,
    the largesse of love,
    the fruit of forgiveness,
    and the nectar of newness.

    Every morning holds
    a choice for me –
    a choice of choosing
    my freedom.

    The morning shows me
    the beauty of its promise
    in the song of a bud
    on the same shrub
    that sees the withering
    of a fragrant flower,
    in the shine of the sun
    that dispels darkness,
    in the gurgle of a river
    that is new every day,
    in the flight of a bird
    that celebrates a new sky.

    And yet I hold on
    to what I shouldn’t
    and let go of
    what I mustn’t.
    I doggedly guard the pennies
    in my tight fists
    as pounds pass me by.

    Every morning holds
    a promise for me.
    A promise that
    I don’t keep.

    Reply
  40. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    * 2016 * : A month by month retrospective

    JANUARY : – The Tears of Christ – Elizabeth Hexberg

    FEBRUARY : – Where Do I Belong ? – Kamlesh Acharya

    MARCH : – When the Night Weds the Sun – Sana Rose

    APRIL : – Catherine’s Shadow – John Anthony Fingleton

    MAY : – Unique Love – Joel Ogunjimi

    JUNE : – You Are The Messenger – Jan Phillips

    JULY : – In million hues – Pramila Khadun

    AUGUST : – The Infinite illusion – Shalini Samuel

    SEPTEMBER : – Levitated – Jan Christian Sorensen

    OCTOBER : – The Invisible Painter – Santosh Bakaya

    NOVEMBER : – Mom – Witty Fay

    DECEMBER : – Restored – Vijay Nair

    Reply
    1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

      JANUARY 2016 – The Tears of Christ – Elizabeth Hexberg

      The tears of Christ are falling,

      on the murdered unborn child.

      ‘Its only three per cent’, they said,

      no reason to be riled.

      ————————

      The tears of Christ are falling,

      on children packing guns.

      In the name of Liberty,

      the reddest river runs.

      ————————–

      The tears of Christ are falling,

      as politicians war,

      and despairing starving refugees,

      can find no open door.

      ——————-

      and

      The tears of Christ are falling,

      for those who use His Name.

      Judge, condemn, misrepresent.

      His Heart,

      His Walk,

      His Pain.

      ———————

      A New Year is upon us,

      I pray that the world will know,

      His Grace,

      His Love,

      All hope in Him.

      The Way to

      stem the flow.

      ————————

      John 14:6,

      ‘I am the way, the truth and the light. No one comes to the Father except through me.’

      Reply
      1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

        FEBRUARY 2016 – Where Do I Belong ? – Kamlesh Acharya

        I belong to the place where
        the lark doesn’t sing because the sun is rising,
        but the sun rises to hear the lark sing.

        Where the sea doesn’t roar because the moon shines,
        but the moon shines to see the waves soar.

        Where it doesn’t rain because the earth is parched,
        it rains because the sky yearns to kiss its beloved.

        Where the wind doesn’t carry the fragrance because the rose bears it,
        but air wraps the rose to unwrap the fragrant gift.

        Take me to that place where
        I can see but I need no eyes,
        I can hear but I need no ears,
        I can walk but I need no limbs,
        I can fly but I need no wings.

        Take me to that place where
        I can listen to the light
        and watch the sound,
        where I can taste the fragrance
        and drink the wind.

        Take me to that place,
        for that is where I belong.

        Reply
  41. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    MARCH 2016 – When the Night Weds the Sun – Sana Rose

    The valley calls it a day,
    as it eats up the sun
    like in a kid’s
    crayon-coloured vista
    of the world –
    two-hills-and-sunset-with-
    sometimes-a-river-from-the-valley.

    I had pictured an early moon
    when the sky darkened its face,
    but the stars on the ceiling
    were already in place.

    I sigh through the nights,
    unwillingly taking strides
    with the clock hands
    ticking on and on
    until daybreak –
    another day begins,
    another dawn
    for birds to rise.

    But not for me;
    For me, it is night
    in a sparkling gown
    of blinding white –
    saying, “I do” with the sun.

    The fireworks when the couple kiss
    are their dreams and my pain –
    I wait for the valley
    to swallow the sun again.

    Reply
  42. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    APRIL 2016 – Catherine’s Shadow – John Anthony Fingleton

    The frontdoor would slam
    And the ‘auld fella’ was off to the pub.
    On those winter nights, I would have her all to myself,
    The blazing fire dancing our images
    Like frog toed shoes, on the diverse pattern of the wallpaper.
    Crackling sparks stinging the soot walled hearth;
    With it’s light teasing back her lost beauty.
    After awhile she would make us both cocoa,
    And toast fresh cut slices of bread, over the flames –
    A taste and aroma that remains an archaeological treasure,
    Forever buried in my memory –
    The hot sweet drink seducing my soul, for later dreams.

    Then she would lay back her head
    And begin to sing.
    Old songs, older then her own songs,
    Her eyes wide open. As if there were people
    Only she could see,
    But had been there, waiting on cue all the time.
    I would close my eyes and try to enter her dreams,
    Cuddling into the womb of her soft voice,
    Reluctant to re-emerge from her shadow.

    Reply
  43. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    MAY 2016 – Unique Love – Joel Ogunjimi

    I could write of love all day long
    and tell of its sweet moments in a song,
    the painful memories of its loss
    And the shattered being that bears the cross.

    I could tell of love’s tragedy;
    like Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.
    Of crossed fate and destiny
    and the sweet destruction true lover’s get.

    I could write a poem to express
    Sweetness and distress,
    A poem such as Poe’s
    That tells of woes
    And serves as a bittersweet dose.

    But none could tell truly,
    or express intimately
    how much love feels
    or how lush it blossoms
    with innocence and freedom
    when it comes and sweetly sweeps
    a lover off their feet.

    Reply
  44. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JUNE 2016 – You Are The Messenger – Jan Phillips

    Do you feel forsaken?
    Is your faith ever shaken?
    What to do when it happens
    That’s when you take action.

    You say a prayer of praise
    Then your voice you raise
    You sing a song of love
    To God up above.

    Do you tell those around you
    How your love for God grew?
    Do you tell them what He has done
    That He sent His only son?

    Do you tell them you’ve been blessed
    By one of the best?
    Do you live your life well
    So that everyone can tell?

    Do you follow God’s plan for you on earth?
    Do you know just what it’s worth?
    When you accept Jesus in your life
    You must be willing to tell of the afterlife.

    Jesus lived a life free of sin
    He is willing to let you in
    Get the message out
    Tell them what He’s all about.

    You are the messenger
    Of our one and only savior.
    Tell someone today
    And show them how to pray.

    Reply
  45. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JULY 2016 – In million hues – Pramila Khadun

    I wrote your name

    On the rocks by the mountains.

    The snow came

    And all was covered.

    I felt sad

    And cried quietly.

    After a month,

    When I went back,

    Wild flowers had blossomed

    Beautifully on the slopes

    And your name glittered

    On each petal

    Like diamonds

    In million hues.

    Reply
    1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

      AUGUST 2016 – The Infinite Illusion – Shalini Samuel

      A basket swiftly skates on a decorated promenade
      Attractive and awesome- akin to glittering Gold
      Everyone runs behind, some nonchalantly
      Some ardently, the rest anxiously
      Flowers and thorns slither through its openings
      Though it pricks, the whole world follows to pick
      A thorn/flower before it disappears on the slippery aisle
      Stuck in a thorn/flower picked long ago
      Some men wander forever in the lost lane
      In the long run, handing over the baton, men sleep

      Running blindly, everyone wants to win the race
      But none knows what they are running for
      For a blessed life, they dream of- I guess
      Oh basket, where are you going, I shout from behind
      Men say – “Run, Run, Run or you will be stranded forever
      Like a river, the basket never touches the same promenade twice”
      Won’t the droplets come back to the same river as rain?
      Linear it is because limited is our life and memory
      We will meet it again and again in the same promenade
      Isn’t it a infinite illusion? Time, you keep running;
      Let me stop, walk slowly and enjoy the walk.

      Reply
  46. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    SEPTEMBER 2016 – Levitated – Jan Christian Sorensen

    For moments to share…far to few to bare…
    I recall how you picked me up many years ago…
    Levitated to be so close to Heaven and you never let go…
    ever so lightly in the air…the wind so easily touched my hair…

    I had so many hopes kept in you…far to many dreams you blew…
    I recall the joy you gave to me as I grew up…
    Levitated from childhood to feel that it would never stop…
    ever caught up in memory…ever the pain in, I am sorry…

    So many days has passed me by…so many years in total deny…
    I recall the last time I saw you lay there all pale and grey…
    Levitated to face the reality that I’ll never see you another day…
    ever so silence I will whisper what I do…after all, forever loving you…

    Reply
  47. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    OCTOBER 2016 – The Invisible Painter – Santosh Bakaya

    On the undulating meadows stands a cottage small
    Painted in hues of red and green.
    Next to it a tree stands sentry with a phlegmatic air.
    With a mischievous air, the clouds dip low
    Over the cottage green and red.
    One cloud looks like Joseph Roulin with a fedora hat.
    Is Vincent Van Gogh around
    Painting the Roulins, one member after another?
    Another creeps towards the hat, and tilts it naughtily.
    One ancient looking cloud watches with a stiff upper lip
    Over itself unable to take a grip.
    Clouds and more clouds standing in queues
    And an invisible painter splashing hues.

    My heart beats frantically
    Trying to be heard above the din of existence.
    A cloudlet rumbles with rambunctious hilarity
    Side –splitting.
    The sky throbs with unsung songs
    Befitting.
    With a shimmering lyricism the air is replete
    From the shrubs, squirrels dart in and out, on tiny feet
    Stop in their tracks, trying to listen to my heart beats.
    And the invisible painter paints on with a frenzied brilliance.
    Unfazed by an itinerant songster singing of life’s evanescence.

    Reply
  48. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    NOVEMBER 2016 – Mom – Witty Fay

    The luminous clarity of you,

    Evanescent and easy when held,

    Unsheltered. I remember it to

    Be a fair part of my continuum,

    The way I strove for balance,

    Among the lithe rope walkers

    And substituted fear for grace.

    Such flickering precision,

    Of the lips, the fingers and the

    Eyes spoke of a lovable version

    Of life itself in its many layers

    And I took it all, on the cusp

    Of losing myself to the merits

    Of you, plentiful and alive.

    Reply
  49. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    DECEMBER 2016 – Restored – Vijay Nair

    It is true for far too long
    Our breathless dreams we let
    Drag their tired feet
    Down others’ one-way street

    But now that you are here
    I feel your presence everywhere
    And thoughts of shared tomorrows
    Lip-lock and make us stare

    At crosses on the calendar
    Marking memories once ignored
    Of moth-eaten lost summers
    In rusty trunks, now restored.

    Reply
    1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

      * 2 0 1 7 * – A month by month retrospective

      JANUARY :- Beyond the Walls – Vatsala Radhakeesoon

      FEBRUARY :- Porcelain – Jan Christian Sorensen

      MARCH :- Lika A Shade Upon The Earth – Manjeni Wycliffe Obwoya

      APRIL :- Speechless – Vijay Nair

      MAY :- All Begins and Ends in You – Suzette Portes

      JUNE :- Metro Malls – Madhumathy Rajamma

      JULY :- The Sheaffer Pen – Santosh Bakaya

      AUGUST :- Cataclysm – Swati A.Gadgil

      SEPTEMBER :- The Poet that was my Father – Iulia Gherghei

      OCTOBER :- Barely Treading Water – Elizabeth Hexberg

      NOVEMBER :-

      DECEMBER :-

      Reply
  50. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JANUARY 2017 – Beyond the Walls – Vatsala Radhakeesoon

    Walls of intellectualism
    block my freedom to dream,
    Poetry breaks the blurred prism.

    I leap in the air
    on the back of a mare,
    God whispers,
    “For this child, it’s fair.”

    Sheltered by my muse’s boldness,
    the clouds I caress,
    My pains I confess,
    God whispers with a pure life
    I’m blessed.

    Back to the ground,
    I’m the lotus in the mud
    resisting all of temptations’ buds.

    Unbound to previous births, this birth;
    Unbound to the better-half, no half;
    Beyond the walls my thoughts fly,
    Up, high in no bound sky
    deeper, deeper beyond the sky
    where at my poetry
    the Supreme smiles.

    Reply
  51. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    FEBRUARY 2017 – Porcelain – Jan Christian Sorensen

    You shine like the Moon, the light inside all the darkness…
    I am but a shadow of your reflection, the dark spot in all the light…
    Your skin so pure and untouched, in a clarity brighter than crystal glass…
    If ever an appearance could hurt, your beauty outshine it all so bright…

    As the taste of love filled up a cup of porcelain…
    nothing of your being is touched and will ever be plain…

    Fine lines and features so perfectly shaped, eyes so deep and dark…
    From where I am it is slightly obscured, and your shine is the blazing true…
    I wish you would come closer, close enough to leave your mark…
    In every mirror you paint your beauty, a trace of white in all the blue…

    You look so frail and vulnerable but I see the strength in you…
    Captivated and seduced I now feel so frail and so damn plain…
    You have the taste of infatuation and I can sense your presence too…
    The meeting with you has changed my heart to brittle porcelain…

    As the taste of love filled up a cup of porcelain…
    nothing of your being is touched and will ever be plain…

    Reply
    1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

      MARCH 2017 – A Shade Upon The Earth – Manjeni Wycliffe Obwoya

      To dust and to decay
      to solitude and to silence;
      like a shade upon the earth,
      is loneliness creeping over me,
      and to life comes the long forgotten faces
      forming like mists from the silent past,
      bygone, bygone are the voices of infancy
      voices that long ago grew mute
      to once familiar songs we sing no more.

      Give me that pipe, ye little piper,
      while the wind outside weeps,
      Bring me that flute, hand me that harp
      when the angry beatings of the rain upon the roof
      diminish to tranquil patters upon the sea;
      to kill this loneliness that creeps over me,
      Like a shade upon the earth.

      Let’s dance and dance ’til we drop
      and one by one bury these noises
      of hurrying footsteps of wounded travellers,
      Let’s silence their randomness again and again
      die to leave no sound behind;
      let mine skill pipe-a-tune,
      to kill this loneliness that creeps over me
      Like a shade upon the earth.

      Reply
  52. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    APRIL 2017 – Speechless – Vijay Nair

    Like the bearded old man on a moonlit night:
    A worn-out life in worn-out clothes
    Standing on a swaying bridge
    Singing a soul-stirring song
    For an audience of one.

    Like the young girl cycling at dawn
    Smiling like a wingless angel
    In the slowly disappearing mist
    With her beautiful hair
    Searching for freedom in the breeze.

    Like the tired woman in the paddy field
    Silhouetted against the spreading glow
    Of an unwilling setting sun:
    Returning home
    Her gait is enshrined.

    Reply
  53. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    MAY 2017 – All Begins and Ends in You – Suzette Portes

    when once in life someone came
    to fill out every inch of you
    … then walked away
    …leaving every dream behind

    was it pain?
    or living without life…

    in everything we are here for,
    there are reasons
    …for every reason worth it all
    …worth living for in joys and in pain

    but sometimes we are just left
    for the reasons of being left alone

    sometimes we never took the time
    to do little things left undone

    until everything fades
    and all that there was,
    …is what is left in our mind
    … been there with all the memories to last

    then, memories remain
    to be there forever

    how can we end up
    from where we start?
    … how can we say goodbye?
    … how can i say goodbye?

    goodbyes are always the hardest to say
    and the most painful to accept

    goodbyes are always meant forever
    and wishing it back is impossible

    we know what is here
    deep in our heart,
    … wish there was never hellos
    … to say goodbye

    though it was a chance
    for whatever there was

    things were just never right
    even from the very start
    … and ends with “what is?”
    … that is supposed to be

    which only remains what is in the mind
    a thought that should never be there

    as it “all begins and ends in you”

    Reply
  54. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JUNE 2017 – Metro Malls – Madhumathy Ramjamma

    Past your prime, escalators are a boon.

    One step forward and up you go

    Then slide on to level ground

    Global markets, singing Sirens

    Lead you to lands hitherto unknown.

    Petrified mannequins pining for Pygmalions

    indifferently display the latest in vogue.

    In air-cooled milieu, reckless youth

    listlessly ignore tick-tock rhythms

    of minutes and hours. Wide-eyed children,

    shuffling grandmas, liveried attendants –

    all on fast track. Outside, on dusty streets

    heat waves gleaming silver

    dance on asphalt roads.

    Humming hymns of urban glory

    Metro life bursts balloons

    filled with colourful confetti.

    Reply
  55. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    JULY 2017 – The Sheaffer Pen – Santosh Bakaya

    Ah, papa that Sheaffer pen!
    “I will write my novel with it.
    I will have all the time in the world
    After my retirement,” you had said.
    Every now and then, you would pull out your table drawer,
    Look admiringly at that Sheaffer pen
    A gift from your Ph. D student, accepted reluctantly
    Lying between stacks of papers and Morton toffees
    That you gave us every now and then
    When we did something good.
    But I was a good – for- nothing. Did nothing good.
    I remember, after a sound tongue –lashing
    When my ego came down crashing
    And I spent a day, sobbing and thrashing around on my bed
    You tiptoed to my bedside with a piece of paper.
    I feigned sleep. Deep.
    You kept that piece of paper under my pillow.
    “SORRY”,
    You had written in bold letters with that Sheaffer pen.
    Papa, you never got to write a novel with that Sheaffer pen
    You had hoped you would have all the time in the world.
    But no, you did not!
    In that ‘Relic’ of a house in Kashmir, you breathed your last
    [Ah wasn’t it your dream to go back to your roots?]
    With a truckful of books, a trunkful of clothes
    A heart full of dreams, and that Sheaffer pen
    You shifted base from Jaipur to Kashmir.
    I would often glimpse you standing near your study window
    Twirling that Sheaffer pen
    Looking down thoughtfully at the houseboat –dotted Jhelum.
    Your mind whirring, an idea stirring in your mind.
    But before you could put it on paper, with your Sheaffer pen
    The words left you, and we, the bereft ones were left
    Clutching to your memories, and that precious relic
    That Sheaffer pen.

    Reply
    1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

      AUGUST 2017 – Cataclysm – Swati A.Gadgil

      Am I sensing depletion ..
      Am I sensing recession…
      No, I am not a banker..!
      But yes, I possess some treasure,
      Most precious to me….
      Its my pride and others envy
      Self esteem and its sanctity…..
      but what worries me
      Is it depleting ?
      or falling in value
      Values? what are they….
      Life as shallow as a
      stream while it rains,…
      Depth and mass,
      What does it mean…?
      splashing money,
      position and graft,….
      What is depleting , did I say….
      Oh my words go extinct,
      values antique….
      They suit decor of a
      rich living room,
      shelved away neatly,
      displayed after taxidermy…
      What am I talking about..?
      Depletion ,..! Recession ,…!
      cataclysm…..
      Sorry…it is extinction ….!

      Reply
  56. Louis Kasatkin Post author

    SEPTEMBER 2017 – The Poet that was my Father – Iulia Gherghei

    Dedicated to Grisa Gherghei

    The poet was my father
    He read his poems to our family friends
    And all were mesmerized by them
    How wise, how deep, how entangled but also bold
    In a time of dictatorship
    The poet was my hero
    Till one day when the feeble man crawled
    from under his own built effigy
    Sad day for me
    I became deaf to his words
    And started writing my own lines
    Lines on my own coin
    The poet left
    Vaporised in some blond vagina
    Only then I have found out
    that was his pattern
    Sliding slowly from one black hole to the next vortex
    Blond haired and with witchy eyes
    The poet and me lost track from one another then
    I remained with the one instilled by him in the cells of my soul
    Later, decades later
    The poet have raised again from his pit
    He stands besides his trees
    The trees that in one of his poems were craving
    to see a naked woman for they had never been in paradise

    Reply
    1. Louis Kasatkin Post author

      OCTOBER 2017 – Barely Treading Water – Elizabeth Hexberg

      Barely treading water,
      Lord, I don’t know why?
      All the dreams I once believed,
      somehow passed me by.

      ———

      Do I make a difference ?
      Do I serve you well ?
      Or am I just a failure?
      Sometimes so hard to tell.

      ——–

      I need to feel You close to me
      I need to see Your Face
      I need to rest upon The Rock
      To sleep in Your Embrace.

      ——–

      I need to find a better day,
      a better way to be,
      then perhaps I’ll get it right,
      see the You in me.

      ——–

      But for now Im tired Lord,
      I can’t find Your Hand.
      This thing called life has got me beat,
      and I don’t understand.

      ——–

      So Father, could you carry me,
      at least, until I see,
      a plan, a purpose to it all,
      a reason just to be.

      ——–

      Pity parties aren’t my style.
      So this is just for You.
      You know,
      You see my shredded heart,
      Help me shine on through.

      Reply

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